3f^-4 


^^ 


^       ^ 

* 


Jiaebitm  pinxil 


J.W^Sreel  sai^it. 


•^) 


Sir  "WiajLiTEis.  Scj^TTj  BA]R.o:prET  = 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT, 


WITH 


A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE, 


BY  J.  "W.  LAKE. 


H^omplttt  in  out  wolnmt. 


V 


PHILADELPHIA. 

PUBLISHED  BY  J.  CRISSY  AND  J.  GRIGG. 


STEUEOTrPED  BY  3.  C.  &  J.  MAXWELL,  JR. 

1830. 


*♦ 


Q^onmm, 


Vtkge  ' 
LIFK  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT vii 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL       1 
Notes 25 

MARMION 53 

Notes 99 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 124 

Notes 161 

ROKEBY 190 

Notes 227 

THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 250 

Notes 2S5 

THOMAS  THE  RHYMER 317  j 

Notes  and  Appendix < 326 

HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS 323 . 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN 346  i 

Notes 365  ! 

THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK 367  | 

Notes 375  1 

■  THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO 381 

Notes... 386 

HALfbO^r  HILL 387 

Notes 399 

BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 

Ghenfiiilas;  or  Lord  Ronald's  Coronach    400 

,      •       Notes.. 402 

ThpEi^of  Saint  John 403 

NAfis, ^5 

■   CadvolCa)tle 406 

Notes 408 

the  Gray  Brother 410 

Notes 411 

The  Fire  King  (imitated  from  Goethe)      412 
Fredeftkk  and  Alice  (imitated  from  Bu  r- 

..  ger) *'3 

The  Wild  Huntsmen , 414 

William  and  Helen  (imitated  from  Biir- 

ger) 410 

The  Battle  of  Sempach  (translated  from 

Tchudi) 418 

The  Noble  Moringer(  translated  from  the 
German) 420 

MISCELLANIES. 

War-song  of  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light 

Dragoons 423 

The  Norman  Horse-shoe 424 

The  Last  Words  of  Cadwallon 424 

The  Maid  of  Toro 425 

Hellvellyn 425 

Jock  of  Hazeldean 425 

Lullabv  of  an  Infant  Chief 426 


Pago 

Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu 426 

Nora's  Vow , 426 

Mac-Gregor's  Galhei'ing 427 

Donald  Caird's  come  again 427 

Mackrimmon's  1  .anient 427 

On  Ettrick  Foresl's  mountains  (hni 42S 

The  Sun  upon  the  Wierdlaw-hill 42S 

The  Maid  of  Isla 42S 

The  Foray -V23 

The  Monks  of  Bangor's  March 42J 

The  Search  after  Happiness;  or  tl'.e  Quest 

of  Sultauii  Solimaun 429 

The  Poacher 433 

Tiie  Dance  of  Deatli 433 

Farewell  to  tlie  Muse .•  •  •  •  434 

Epitaph  on  Mrs.  Erskine 435 

Mr.  Kemble's  FarewelliAddress,  on  tak- 
ing leave  of  the  Edinburgh  St;ige 435 

Epilogue  to  The  ^iJ>ps(S. 435 

Song — Oh  say  not,  ray  love,  with  that 

mortified  air 435 

The  Pidmer J». 436 

Tlie  Maid  of  Neidpalh 435 

Wandering  Willie 436 

Hunting  Song — Waken,  lords  and  ladies 

gay 437 

The  Violet 437 

To  a  lady,  with  flowers  from  a  Roman 

■wall 437 

The  Bard's  Incantation,  written  under 
the  threat  of  invasion,  in  the  autumn 

of  1804 437 

The  Resolve  (in  imitation  of  an  old  En- 
glish poem) 438 

Epitaph  designed  for  a  monument  in 
Lichfield  Cathedral,  at  the  Burial 
Place  of  the  Family  of  Miss  Seward     438 

The  Return  to  Ulster 438 

On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe 439 

Prologue  to  Miss  Baillie's  play  of  the 

Family  Legend 439 

Farewell  to    Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of 

Kintail  (from  the  Gaelic) 439 

Im-itation  of  the  preceding  song 440 

War-song   of   Lachlan,    High   Chief  of 

Maclean  (from  the  Gaelic) 440 

Saint  Cloud  (written  in  September,  1815)  440 
Romance  of  Dunois  (from  the  French)     441 

The  Troubadour 441 

From  the  French — It  chanced  that  Cupid 

on  a  season 441 

Song,  for  the  Anniversary  Meeting  of  the 

Pitt  Club  of  ScoUand 441 

Song,  on  the  lifting  of  the  Banner  of  the 
house  of  Buccleugb,  at  a  great  Foot- 
ball-Match on  Carterhaugh 443 

Carle,  now  tlie  king's  come 443 

Impromptu,  to  M.  Alexandre 443 


i 


^tntoiv  oC  Sit:  multtt  Scott* 


BY  J.  W.  LAKE. 


Sin  Walteh  Scott,  descended  from  one  of  the 
most  ancient  families  of  Scotland — the  Scotts  of 
Harden,  is  the  eldest  surviving  son  of  a  gentleman 
of  the  same  name,  who  was  an  eminent  writer  to 
the  signet  at  Edinburgh,  where  the  subject  of  this 
sketch  was  born,  August  15,  1771.  His  mother, 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  Scott,  was  the  daughter  of  David 
Kutherford,  esq.,  writer  to  the  signet.,  from  whom 
she  obtained  a  handsome  fortune.  She  was  a  wo- 
man of  great  virtue  and  accomplishments,  with  a 
good  taste  for  poetry,  as  appeared  from  some  of 
her  productions,  which  were  deemed  worthy  of 
being  printed  after  her  death,  in  1789.  Walter, 
from  the  tenderness  of  his  constitution,  and  the 
circumstance  of  his  lameness,  occasioned  by  a  fall 
from  his  nurse's  arms  at  two  years  of  age,  was  in 
a  great  measure  brought  up  at  home,  under  the 
immediate  care  and  instruction  of  this  excellent 
paft^nt,.  to'whom  he  was  much  attached  through 
fife,  and  whose  loss  he  sincerely  lamented.  Of 
his  early  pursuits  little  is  known,  except  that  he 
evinced  a  genius  for  drawing  landscapes  after  na- 
ture.— At  a  proper  age  he  was  sent  to  the  high 
school  at  Edinburgh,  "then  directed  by  Dr.  Alex- 
ander Adam.  jIn  this  school,  young  Scott  passed 
through  the  different  iorms  without  exhibiting  any 
lOf  those  extraordinary  powers  of  genius,  which  are 
■seldom  renieipbered  till  the  person  to  wliom  they 
are  ^geribed  has  become,  by  the  maturity  of  his 
tileuj^s,  an  object  of  distinction.  Tt  is  said,  tiiat  he 
was  CBUsidered  iiwliis  boyhood  rather  heavy  than 
♦.otherwise,  and  flat  the  l;itc  Dr.  Hugh  Blair  had 
discernmentenough  to  predict  his  future  eminence, 
■when  the  master  of  tlie  scliool  lamented  his  dul- 
ness;  biit  this  only  affords  another  instance  of  the 
fallacy  of  human  opinion  in  pronoimcing  upon  the 
re'l  cap.acity  of  theyoiiihtul  understanding."  llar- 
i'OiV,  tlu;  greatest  scliolar  of  his  age,  was  discarded 
.  a^  a  blockhead  by  successive  teachers;  an<l  his  \m- 
pil,  the  illustrious  Newton,  was  declared  to  be  fit 
4{w  notjyng  but  to  drive  the  team,  till  some  friends 
succeeded  in  getting  him  transplanted  to  college. 

Having  completed  his  classical  studies  at  the 
higli  scliool,  with  as  much  reputation,  we  suppose, 
as  others  of  his  standing,  Walter  Scott  was  re- 
moved to  the  university  of  Edinburgh,  wiiere,  also, 
he  passed  the  classes  in  a  similar  manner. 

His  continuance  here,  however,  could  not  liave 
been  long;  for,  aiter  serving  the  prescribed  terms 
in  the  ofiice  of  a  writer  to  the  signet,  he  was  ad- 
mitted an  advocate  of  the  Scotch  bar,  when  he  had 
not  quite  attained  tlie  age  of  twenty-one. — From 


*  Tlie  prediction  of  Dr.  Blair,  her>;  alluded  to,  arose  out 
of  the  foUowiiig  circunistauces.  Shortly  after  Dr.  Pater- 
son  sucteeded  to  the  grammar-school,  Musselburgh,  where 
Walter  Scott  was  a  sliorL  time  a  piij)!!,  Blair,  accompanied 
by  some  friends,  paid  him  a  visit;  in  the  course  of  which 
he  ex.imiued  several  of  his  pupils,  and  paid  particular  .tt- 
teiition  to  youn}^  Scott.  Dr.  Patersoii  iliou!<lil  it  was  the 
youlli's  stupidity  that  engaged  the  doctor's  notice,  and 
said,  "My  predecessor  tells  nie,  that  boy  has  the  thickest 
skull  in  the  school."  "  May  be  so,"  replied  Dr.  Blair,  "  but 
throKfih  that  thick  skull  I  cuu  discern  many  brighi  rays 
cl'i'ii.ure  genius." 


this  time  to  the  year  1798,  his  life  appears  to  have 
passed  in  a  devoted  attention  to  his  professional 
duties,  mindful  of  the  advice, 

Not  to  pen  stanzas  when  he  should  engross. 

At  the  last-mentioned  date  he  entered  into  the 
matrimonial  state  with  Miss  Carpenter,  by  whom 
he  has  four  children.  At  the  close  of  the  year  fol- 
lowing, he  received  tlie  appointment  of  sheriff- 
depute  of  the  county  of  Selkirk;  and  in  March, 
1806,  he  was  named  one  of  the  principal  clerks  of 
session  in  Scotland.  With  regard  to  this  last  pre- 
ferment, it  should  be  observed  tliat  his  warrant, 
though  drawn,  had  not  passed  the  seals  when  the 
death  of  Mr.  Pitt  produced  an  entii-e  change  in 
the  ministry.  The  appointment  of  Mr.  Scott  had 
been  effected  through  the  friendship  of  lord  Mel- 
ville, who  was  then  actually  under  impeachment. 
This  circumstance  seemed  veiy  ominous  against 
the  confirmation  of  the  nomination;  but,  fortunately 
for  Mr.  Scott,  the  new  ministry  consisted  of  such 
men  as  the  late  Mr.  Fox,  Sheridan,  lord  Erskine, 
and  the  marquis  of  Lansdowne,  with  several  others 
attached  to  literature  and  philosophy;  and,  in  a 
manner  that  did  them  infinite  honour,  they  made 
no  objection  to  the  advancement  of  their  poetical 
opponent.  -Thus,  as  a  witty  friend  remarked,  this 
appointment  was  the  "  last  lay  of  the  old  ministry." 

lieleased  now  from  the  drudgery  of  professional 
laliour,  by  the  acquisition  of  two  lucrative  situa- 
tions, and  the  possession  of  a  handsome  estate 
tlirough  the  death  of  his  father  and  that  of  an  un- 
cle, Slv.  Scott  was  enabled  to  cquj't.the  muses  at 
his  pleasure,  and  to  indulge  in  a  variety  of  literary 
pursuits  without  interruption. — His  first  publica- 
tions were  translations  from  the  German,  at  a  time 
when  the  wildest  productions  of  that  country  were 
much  sought  after  in  England,  owing  to  the  recent 
appearance  of  that  horrible  story  of  Lenora  of  Bur- 
ger. Tlie  very  year  when  different  versions  of  that 
tale  came  out,  and  some  of  these  iiighly  ornament- 
ed, Mr.  Scott  produced  two  German  ball.ads  in  an 
English  dress,  entitled,  "The  Wild  Huntsman," 
and  "  William  and  Helen." 

These  little  pieces,  however,  were  not  originally 
intended  for  the  press,  being  nothing  more  than 
exercises  in  the  way  of  amusement,  till  a  friend, 
to  whom  tliey  were  shown,  prevailed  upon  tlie  au- 
thor to  publish  tliem,  and  at  the  same  time  con- 
tributed the  preface.  Tiiree  years  elapsed  before 
Mr.  Scott  ventured  to  appear  again  in  print,  when 
he  produced  another  translation  from  tlie  German, 
"  Goetz  of  Berlichingen,"  a  tragedy,  by  Gcethe. 
Two  years  afterwards  the  late  Matthew  Gregory 
(comi'nonly  called  Monk)  Lewis,  enriched  his 
"  Tales  of  Wonder"  with  two  ballads  communi- 
cated to  him  by  our  author,  one  entitled  "  The 
Eve  of  Saint  .lolin,"  and  tiie  other  "  Glenfinlas." 

In  1802  his  first  great  work,  "The  Minstrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Border,"  came  out,  beautifully 
printed  at  Kelso,  by  Ballantyne.  This  collection 
immediately  arrested  general  attention,  and  though 
the  pieces  of  which  it  is  composed  are  very  une- 


MEMOIR  OF  SIK  M'ALTEit  SCOTT. 


(jiml,  tlie  master-mind  and  soaring  genius  of  the 
jinct  lire  conspicuous  tliroiigliout. 

The  studies  ol' our  aullior  at  tliis  time  were  en- 
tirely antitiu;iriaii.  He  lived  and  breathed  only 
among  the  knights,  the  heroes,  the  monks,  and 
rol)beis  of  olden  time;  the  feats  of  chivalry,  and 
the  rough  heroism  of  northern  warfare  and  border 
feuds,  were  the  scenes  in  which  his  soul  delighted 
to  dwell.  He  drank  deeply  of  tiie  stream  of  his- 
tory as  it  darkly  flowed  over  the  middle  ages,  and 
his  spirit  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  imbued  with  the 
mysteries,  the  superstitions,  and  the  romantic  va- 
lour vliich  characterised  the  then  chieftains  of  the 
north  countrie. 

His  next  production  was  "  Sir  Tristram,  a  me- 
trical romance  of  the  thirteenth  century,  by  Tho- 
mas of  Ercildouii,"  printed  in  1804.  Still,  how- 
ever, Mr.  Scott  may  be  said  as  yet  to  have  been 
only  rising  in  fame:  but  he  soon  gained  enough  to 
liave  intoxicated  an  ordinary  mind  in  the  applause 
bestowed  upon  his  "  Lay  of  the  last  Minstrel," 
which  appeared,  in  quarto,  in  1805. — The  follow- 
ing year  he  published  a  collection  of  "  llallads  and 
Lyrical  Pieces."  Shortly  after  this,  puldic  expec- 
tation was  raised  by  the  promise  of  a  poem,  on  the 
perfection  of  which  the  bard  was  said  to  labour  as 
for  immortality.  Accordingly,  in  1808,  appeared 
"Marmion,  a  tale  of  Flodden  Field,"  which  the 
author  himself  has  characterised  as  "  containing 
the  best  and  the  worst  poetry  he  has  ever  written." 

The  same  year  Mr.  Scott  favoured  the  world 
with  a  complete  edition  of  the  Works  of  Dry  den, 
in  which  he  gave  a  new  life  of  that  great  writer, 
and  numerous  notes.  But  this  was  not  the  only 
instance  of  the  fecundity  of  his  genius  and  the  ra- 
pidity of  his  pen,  for,  while  these  volumes  were 
proceeding  through  the  press,  he  found  time  for  a 
quarto  of  "  Descriptions  and  Illustrations  of  the 
Lay  of  tlie  Last  Minstrel." 

Within  a  few  months  after  this  he  undertook, 
at  the  request  of  the  booksellers,  the  superintend- 
ence of  a  new  edition  of  lord  Somers's  collection 
of  Historical  Tracts;  and  at  the  same  time  edited 
sir  Ralph  Sadler's  State  Papers,  and  Anna  Seward's 
Poetical  Works.  Yet  the  very  year  in  which  these 
last  pul)lications  appeared  witnessed  the  birth  of 
anottier  original  offspring  of  his  prolific  muse. 
'I'iiis  was  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  the  most  po- 
pular of  all  his  poems,  though,  in  the  opinion  of 
many,  inferior  in  several  respects  to  his  "  Lay  of 
tlie  Last  Minstrel." 

"  The  Vision  of  Don  Roderick"  appeared  in 
1811,  and  was  intended  by  its  author  to  comme- 
morate the  achievements  of  tiie  duke  of  Welling- 
ton and  the  Britisli  army  in  Spain.  This  poem  is 
considered  a  complete  failure. 

"  Rokeby"  was  published  in  1812-13.  It  com- 
prises, in  an  eminent  degree,  all  the  beauties  and 
all  liie  defects  of  our  poet's  muse. 

In  1814  "  Tlie  Lord  of  the  Isles"  appeared,  but 
failed  to  excite  equal  interest  with  most  of  its  pre- 
decessors. This  is  the  last  grand  original  poem  of 
the  noilhern  b.ird. 

I;i  llie  last-menlioned  year  he  also  published  a 
prose  work,  eiuitled,  "  Tlie  Border  Antiquities  of 
Eii;j,lan(l  and  Scotland,  with  Descriptions  and  II- 
luslraliuns,"  and  brought  out  a  new  edition  of  Swift, 
with  a  biographical  memoir  and  annotations. 

These  were  follow  ed  by  two  performances,  one 
ill  prose  ami  the  other  in  verse,  the  first  entilled 
"  Paul's  Letters  to  his  Kinsfolk,"  and  the  other 
'•  The  Ballle  of  Waterloo." 


As  an  instance  of  the  popularity  of  Scott's  poems, 
we  subjoin  a  slalemenl  of  the  sale  of  "  Rokeby" 
and  "The  Lady  of  tlie  Lake,"  in  nearl)'  four 
months,  as  submitted  hy  the  publishers. 

Sold  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  from  June  2d 
to  September  22,  1810, 

2,000  quarto,  at  2/.  2s 4,200/. 

6,000  octavo,  at  12s 3,600/. 


8,000 


7,800/. 


Sold  of"  Rokeby,"  in  three  months  (Jan.  14th 
to  April  14th,  1813,) 

3,000  quarto,  at  2/.  2s.  (less 

120  remaining) 6,048/. 

5,000  octavo,  at  I4s 3,500/. 


8,000 


9,548/. 


We  shall  now  attempt  to  offer  a  few  critical  ob- 
servations on  the  three  most  deservedly  popular 
poems  of  Walter  Scott,  viz.  The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  Marmion,  and  The  Lady  of  the  Lake. 

The  Lay  OF  THE  Last  Minstrel  is  an  endeavour 
to  transfer  the  refinements  of  modern  poetry  to  the 
matter  and  the  manner  of  the  ancient  metrical  ro- 
mance. The  author,  enamoured  of  the  lofty  visions 
of  chivalry,  and  partial  to  the  strains  in  which  they 
were  formerly  embodied,  employed  all  the  'Vc- 
sources  of  his  genius  in  endeavouring  to  rec^lthem 
to  the  favour  and  admiration  of  the  public,  and  in 
adapting  to  the  taste  of  modern  readers  a  species 
of  poetry,  which  was  once  the  delight  of  the  courtly, 
but  which  has  long  ceased  to  gladden  any  other 
eyes  than  those  of  the  scholar  and  the  antiquary. 
This  is  a  romance,  therefore,  composed  by  a  min- 
strel of  the  present  day,  or  su(ch  a  romance  as  wey 
may  suppose  would  have  been  written  ii;  modera 
times,  if  that  style  of  compoSUion  had  iSeen  culti-  ^ 
vateci,  and  partaken,  conscquertfly^of  the  impl-ove-  ■ 
ments  which  every  brancli  offliferatu/'C  has  re- 
ceived since  the  time  of  its  desegion.- 

Upon  this  supposition,  it  was  evidently- the  au- 
thor's business  to  retain  all  that  was  good,  and  to 
reject  all  tliat  was  bad,  in  the  models  upon  which 
he  was  to  form  himself;  adding,  at  the  same  time, 
all  the  interest  and  beauty  wliicli  could  possibly 
be  assimilated  to  the  manner  and  spirit  of  Ids  ordi- 
nal. It  was  his  duty,  therefore,  to  reform  the  ram- 
bling, obscure,  and  interminable  narratives  of  the 
ancient  i-omancers, — to  moderate  their  digressions, 
— to  abridge  or  retrench  their  prolix  or  if&edless 
descriptions, — and  to  expunge  altogether  those 
feeble  and  prosaic  passages,  the  rude  stupidity  of 
which  is  so  apt  to  excite  the  derision  of  a  modern 
reader:  at  the  same  time  he  was  to  riyal,  if  he 
could,  the  force  an<l  vivacity  of  their  minute  and 
varied  representations — the  characteristic  simpli- 
city of  their  pictures  of  manners — the  energy  and 
conciseness  with  which  tliey  frequently  describe 
great  events — and  the  lively  colouring  and  accu- 
I'ate  drawing  by  which  they  give  the  effect  of  re- 
ality to  every  scene  they  unilerlake  to  delineate. 
In  executing  this  arduous  task,  he  was  permitted 
to  avail  himself  of  all  the  variety  of  style  and  man- 
ner which  had  been  sanctioned  by  the  ancient  prac- 
tice, and  bound  to  embellish  his  performance  with 
all  the  graces  of  diction,  and  versification  which 
could  be  reconciled  to  the  simplicity  and  familiari- 
ty of  the  minstrel's  song. 

The  success  which  attended  Mr.  Scott's  efforts 
in  the  execution  of  tliis  adventurous  essay  is  well 
known; — he  produced  a  very  beautiful  and  enter- 


MEMOIR   OF   Sin    \VAI>TER    SCOTT. 


tiiitiing  poem,  in  a  style  which  might  fairly  be  con- 
sidered as  original,  and  the  i)ublic  approbation  af- 
forded liie  most  flattering  evidence  of  the  genius 
of  the  author.  Perhaps,  indeed,  his  partiality  for  the 
strains  of  antiquity  imposed  a  little  upon  the  seve- 
rity of  hisjudgraent,  and  impaired  the  beauty  of  his 
imitation,  by  directing  his  attention  rather  to  what 
was  characteristic,  than  to  what  was  unexception- 
;ible  in  his  originals.  Though  he  spared  too  many 
of  their  faults,  however,  he  improved  upon  their 
beauties,  and  while  it  was  regretted  by  many,  that 
the  feuds  of  border  chieftains  should  have  mono- 
polized as  much  poetry  as  might  have  served  to 
immortalize  the  whole  baronage  of  the  empire, 
yet  it  produced  a  stronger  inclination  to  admire 
the  interest  and  magnificence  wiiich  he  contrived 
to  communicate  to  a  subject  so  unpromising. 

Marmigx  has  more  tedious  and  flat  passages, 
and  more  ostentation  of  historical  and  antiquarian 
lore,  than  its  predecessor,  but  it  has  also  greater 
richness  and  variety,  both  of  character  and  inci- 
dent; and,  if  it  has  less  sweetness  and  pathos  in 
the  softer  passages,  it  has  certainly  more  vehe- 
menceand  force  of  colouring  in  the  loftier  and 
busier:  re|)resentations  of  action  and  emotion. 
The  place  of  the  prologuizing  minstrel  is  but 
ill  supplied,  indei'd,  by  the  epistolary  disserta- 
tions which  are  prefixed  to  eacli  book  of  this  po- 
em; but  tliere  is  more  airiness  and  spirit  in  the 
ligliter  delineations,  and  the  story,  if  not  more 
skilfully  conducte<l^  is  at  least  better  complicated, 
and  extended  tlirougli  a  wider  field  of  adventure. 
The  characteristics  of  both,  however,  are  evidently 
the  same; — a  broken  narrative — a  redundanc)'  of 
minute  description — bursts  of  unequal  and  ener- 
getic poetry — and  a  general  tone  of  spirit  and  ani- 
mation, unclieeked  by  timidity  or  afteclation,  and 
uncliastened  by  any  great  delicacy  of  taste,  or  ele- 
gance of  fancy. 

The  Lajit  of  t.ie  Lake  is  more  polished  in  its 
diction,  and  more  regular  in  its  versification,  than 
the  autlior's  preceding  j)oems;  the  story  is  con- 
structed with  infinitely  more  skill  and  address; 
there  is  a  greater  propoi-tion  of  pleasing  and  ten- 
der passa;^es,  with  mucli  less  antiquarian  detail, 
and,  upon  the  whoK',  a  lai'gor  variety  of  characters, 
m.oi'e  artfully  and  judiciously  contrasted.  There 
is  nothing  so  iine,.jfK.-rha[)S,  as  the  battle  in  A'lar- 
mion,  or  so  pictui'sque  as  some  of  liie  scattered 
sketclies  in  the  lihy  of  the  Last  Minstrel;  but  there 
is  a  richness  and  a  si)irit  in  tiie  Lady  of  the  Lake, 
which  does  not  per\ade  eitiier  of  these  .poems;  a 
profusion  of  incident,  and  a  sliitting  brilliancy  of 
colouring,  that  reminds  us  of  the  wilciiery  of  Ari- 
osto,  and  a  constant  elasticity  and  occasional  ener- 
gy, which  seem  to  belong  more  peculiarly  to  the 
author  himself. 

At  this  period  Mr.  Scott  had  outstripped  all  his 
poetical  competitors  in  the  race  of  poi)ularity.  The 
mighty  star  of  Byron  liad  not  yet  risen;  and  we 
doubt  whether  any  Britisli  poet  had  ever  had  .so 
many  of  his  books  sold,  (u*  so  many  of  his  verses 
read  and  admired  by  such  a  multitude  of  persons 
in  so  short  a  time  as  Walter  Scott.  Confident  in 
the  force  and  originality  of  his  own  genius,  he  was 
not  afraid  to  avail  himself  of  diction  and  of  senti- 
ment, wherever  they  ai)])eared  to  be  i)eau;iful  and 
impressive,  using  them,  however,  atall  limes,  with 
the  skill  and  spirit  of  an  inventor;  and,  quite  cer- 
tain that  he  could  not  be  mistaken  for  a  plagiarist 
or  imitator,  he  niaile  free  use  of  that  great  trea- 
sury of  characters,  images,  and  expressions,  which 


had  been  accumulated  by  the  most  celebrated  ot 
his  predecessors;  at  the  same  time  that  the  ra- 
pidity of  his  transitions,  the  novelty  of  his  combi- 
nations, and  the  spirit  and  variety  of  his  own 
thoughts  and  inventions,  show  plainly  that  he  was 
a  borrower  from  any  thing  biit  poverty,  and  took 
only  what  he  could  have  given  if  he  had  been  born 
in  an  earlier  age.  The  great  secret  of  his  populari- 
ty at  the  time,  and  the  leading  characteristic  of  his 
poetry,  consisted  evidently  in  this,  that  he  made 
use  of  more  common  topics,  images,  and  expres- 
sions, than  any  original  poet  of  later  times;  and, 
at  the  same  time,  displayed  more  genius  and  ori- 
ginality than  any  recent  author  who  had  hitherto 
worked  in  the  same  materials.  By  the  latter  pe- 
culiarity, he  entitled  iumself  to  the  admiration  of 
every  description  of  readers;  by  the  former  he 
came  recommended  in  an  especial  manner  to  the 
inexperienced,  at  tlie  hazard  of  some  little  offence 
to  the  more  cultivated  and  fastidious. 

In  tiie  choice  of  his  subjects,  for  example,  he 
did  not  attempt  to  interest  merely  by  fine  observa- 
tions or  pathetic  sentiment,  but  took  the  assistance 
of  a  story,  and  enlisted  the  reader's  curiosity  among 
his  motives  for  attention.  Then  his  characters 
were  all  selected  from  the  most  common  dramatis 
personx  of  poetrj- — kings,  warriors,  knights,  out- 
laws, nuns,  minstrels,  secluded  damsels,  wizards, 
and  true  lovers.  He  never  ventured  to  carry  us 
into  the  cottage  of  the  peasant,  like  Crabbe  or  Cow- 
per;  nor  into  the  bosom  of  domestic  privacy,  like 
Campbell;  nor  among  creatures  of  the  imagination, 
like  Southey  or  Darwin.  Such  personages,  assur- 
edly, are  not  in  themselves  so  interesting  or  strik- 
ing as  those  to  which  our  poet  devoted  himself; 
but  they  are  far  less  familiar  in  poetry,  and  are 
therefore  more  likely  to  engage  the  attention  of 
those  to  whom  poetry  is  familiar.  In  the  manage- 
ment of  the  passions,  again,  he  pursued  the  same 
popular  and  comparatively  easy  course.  He  raised 
all  the  most  familiar  and  ])oetical  emotions,  by  the 
most  obvious  aggravations,  and  in  the  most  com- 
pendious and  judicious  way.  He  dazzled  the  read- 
er wi^h  the  splendour,  and  even  warmed  him  with 
tiie  transient  heat  of  various  affections:  but  he  no- 
where fairly  kindled  him  into  enthusiasm,  or  melt- 
ed him  into  tenderness.  Writing  for  the  world  at 
large,  (unlike  Byron,)  he  wisely  abstained  from  at- 
tempting to  raise  any  passion  to  a  height  to  which 
worldly  people  could  not  be  transported,  and  con- 
tented liimself  with  giving  his  reader  the  clianoe 
of  feeling  as  a  brave,  kinti,  and  affectionate  gentle- 
man should  often  feel  in  the  ordinary  course  ot  his 
existence,  without  trying  to  breathe  into  him  ei- 
ther that  lofty  enthusiasm  which  disdains  the  ordi- 
nary business  and  amusements  of  life,  or  that  quiet 
and  deep  sensibility,  wiiich  unfits  for  all  its  pur- 
suits. \\'\\.\\  regard  to  diction  and  imagery,  too, 
it  is  quite  obvious  that  he  aimed  not  at  writing 
in  either  a  pure  or  very  common  style.  He 
seems  to  have  been  anxious  only  to  strike,  and 
to  be  easily  and  universally  understood;  and,  for 
tills  purpose,  to  have  culled  the  most  glittering  and 
conspicuous  expressions  of  the  most  pojiular 
authors,  and  to  have  interwoven  them  in  splendid 
confusion  with  his  own  nervous  diction  and  irregu- 
lar versification.  Indifferent  whether  he  coins  or 
borrows,  and  drawing  with  equal  freedom  on  his 
memory  and  his  imagination,  he  went  boldly  for- 
ward, in  full  reliance  on  a  never  failing  abundance, 
and  dazzled,  with  his  richness  and  variety,  even 
those  who  are  most  apt  to  be  offended  wiih  his 


MEMOIR   OF   SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


Rlati'  and  irregularitj-.  There  is  nothing  in  Scott's 
poelrv  of  the  severe  and  majestic  style  of  Milton — 
or  ot  the  terse  and  fine  composition  of  Fojie — or 
of  the  ehiborate  elegance  and  melody  of  Campbell 
— or  even  of  the  flowing  and  redundant  diction  of 
Soiiihey;  but  tiierc  is  a  medley  of  bright  images 
and  glowing  words,  set  carelessly  and  loosely  to- 
gether— a  diction  tinged  successively  with  tiie 
c;ireless  richness  of  Shakspeare,  the  harshness  and 
antique  simplicity  of  tiie  old  romances,  the  homC' 
lincss  of  vulgar  ballads  and  anecdotes,  and  the 
sentimental  glitter  of  the  most  modern  poetiy — 
passing  from  the  borders  of  the  ludicrous  to  those 
of  the  sublime — alternately  minute  and  energetic 
— sometimes  artificial,  and  frequently  negligent, 
luit  always  full  of  spirit  and  vivacity— abounding 
ill  images  that  are  striking,  at  first  sight,  to  minds 
of  every  contexture — and  never  expressing  a  sen- 
timent which  it  can  cost  the  most  ordinary  reader 
any  exertion  to  comprehend. 

Among  the  peculiarities  of  Scott,  as  a  poet,  we 
might  notice  his  singular  talent  for  description, 
and  especially  for  that  of  scenes  abounding  in  mo- 
tion or  action  of  any  kind.  In  this  department, 
indeed,  he  may  be  considered  almost  without  a 
rival,  either  among  modern  or  ancient  bards;  and 
the  character  and  process  of  his  descriptions  are 
as  extraordinary  as  their  effect  is  astonishing.  He 
places  before  the  eyes  of  his  readers  a  more  dis- 
tinct and  complete  picture,  perhaps,  than  any 
other  artist  ever  presented  by  mere  words;  and 
yet  he  does  not  enumerate  all  the  visible  parts  of 
the  subject  with  any  degree  of  minuteness,  nor 
confine  iiimself  by  any  means  to  what  is  visible. 
The  singular  merit  of  his  delineations,  on  the  con- 
trary, consists  in  this,  that,  with  a  few  bold  and 
abrupt  strokes,  he  sketches  a  most  spirited  outline, 
antl  then  instantly  kindles  it  by  the  sudden  light 
and  colour  of  some  moral  aftection.  There  are 
none  of  his  fine  descriptions,  accordingly,  which 
do  not  derive  a  great  part  of  their  clearness  and 
jiicturesque  eftect,  as  well  as  their  interest,  from 
the  quantity  of  character  and  moral  expression 
which  is  thus  blended  with  their  details,  and  which, 
so  far  from  interrupting  the  conception  of  the  ex- 
ternal object,  very  powerfully  stimulate  the  fancy 
of  tlie  reader  to  complete  it;  and  give  a  grace  and 
a  spirit  to  the  whole  representation,  of  which  we 
do  not  know  where  to  look  for  a  similar  example. 
Walter  Scott  has  many  other  characteristic  excel- 
lencies, but  we  must  not  detain  our  readers  any 
longer  with  this  imperfect  sketch  of  his  poetical 
ciiaracter. 

To  the  list  of  poetical  works  given  above,  we 
have  here  to  add  two  poems,  at  first  published 
anonymnusly,  but  since  acknowledged,  viz.  "  The 
Bridal  ofTrierniain, "and  "  Harold  the  Dauntless;" 
and,  ill  18'2'2,  a  dramatic  sketch  called  "  Halidon 
Hill."  In  his  preface  to  the  latter,  tlie  jioet  says, 
that  liis  dramatic  sketch  is  in  no  particular  de- 
signed or  calculated  for  the  sta^e,  and  that  any 
attempt  to  produce  it  in  action  will  be  at  the  peril 
of  those  who  make  the  experiment.  The  trulli  is 
that,  like  most  of  the  higiier  poetical  spirits  of  tlie 
age,  he  h:is  found  out  a  far  safer  and  surer  way  to 
e([uil;ible  judgments  and  fame,  than  trusting  to  the 
hazardous  presentment  of  tiie  characters  he  draws, 
liy  the  hei-nes  of  the  sock  and  buskin,  and  to  the 
dubiou.s  and  captious  shouts  of  the  pit  and  gallery. 

That  Halidon  UiLt  is  a  native,  lieroic,  and  chi- 
valrous drama — clear,  brief,  and  moving  in  its 
6tor_\ — lull  of  pictures,   living  and  breathing,  and 


impressed  with  the  stamp  of  romantic  and  pecu- 
liar times,  and  expressed  in  language  rich  and  fe- 
licitous, must  be  felt  by  the  most  obtuse  intellect; 
yet  we  are  not  sure  that  its  success  would  be  great 
on  the  stage,  if  for  the  stage  it  had  ever  been  de- 
signed. The  beauties  by  which  it  charms  and  en- 
chains attention  in  the  closet — those  bright  and 
innumerable  glimpses  of  past  times — those  fre- 
(pient  allusions  to  ancient  deeds  and  departed  he- 
roes— the  action  of  speech  rather  than  of  body, 
would  be  lost  in  the  vast  London  theatres,  where 
a  play  is  wanted,  adapted  to  the  eye  rather  than 
to  the  head  or  heart.  The  time  of  action  equals, 
it  is  true,  the  wishes  of  the  most  limited  critic; 
the  place,  too,  the  foot  of  Halidon,  and  its  barren 
ascent,  cannot  be  much  more  ample  than  the 
space  from  the  further  side  of  the  stage  to  the 
upper  regions  of  the  gallery;  and  the  heroes  who 
are  called  forth  to  triumph  and  to  die  are  native 
flesh  and  blood,  who  yet  live  in  their  descendants. 
It  has  all  the  claims  which  a  dramatic  poem  can 
well  have  on  a  British  audience;  yet  we  always 
hoped  it  would  escape  the  clutches  of  those  who 
cut  up  quantities  for  the  theatres. 

The  transfer  which  the  poet  has  avowedly  made 
of  the  incidents  of  the  battle  of  Homildon  to  the 
Hill  of  Halidon,  seems  such  a  violation  of  authen- 
tic history,  as  the  remarkable  similarity  of  those 
two  disastrous  battles  can  never  excuse.  It  is  dan- 
gerous to  attempt  this  violent  shifting  of  heroic 
deeds.  The  field  of  Bannockburu  would  never 
tell  of  any  other  victory  than  the  one  which  has 
rendered  it  renowned:  History  lifts  up  her  voice 
against  it;  nor  can  the  Hill  of  Homildon  tell  the 
story  of  the  Hill  of  Halidon,  nor  that  of  any  other 
battle  but  its  own. 

It  will  scarcely  be  expected  that,  in  this  rapid 
sketch,  we  should  enter  into  a  I'espective  analysis 
of  those  works,  so  well  known,  and  so  universally 
admired,  by  the  appellation  of  the  "  Waverley 
Novels."  The  painful  circumstances  which  com- 
pelled their  author  to  disclose  himself  are  still 
fresh  in  the  recollection  and  the  sympathy  of  the 
public:  the  motives,  or  no  motives,  which  induced 
him  so  long  and  so  pertinaciously  to  abstain  from 
avowing  himself,  it  is  not  our  province  to  criticise, 
nor  do  we  wish  to  make  a  boast  of  having  always 
believed  what  could  scarcely  be  ever  doubted,  viz. 
that  the  Great  Unknown  and  the  author  of  Mar- 
raion  were  "  one  and  indivisible." 

The  annexed  is  a  list  of  the  novels  in  question, 
produced  by  this  great  author  in  the  space  of  only 
twelve  years. 

Waverley 1814 

Guy  Mannering       .     .     .     .  1815 

The  Antiquary     .....  181C 
Tales  of  My  Landlord, 

First  Series 1816 

Second  Series      ....  1818 

Third  Series 1819 

Rob  Um-         1818 

IvanhoeV^     ......  1820 

Tlie  Mo^asterv        ....  1820 

The  Abbot     ."   .     .     .     .     .  1820 

Kenihvorth 1821 

The  Pirate     .     .     .     .      •     .  1S22 

The  Fortunes  of  Nigel      .     .  1822 

Quentin  Durward     "...  1823 

Peveril  of  the  iVak      .     .     .  1823 

St.  Ronan's  Wgll     ....  1824 

Hedgauntlet    .  .'-.     .     .     .     .  182^ 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


Tales  of  the  Crusaders     .     .     1825 
Woodstock 18'26 


the  vulgarities  of  society  and  nature,  maintain, 
through  eternal  folios,  their  visionary  virtues, 
without  the  stain  of  any  moral  frailty,  or  the  de- 
It  may,  then,  be  fearlessly  asserted  that,  since  gradation  of  any  human  necessities.  But  this 
the  time  when  Shakspeare  wrote  his  thirty-eight  |  high-flown  style'went  out  of  fashion  as  the  great 
plays  in  the  brief  space  of  his  early  manhood,  i  j-nass  of  mankind  became  more  informed  of  each 
there  has  been  no  such  prodigy  of  literary  ferti-  |  other's  feelings  and  concerns,  and  as  nearer  ob- 
lity  as  the  author  of  these  novels.  In  a  few  brief  j  servation  taught  them  that  the  leal  course  of  hu- 
years,  he  has  founded  a  new  school  of  invention,  man  life  is  a  conflict  of  duty  and  desire,  of  virtue 
and  embellished  and  endowed  it  with  volumes  of  [and  passion,  of  right  and  wroi.g:  in  the  descrip- 
the  most  animated  and  original  composition  that  i  tion  of  which  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  uniform 
have  enriched  British  literature  for  a  centuiy —  virtue,  or  unredeemed  vice,  would  be  in  the  greater 
volumes  that  have  cast  into  the  shade  all  contem-   degree  tedious  and  absurd 


porary  prose,  and,  by  their  force  of  colouring  and 
depth  of  feeling,  by  their  variety,  vivacity,  ma- 
gical facility,  and  living  presentment  of  character, 
have  rendered  conceivable  to  this  later  age  the 
miracles  of  the  mighty  dramatist.  Shakspeare  is, 
undoubtedly,  more  purely  original,  but  it  must  be 


The  novelists  next  endeavoured  to  exhibit  a 
general  view  of  society.  The  characters  in  Gil 
Bias  and  Tom  Jones  are  not  individuals  so  much 
as  specimens  of  the  human  race;  and  these  de- 
lightful works  have  been,  are,  and  ever  will  be, 
popular;  because  they  present  lively  and  accurate 


remembered  that,  in  his  time,  there  was  much  j  delineations  of  the  workings  of  the  human  soul, 
less  to  borrow — and  that  he  too  has  drawn  freely  and  that  every  man  who  reads  tliem  is  obliged  to 
and  largely  from  the  sources  that  were  open  to  |  confess  to  himself,  that,  in  similar  circumstances 
him,  at  least  for  his  fable  and  graver  sentiment;  1  with  the  personages  of  Le  Sage  and  Fielding,  he 
for  his  v.it  and  humour,  as  well  as  his  poetry,  are  .  would  probably  have  acted  in  the  way  in  which 
always  his  own.  In  our  times,  all  the  higher  walks  they  are  described  to  have  done, 
of  litej^re  have  been  so  long  and  so  often  trod-  From  this  species  the  transition  to  a  third  was 
den,  Jmat  it  is  scarcely-  possible  to  keep  out  of  the  natural.  The  first  class  was  theoiy — it  was  im- 
footsteps  of  some  of  our  precursors;  and  the  an- 1  proved  into  a  genuine  description,  and  that  again 
cients,  It  is  wSU  known,  liave  anticipated  all  our  [led  the  way  to  a  more  particular  classification — 


bright  thoughts,  and  not  only  visibly  beset  all  the 
obvious  approaches  to  glory,  but  swarm  in  such 
ambushed  multitudes  behind,  that  when  we  think 
we  have  gone  fairly  beyond  their  plagiarisms,  and 
honestly  worked  out  an  original  excellence  of  our 
own,  up  starts  some  deep-read  antiquary,  and 
makes  out,   much  to  his  own  satisfaction,  tliat, 


a  coi)ying  not  of  man  in  general,  but  of  men  of  a 
peculiar  nation,  profession,  or  temper,  or  to  go  a 
step  further — of  individuals. 

Thus  Alexander  and  Cyrus  could  never  have 
existed  in  human  society — they  are  neither  French, 
nor  English,  nor  Italian,  because  it  is  only  alle- 
gorically  that  they  are  men.    Tom  Jones  might 


heaven  knows  how,  ihany  of  these  busy-bodies  have  been  a  Frenchman,  and  Gil  Bias  an  English- 


have  been  beforehand  with  us,  both  in  the  genus 
and  tlie  species  of  our  invention. 

Although  sir  Walter  Scott  is  certainly  in  less 
danger  from  such  detections  than  any  other  we 
have  ever  met  with,  even  in  him  the  traces  of  imi- 
tation are  obvious  and  abundant;  and  it  is  impos- 
sible, tlierefore,  to  give  him  the  same  credit  for 
absolute  originality  as  those  earlier  writers,  who, 
having  no  successful  author  to  imitate,  were  oblig- 
ed to  copy  directly  from  nature.  In  naming  him 
along  with  Sliakspeare,  we  mean  still  less  to  say 


man,  because  the  essence  of  their  characters  in 
human  nature,  and  the  personal  situation  of  the 
individual,  are  almost  indifferent  to  the  success 
of  the  object  which  the  author  proposed  to  him- 
self; while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  characters  of 
tlie  most  popular  novels  of  later  times  are  Irish, 
or  Scotch,  or  French,  and  not,  in  the  abstract, 
men. — The  general  opei-ations  of  nature  are  cir- 
cumscribed to  her  effects  on  an  individual  charac- 
ter, and  the  modern  novels  of  this  class,  compared 
with  the  broad  and  noble  stvle  of  the  earlier  wri- 


that  he  is  to  be  pu.t  on  a  level  with  him,  as  to  the  ters,  may  be  considered  as  Dutch  pictures,  delight- 
richness  and  sweetness  of  his  fancy,  or  that  living  fnl  in  their  vivid  and  minute  details  of  copimon 
vein  of  pure  and  lofty  poetry  which  flows  with  |  life,  wonderfully  entertaining  to  the  close  observer 
such  abundance  through  every  part  of  his  compo-  ;  of  peculiarities,  and  highly  creditable  to  the  accu- 


sition.  On  that  level  no  other  writer  has  ever 
stood,  or  will  ever  stand;  though  we  do  think  that 
there  are  fancy  and  poetry  enough  in  the  Waver- 
ley  Novels,  if  not  to  justify  the  comparison  we 
have  ventured  to  suggest,  at  least  to  save  it  from 
being  altogether  ridiculous.  The  variety  stands 
out  in  the  face  of  each  of  them,  and  the  facility  is 
attested,  as  in  the  case  of  Shakspeare  himself,  both 
by  tlie  inimit.ible  freedom  and  happy  carelessness 
of  the  style  in  which  they  are  executed,  and  b} 
the  matchless  rapidity  with  which  tliey  have  been 
lavished  on  the  public. 

We  must  now,  however,  for  the  sake  of  keep- 
ing our  chronology  in  oriler,  be  permitted  lo  say 
a  word  or  tw  o  on  the  most  popular  of  these  works. 

The  earlier  novelists  w rote  at  periods  when  so- 
ciety was  not  perfectly  formed,  and  v.  e  find  that 
their  picture  of  life  was  «u  embodying  of  their 
own  conceptions  of  the  beau  ideal.  Heroes  all 
generosity,  and  ladies  all  chastity,  exalted  above 


racy,  observation,  and  humour  of  the  painter,  but 
exciting  none  of  those  more  exalted  feelings,  and 
giving  none  of  those  higher  views  of  the  human 
soul,  w  Inch  delight  and  exalt  the  mind  of  the  spec- 
tator of  Raphael,  Corregio,  or  Murillo. 

The  object  of  Wateulet  was  evidently  to  pre- 
sent a  faithful  and  animated  picture  of  the  man- 
ners and  state  of  society  that  prevailed  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  island  in  the  earlier  part  oi 
last  century;  and  the  author  judiciously  fixed  up- 
on the  era  of  the  Rebellion  in  1745,  not  only  as 
enriching  his  pages  with  the  interest  inseparably 
attached  to  the  naiTation  of  such  occurrences,  but 
as  affording  a  fair  opportunity  for  bringing  out  all 
tlie  contrasted  principles  and  habits  which  distin- 
guislied  the  dift'ertnt  classes  of  persons  who  then 
divided  the  ccuntiy,  and  formed  among  themselves 
the  basis  of  almost  .ill  that  was  peculiar  in  the  na- 
tional ciiai-acter.  I'hat  unfortunate  contention 
brought  conspicuously  to  light,  >-.n<l    for  the  last 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


time,  tlie  fading  image  of  feudal  chivalry  in  the 
mountains,  and  vulgar  fanaticism  in  the  plains; 
and  starllfil  tiie  more  polislied  parts  of  tlie  land 
■with  the  wild  but  brilliant  picture  of  tiie  elevated 
valour,  incorruptible  fidelity,  patriarchal  broliier- 
hood,  and  savage  habits,  of  the  Celtic  clans  on  the 
one  hand,— and  tlie  dark,  untractable,  and  domi- 
neering bigotry  of  the  covenanters  on  the  other. 
Both  forms  of  society  liad  indeed  been  prevalent 
in  tlie  other  parts  of  the  country,  but  had  there 
been  so  long  superseded  by  more  peaceable  habits, 
and  milder  manners,  that  their  vestiges  were  al- 
most effaced,  and  their  very  memory  nearly  for- 
gotten. 

The  feudal  principalities  had  been  extinguished 
in  the  South  for  near  three  hundred  years,  and 
the  dominion  of  the  puritans  from  the  time  of  tlie 
Restoration.  When  the  glens  of  the  central  high- 
lands, therefore,  were  opened  up  to  the  gaze  of 
the  English,  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  carried 
back  to  the  days  of  the  Heptarchy:  when  they  saw 
the  array  of  the  West  Country  whigs,  they  might 
imagine  themselves  transported  to  the  age  of  Crom- 
well. The  effect,  indeed,  is  almost  as  startling  at 
the  present  moment;  and  one  great  source  of  the 
interest  which  the  novel  of  Waverley  possesses  is 
to  be  sought  in  the  surprise  that  is  excited  by  dis- 
covering,"tliat  in  our  own  country,  and  almost  in 
our  own  age,  manners  and  characters  existed,  and 
were  conspicuous,  which  we  had  been  accustomed 
to  consider  as  belonging  to  remote  antiquity,  or 
extravagant  romance. 

The  way  in  wliicli  they  are  here  represented 
must  at  once  have  satisfied  every  reader,  by  an 
internal  tact  and  conviction,  lliat  the  delineation 
had  been  made  from  actual  experience  and  obser- 
vation;— exi'erienced  observation  employed  per 
haps  only  on  a  few  surviving  relics  and  specimens 
of  what  was  familiar  a  little  earlier,  but  general- 
ized from  instances  sufficiently  numerous  and  com- 
plete, to  warrant  all  that  may  have  been  added  to 
the  portrait. 

The  great  traits  of  clannish  dependence,  pride, 
and  fidelity,  may  still  be  detected  in  many  dis- 
tricts of  the  highlands,  though  they  do  not  now 
adhere  to  the  ciiieftains  when  they  mingle  in  ge- 
neral society;  and  the  existing  contentions  of  bur- 
ghers and  anliburghers,  and  cameronians,  though 
"shrunk  into  comparative  insignificance,  and  left 
indeed  without  protection  to  the  ridicule  of  the 
profane,  may  still  be  referred  to  as  complete  ve- 
rifications of  all  that  is  here  stated  about  Gifted 
Gilfillan,  or  Ebenezer  Cruickshanks.  The  traits 
of  Scottish  national  character  in  the  lower  ranks 
can  still  less  be  regarded  as  antiquated  or  tradi- 
tional; nor  isthcreany  thing  in  the  whole  compass 
of  the  work  which  gives  us  a  stronger  impression 
of  the  nice  observation  and  graphical  talents  of  sir 
Walter,  tlian  the  extraordinary  fidelity  and  felici- 
ty with  wliich  all  the  inferior  agents  in  the  story 
are  represented.  No  one  who  has  not  lived  long 
among  the  lower  orders  of  all  descriptions,  and 
madeliimself  familiar  with  their  various  tempers 
and  dialects,  can  perceive  the  full  merit  of  those 
rapid  and  characteristic  sketches;  but  it  requires 
onlv  a  general  knowledge  of  human  nature,  to  feel 
that  they  must  be  faithful  copies  from  known  ori- 
ginals; and  to  be  aware  of  the  extraordinary  faci- 
fity  and  flexibility  of  hand  which  has  touched,  for 
instance,  wiiii  such  discriminating  shades,  the  va- 
rious gradations  of  the  Celtic  character,  from  the 
savage  imperturbability  of  Dugald  Mahony,  who 


stalks  grimly  about  with  his  battle-axe  on  his 
shoulder,  without  speaking  a  word  to  anv  body, 
to  the  lively  unprincipled  activity  of  CalhimBeg, 
the  coarse  unreflecting  hardihood  and  lieroism  of 
Evan  Maccombich,  and  the  pride,  gallantry,  ele- 
gance, and  ambition  of  Fergus  himself.  In  the 
lower  class  of  the  lowland  characters,  again,  the 
vulgarity  of  Mrs.  Flockhart  and  of  Lieutenant  Jin- 
ker  is  [)erfectly  distinct  and  original,  as  well  as 
the  puritanisni  of  Gilfillan  and  Oruicksiianks,  the 
depravity  of  .Mrs.  Mucklewratli,  and  tlie  slow  so- 
lemnity of  Alexander  Saunderson.  Tiie  baron  of 
Bradwardine,  and  Haillie  Macwhceble,  are  cari- 
catures no  doubt,  after  the  fashion  of  the  carica- 
tures in  the  npvels  of  Smollett, — unique  and  ex- 
traordinary; but  almost  all  the  otlier  personages 
in  the  history  are  fair  representations  of  classes 
that  are  still  existing,  or  may  be  remembered  at 
least  to  have  existed,  by  many  whose  recollec- 
tions do  not  extend  quite  so  far  back  as  the  year 
1745. 

Tlie  successful  reception  of  Waverley  was  ow- 
ing not  only  to  the  author's  being  a  man  of  genius, 
but  that  he  had  also  virtue  enough  to  be  true  to 
nature  throughout,  and  to  content  himself,  even 
in  the  marvellous  parts  of  his  stofy,  withcopving 
from  actual  existences,  rather  than  from  the  phan- 
tasms of  his  own  imagination.  Thecham  which 
this  communicates  to' all  works  that  deal  in  the 
representation  of  human  actions  and  characters  is 
more  readily  lelt  than  understopd,  unS  operates 
with  unfiiiling  efficacy  even  upon  those  who  have 
no  acquaintance  with  the  originals  from  which  tl^e 
picture  has  been  borrov.ed.  "it  requires  no'  ordi- 
nary talent,  indeed,  to  choose  such  realities  as  may 
outsiiine  the  briglit  imaginations  of  the  inventive, 
and  so  to  combine  them  as  to  produce  thfc  4nost 
advantageous  effect;  but  when  this  is  onceiccom- 
plished,  the  result  is  sure  to.be  something  more 
firm,  impressive,  and  engaging,  th^n  ofin  ever  be 
produced  by  mere  fiction.  There  is  a  Consistency 
in  nature  and  truth,  the  want  of  wliich  mav  al- 
ways be  detected  in  the  happiest  comjjjiiations  ot 
fancy;  and  the  consciousness  of  tlieir  support  gives 
a  confidence  and  assurance  toV^e artist,  which  en- 
courages him  occasionally  to  risk  a  strength  ot 
colouring,  and  a  boldness  of  touch,  u()on  wh  ch 
he  would  scarcely  have  ventured  ;n  ..  sketch  tiat 
was  purely  ideal.  The  reader,  too,  who  by  these 
or  still  finer  indications,  speedily  comes  to  per- 
ceive that  he  is  engaged  with  scenes  and  charac- 
ters that  are  coiiiedfrom  existing  originals,  natur- 
ally lends  a  more  eager  attention  to  the  story  in 
which  they  are  unfolded,  and  regards  with  a  keen- 
er interest  what  he  no  longer  considers  as  a  be- 
wildering series  of  dreams  and  exaggerations,  but 
as  an  instructive  exposition  of  human  actions  and 
energies,  and  of  all  the  singular  modifications 
w  hicli  our  plastic  nature  I'eceives  from  the  circum- 
stances with  which  it  is  surrounded. 

Although  Gur  Maxnering  is  a  production  far 
below  Waverley,  it  is  still  a  work  of  considerable 
merit.  Its  inferiority  to  Waverley  is,  however, 
very  decided,  not  only  as  to  general  effect,  but  in 
every  individual  topic  of  interest.  The  storv  is 
less  probable,  and  is  carried  on  with  mucli  machi- 
nery and  effort;  the  incidents  are  less  natural;  the 
characters  are  less  distinctly  painted,  and  less 
worth  painting;  in  short,  the  v  hole  lone  of  the 
book  is  pitched  in  an  inferior  key. 

The  gratuitous  introduction  of  supernatural 
agency  in  some  parts  of  this  novel  is  certainly  to 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER    SCOTT. 


be  disapproved  of.  Even  Shakspeare,  who  lias  j  the  heroine — or  rather  the  art  with  which  he  has 
been  called  the  mighty  magician,  was  never  guilty  j  so  tempered  and  modified  those  great  qualities,  as 
of  this  mistake.  His  magic  was  employed  in  faiiy-!  to  make  them  appear  nowise  unsuitable  to  the  sta- 
land,  as  in  the  Tempest;  and  his  ghosts  and  gob-  tion  or  ordinary  bearing  of  such  a  person,  and  so 
lins  in  dark  ages,  as  in  Macbeth  and  Hamlet.  ;  ordered  and  disposed  the  incidents  by  which  they 
When  he  introduces  a  witch  in  Henry  VI,  it  is  I  are  called  out,  that  they  seem  throughout  adapted, 
because,  historically,  his  representation  was  true;  and  native,  as  it  were,  to  her  condition,  is  supe- 
when  he  exliibils  the  perturbed  dreams  of  a  mur-  rior  to  any  thing  we  can  recollect  in  the  history 
derer,  in  Richard  HI,  it  was  because  his  represen- j  of  invention;  and  must  appear  to  any  one,  who  at- 
tation  was  morally  probable;  but  he  never  thought  I  tentively  considers  it,  as  a  remarkable  triumph 
of  making  tliese  fancies  actual  agents  in  an  histo- j  over  the  greatest  of  all  difficulties,  in  the  conduct 
rical  scene.  There  are  no  ghosts  in  Henry  VIU,  of  a  fictitious  narrative.  Jeanie  Deans,  in  the 
and  no  witches  in  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  course  of  her  adventurous  undertaking,  excites  our 
(except  the  merry  ladies;)  anil  wlien,  in  one  of  his  admiration  and  sympathy  more  powerfully  than 
comedies,  he  chooses  to  wander  out  of  nature,  he  I  most  heroines,  and  is  in  the  highest  degree  both 
m  destly  calls  his  drama  a  dream,  and  mixes  up  pathetic  and  sublime; — and  yet  she  never  says  or 
fairies,  witches,  mythology,  and  common  life,  as  does  any  thing  that  the  daughter  of  a  Scotch  cow- 
a  brilliant  extravaganza,  which  affects  no  histori-  ^  feeder  might  not  be  supposed  to  say  or  to  do — and 
cal  nor  even  possible  truth,  and  which  pretends  to  ;  scarcely  any  thing  indeed  that  is  not  characteris- 
represent  neither  actual  nor  possible  nature.  Jiot  tic  of  lier  rank  and  habitual  occupations.  She  is 
so  Guy  Mannering:  it  brings  down  witcherj'  and  j  never  sentimental,  nor  refined,  nor  elegant;  and 
supernatural  agency  into  our  own  times,  not  to  be  I  tliough  always  acting  in  very  difficult  situations, 
laughed  at  by  the  better  informed,  or  credited  by  I  with  the  greatest  judgment  and  propriety,  never 
the  vulgar;  Ujil  ^s  an  active,  effective,  and  real  j  seems  to  exert  more  than  that  downright  and  ob- 
part  of  ^is  raachteery.  It  treats  the  supernatural  |  vious  good  sense,  which  is  so  often  found  to  rule 
agency  not  as  a  sJq)erstition,  but  as  a  truth;  and  j  the  conduct  of  persons  of  her  condition.  This  is 
the  result  is  bryught  about,  not  by  tlie  imagina-ithe  great  ornament  and  charm  of  the  work.  Dum- 
tions  of  men  deluded  by  a  fiction,  but  by  the  ac-  biedikes  is,  however,  an  admirable  sketch  in  the 
tual  operation  of  a  miracle,  conU'arv  to  the  opi-  grotesque  way; — and  the  captain  of  Ivnockdunder 
nion  and  belief  of  all  the  parties  concerned.  is  not  only  a  very  spirited,  but  also  a  very   accu- 

The  AsTiaT-'Anr  is  not  free  from  this  blame;  rate  i-epresentation  of  a  Celtic  deputy.     There  is 
there  are  two  oi"*three   marvellous  dreams  and  less  description  of  scenery,  and  less  sympathy  in 


apparitions,  upon  'which  the  author  probably  in^ 
tcl^iil  tolgi^ound  some  important  parts  of  his  cle- 
iicmmncjit;  but  his  taste  luckily  took  fright:  the 
appaVilions  do^jiot  contribute  to  the  catastrophe, 
and  lliey  .n»\^'2^pear  in  tlie  work  as  marks  rather 
of  the  author's  own  predilection  to  such  agency, 
than  as  an}-  assistance  to  him  in  the  way  of  machi- 
nery 


external  nature  in  this,  than  in  any  of  the  other 
tales. 

The  Bride  of  Lam3iermoob  is  more  sketchy 
and  romantic  than  the  usual  vein  of  the  author — 
and  loses,  perhaps,  in  the  exaggeration  tliat  is  in- 
cident to  the  style,  some  of  the   deep  and   heart- 
felt interest   that   belongs  to  more  familiar  situa- 
tions.   The  humours  of  Caleb  Balderstone  are,  to 
lie  Heabt  of  Mid-Lothiax,  is  remarkable  for  |  our  taste,  the  least  successful  of  this  author's   at- 
uning  fewer  characters,  and   less   variety   of  tempts  at  pleasantrj', — and  belong  ratlier  to   the 
incident,  than  any  of  sir  Walter's  former  produc- j  school  of  French  or  Italian  buflbonery,  than  to 


lions: — and  it  is  accorduigly,  in  some  places,  com-  I  that  of  English  humour; — and  yet,  to  give  scope 
paratively  languid.  TA  Forlcous  mob  is  rather :  to  these  farcical  exhibitions,  the  poverty  of  the 
heavily  described;  andmhe  whole  part  of  George  j  master  of  Ravenswood  is  exaggerated  beVond  all 


Robertson,  or  Staunton,  is  extravagant  or  un])leas-  i  credibility,  and  to  the  injury  even  of  his  "personal 
ing.  The  final  catastrophe,  too,  is  needlessly  im-  dignity.  Sir  William  Ashton  is  tedious;  and  Buck- 
probable  and  startling;  and  both  Saddletree  and  law  and  his  captain,  though  excellently  drawn, 
Davie  Ueans,  become  at  last  rather  tedious  and  |  take  up  rather  too  much  room  for  subordinate 
unreasonable;  while  we  miss,  tliroughout,  t!ie  agents.  There  are  splendid  things,  however,  in  tliia 
eharacl,sr  of  the  generous  and  kind-hearted  rus-  work  also.  The  picture  of  old  Ailie  is  exquisite 
tic,  whicli" in  one  form  or  another,  gives  such  spi-  — and  beyond  the  reach  of  any  other  living  writer, 
rit  and  interest  to  the  former  stories.  But  with  The  hags  that  convene  in  the  church-yard  have  all 
all  these  defects,  the  work  has  both  beauty  and  the  terror  and  sublimity,  and  more  than  the  na- 
pov/er  enough  to  vindicate  its  title  to  a  legitimate  ture  of  Macbeth's  witches;  and  the  courtship  at 
descent  from  its  miglity  fatlier — and  even  to  a  the  Mermaiden's  well,  as  well  as  some  of  the  im- 
place  in  "  the  valued  file  "of  his  productions.  The  mediately  preceding  scenes,  are  full  of  dignity  and 
trial  and  condemnation  of  Effie  Deans  are  pathetic!  beauty.    The  catastrophe  of  the   bride,  though   it 


and  beautiful  in  the  very  highest  degree;  and  the 
scenes  with  the  duke  of  Ar^yle  are  equally  full 
of  spirit;  and  strangely  compoinidsd  of  perfect 
knowledge  of  life,  and  strotig  and  deep  feeling. 
But  the  !;reat  boast  of  the  piece,  and  the  gfreat  ex- 


may  be  founded  on  fact,  is  too  horrible  for  fiction. 
But  that  of  Ravenswood  ismagnificent — and, taken 
along  with  the  prediction  which  it  was  doomed  to 
fulfil,  and  the  mourning  and  deatli  of  Balderstone, 
is  one  of  the  finest  combinations    of  superstition 


ploit  of  the  author,  is  the  char;icter  :in(i  history;  and  sadness,  which  the  gloomy  genius  of  our  fic- 
of  Jea:iie  Deans,  from  the  time  she  first  reproves' tion  ever  put  together. 

her  sister's  flirt^itions  at  St.  Leonard's  till  she  set-j  I'he  Legexd  of  Montrose  is  also  of  the  nature 
ties  in  the  manse  in  Argjleshire.  The  singular  of  a  sketch  or  fragment,  and  is  still  more  vigor- 
talent  with  wliich  he  has  tiigrafted  on  the  humble  ous  than  its  companion.  There  is  too  much,  iier- 
nnd  somewhat  coarse  slock  of  a  quiet  and  unas-  haps,  of  Dalgetty — or,  rather,  he  engrosses  too 
suming  peasant  gii-1,  tiie  powerful  affection,  the:  great  a  proportion  of  the  work;  for,  in  himself 
strong  sense,  and  lofty  purposes,  which  distinguish;  we  lliiiik  he  is  uniformly  entertainin"-; — and  the 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


author  lias  nowhere  shown  more  aflinity  to  tliat 
matchless  spirit,  who  couhl  brin^out  his  Falslafts 
oud  his  I'isiols,  in  act  after  act,  and  play  aticr  play, 
and  exercise  thcin  every  time  with  scenes  ot  un- 
bounded lor|uacity,  without  either  exhausting  their 
humour,  or  varying  a  note  from  its  characteristic 
tone,  than  in  his  ample  and  reiterated  specimens 
of  the  eloquence  of  the  redoubted  Rittmaster.  The 
general  idea  of  tiie  character  is  familiar  to  our 
comic  (k-amatists  after  the  restoration — and  may 
be  said,  in  some  measure,  to  be  compounded  of 
captain  Fluellen  and  Uobadil; — but  the  ludicrous 
combination  of  the  soldado  with  the  student  of 
Mareschal  College  is  entirely  original;  and  the 
mixture  of  talent,  selfislniess,  courage,  coarseness, 
and  conceit,  was  never  so  happily  exemplified. 
Numerous  as  his  speeches  are,  tliere  is  not  one 
that  is  not  characteristic — and,  to  our  taste,  di- 
vertingly  ludicrous.  Annot  Lyie,  and  the  Children 
of  the  Alist,  are  in  a  very  difterent  manner,  and 
are  full  of  genius  and  poetry.  The  whole  of  the 
scenes  at  Argyle's  castle,  and  in  the  escape  from 
it — though  trespassing  too  far  beyond  the  bounds 
of  probability — are  given  with  great  spirit  and  ef- 
fect; and  the  mixture  of  romantic  incident  and  si- 
tuation, with  tile  tone  of  actual  business,  and  the 
real  transactions  of  a  camp,  give  a  life  and  inter- 
est to  the  warlike  part  of  the  story,  which  belong 
to  tiie  fictions  of  no  otiier  hand. 

From  the  Tales  of  My  Landlord  we  must  pass 
rapidly  over  to  the  beautiful  romance  of  Ivankoe, 
the  story  of  whicli  is  entirely  English,  and  the 
time  laid  as  far  back  as  the  reign  of  Richard  I,  the 
Saxons  and  Normans  of  which  age  are  less  known 
to  us  than  tlie  bigblanders  and  cameronians  of  the 
present.  This  was  the  great  difficulty  the  author 
had  to  contend  with,  and  the  great  disadvantage 
of  the  subject  with  which  he  had  to  deal.  Nobody 
now  alive  can  have  a  very  clear  conception  of  the 
actual  way  of  life,  and  maniere  d'etre  of  our  an- 
cestors in  the  year  1194.  Some  of  the  more  pro- 
minent outlines  of  tlieir  chivalry,  their  priesthood, 
and  their  villanage,  may  be  known  to  antiquaries, 
or  even  to  general  readers;  but  all  the  filling  up 
and  details,  which  alone  can  give  body  and  life  to 
the  picture,  have  been  long  since  effaced  by  time. 
We  have  scarcely  any  notion,  in  short,  of  the  pri- 
vate life  and  conversation  of  any  class  of  persons 
in  tliat  remote  period;  and,  in  fact,  know  less  how 
the  men  and  women  occupied  and  amused  them- 
selves— what  they  talked  about — how  they  looked 
— or  what  they  actually  thought  or  felt,  at  that 
time  in  England,  than  we  know  of  what  they  did 
or  thought  at  Rome  in  the  time  of  .\ugustus,  or  at 
Athens  in  the  time  of  Pericles.  The  memorials 
and  relics  of  tliose  earlier  ages  and  remoter  na- 
tions are  greatly  more  abundant  and  more  familiar 
to  us,  than  tliose  of  our  ancestors  at  tlie  distance 
of  seven  centuries.  Besides  ample  histories  and 
copious  orations,  we  have  plays,  poems,  and  fami- 
liar letters  of  the  former  period;  while  of  the  lat- 
ter we  have  only  some  vague  chronicles,  supersti- 
tious legends,  and  a  few  fragments  of  foreign  ro- 
mance. We  scarcely  know  indeed  what  language 
was  then  either  spol<en  or  written.  Yet,  with  all 
tliese  helps,  how  cold  and  conjectural  a  thing 
would  a  novel  be,  ot  which  the  scene  was  laid  in 
ancient  Rome!  The  author  might  talk  with  per- 
fect propriety  of  the  beauties  of  the  Forum,  and 
tiie  arrangements  of  tlie  circus — of  the  baths  and 
the  suppers,  and  liie  canvass  for  office,  and  the  sa- 
crifices, ;ind  musters,  and  assemblies.     He  might 


be  quite  correct  as  to  the  dress,  furniture,  and 
utensils  he  had  occasion  to  mention;  and  might 
even  embody  in  his  work  various  anecdotes  and 
sayings  preserved  in  contemporary  authors,  liut 
when  he  came  to  represent  the  details  of  individual 
character  and  feeling,  and  to  delineate  the  daily 
conduct,  and  rcjiort  the  ordinary  conversation  of 
his  persons,  he  would  find  himself  either  frozen 
in  among  barren  generalities,  or  engaged  with 
modern  Englishmen  in  the  masquerade  habits  of 
antiquity. 

In  staling  these  difficulties,  however,  we  really 
mean  less  to  account  for  the  defects,  than  to  en- 
hance the  merits  of  the  work  we  are  treating  of. 
For  though  the  author  has  not  worked  impossibi- 
lities, he  has  done  wonders  with  his  subject;  and 
though  we  do  sometimes  miss  those  fresh  and  liv- 
ing pictures  of  the  characters  which  we  know,  and 
the  nature  with  which'  we  are  familiar,  and  that 
high  and  deep  interest  which  the  home  scenes  of 
our  own  times  and  own  people,  could  alone  ge- 
nerate or  sustain,  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  he 
has  made  marvellous  good  use  of  the  scanty  ma- 
terials he  had  at  his  disposal,  and  ekgd  them  out 
both  by  the  greatest  skill  and  Awfenty  in  their 
arrangement,  and  by  all  the  resdnrces  th  t  origi- 
nal genius  could  render  subservient  to  such  a  de- 
sign. For  this  purpose  he  has  laid  his  scene  in  a 
period  wiien  the  rivalry  of  the  victoriou  Normans 
and  the  conquered  Saxons  had  not  b-'jn'  finally 
composed;  and  when  the  courtly  petulance  and 
chivalrous  and  militar_v  pride  of  the  one  race  might 
yet  be  set  in  splendid  opposition  to  tl;e  m?nly 
steadiness  and  honest  but  homely  simplicity  offithe 
other;  and  has,  at  the  same  time,  given  an  air  both 
of  dignity  and  re.ility  to  his  story,  by  bringing  in 
the  personal  prowess  of  Coeur  de''Lioji  Jiimself, 
and  other  personages  of  historical  "fame,  to  assist 
in  its  development.  Though  reduced  in  a  great 
measure  to  the  vulgar  staplpof  arnied^nights,,and 
jolly  friars  and  woodmen,  imprisoned  damspjs^ 
law  less  barons,  collared  serfs,  and  household  iooli, 
he  has  made  such  use  of  his  gi-eat  talents  for  ae- 
scription,  and  invested  those  traditional  and  thea- 
trical persons  with  so  mush  of  the  feelings  that 
are  of  all  ages  and  all  couilries,  that  we  frequent- 
ly cease  to  regard  them  (aFit  is  generally  right  to 
regard  them)  as  parts  of  a  fantastical  pageant,  and 
are  often  brought  to  consider  the  knights  who 
joust  in  panoply  in  the  lists,  and  the  foresters  who 
shoot  deer  witli  arrows,  and  plunder  travellers  in 
the  woods,  as  real  individuals,  with  hearts  and 
blood  beating  in  tlieir  bosoms  like  our  own — ac- 
tual existences,  in  short,  into  wliose  views  we  may 
reasonablj-  enter,  and  with  whose  emotions  we  are 
bound  to  sympatiiise.  To  all  this  he  has  added, 
out  of  the  prodigality  of  his  high  and  inventive 
genius,  the  grace  and  the  interest  of  some  loftj', 
and  sweet,  and  superhuman  ciiaractei's,  for  which, 
though  evidently  fictitious,  and  unnatural  in  any 
stage  of  society,  the  remoteness  of  the  scene  on 
wliich  they  are  introduced  may  serve  as  an  apolo- 
gy, if  they  could  need  any  other  tluin  what  thej' 
bring  along  with  theiu  in  tlieir  own  sublimity  and 
beauty. 

In  comparing  this  work  then  with  the  produc- 
tions which  had  already  proceeded  from  the  same 
master-hand,  it  is  impossible  not  to  feel  that  we 
are  passing  in  some  degree  from  the  reign  of  na- 
ture and  reality  to  that  of  fancy  and  romance,  and 
exchanging  for  scenes  of  wonder  and  curiosity 
those     more    homefelt    sympathies,   and    deeper 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


touches  of  delight,  that  can  only  be  excited  by  the 
people  among  whom  wc  li  ve,  and  the  objects  that  are 
constantly  around  us.  A  far  greater  proportion  of 
the  work  is  accordingly  made  up  of  splendid  de- 
scriptions of  arms  and  dresses,  moated  and  mas- 
sive castles,  tournaments  of  mailed  champions, 
solemn  feasts,  formal  courtesies,  and  other  mat- 
ters of  external  and  visible  presentment,  that  are 
only  entitled  to  such  distinction  as  connected  with 
the  olden  times,  and  novel  by  virtue  of  their  anti- 
quity; while  the  interest  of  the  storv'  is  maintained 
far  more  by  surprising  adventures  and  extraordi- 
nary situations,  the  startling  effect  of  exaggerated 
sentiments,  and  the  strong  contrast  of  overdrawn 
characters,  than  by  tlie  sober  charms  of  truth  and 
realitj",  the  exquisite  representation  of  scenes  with 
which  we  are  familiar,  or  the  skilful  development 
of  affections  which  we  have  often  experienced. 

These  bright  lights  and 'deep  shadows — this 
succession  of  brilliant  pictin^s,  addressed  as  often 
to  the  eyes  as  to  the  imagination,  and  oftener  to 
the  imagination  than  the  heart — this  preference 
of  striking  generalities  to  homely  details,  all  be- 
long more  properly  to  the  province  of  poetry  than 
of  prose;  and  Ivanhoe,  accordingly,  seems  to  us 
much  mrre  akin  to  tlie  most  splendid  of  modern 
poems,  than  the  most  interesting  of  modern  novels; 
aD^  savours  much  more  of  the  author  of  Marmion, 
Oc  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  than  of  Waverley  or  Old 
Mortality 

Without  disputing  the  general  verdict,  which 
places  the  MosIstert  below  the  rest  of  our  au- 
thor's works,  we^hall  endeavour  to  ascertain  the 
DUuds  on  which  it  may  be  supposed  to  be  found- 
We  "believe  the  principal  deficiency  lies  in, 
'  is  usually  our  author's  principal  excellence, 
fie  female  characters.  In  general,  his  men  add  to 
Hivi  boldness  "and  animation  of  the  scene,  but  his 
women  support  ^almost  all  its  interest.  Perhaps 
thi«j3iust  always  be  the  case  where  both  are  equal- 
ly well  drawn.  We  sympathize  more  readily  with 
simple  than  with  compound  feelings;  and  there- 
fore less  easily  with  those  characters,  the  differ- 
ent ingredients  of  which  have,  by  mutual  subser- 
vience, been  moulded  into  one  uniform  mass,  than 
with  those  iu  which  they  stand  unmixed  and  con- 
trasted. Courage  restrained  by  caution,  and  libe- 
rality by  prudence,  loyalty,  with  a  view  only  to 


But  the  great  merit  of  the  Monastery  is,  that  it 
is  a  foundation  for  the  Abbot.    This  not  only  re- 
lieves, in  a  great  measure,  the  reader  from  the 
slow   detail,  or   the   perplexing   retracings    and 
edaircissemens  which  detain  or  interrupt  him  in  a 
narrative  that  is  purely  fictitious,  but  is  an  im- 
provement on  some  of  the  peculiar  advantages  of 
one  that  is  historical.    In  the  latter,  the  hard  and 
meagre  outline  of  his  previous  knowledge  seldom 
contains  more  than  the  names  and  mutual  rela- 
tions of  the  principal  personages,  and  what  they 
had  previously  done,  with  ver)-  little  of  what  they 
had  previously  felt.  But  where  one  fiction  is  found- 
ed on  another,  we  are  introduced  not  merely  to 
persons  who  are  notorious  to  us,  but  to  old  ac- 
quaintances and  friends.    The  knight  of  Avenel, 
tlie  abbot   Ambrosius,  and  the  gardener  Blink- 
hoolie,  are  the  Halbert,  and  Edward,  and  Boni- 
face, into  whose  early  associations  and  secret  feel- 
ings we  had  been  admitted.    We  meet  them  as  we 
nieet,  in  real  life,  with  those  whom  we  have  known 
in  long-past  times,  and  in  different  situations,  and 
are  interested  in  tracing,  sometimes  the  resem- 
blance, and  sometimes  the  contrast,  between  what 
has  past  and  what  is  present;  in  observing  tlie  ef- 
fect of  new  circumstances  in  modifying  or  confirm- 
ing their  old  feelings,  or  in  eliciting  others  which 
before  lay  unperceived.    We  view  with  interest 
the  fiery  freedom  of  Halbert's  youth  ripened  into 
the  steady  and  stern  composure  of  the  approved 
soldier  and  skilful  politician;  and  when,  as  knight 
of  Avenel,  he  sighs  for  birth  and  name,  we  recog- 
nize the  feelings  that  drove  him  from  the  obscure 
security  of  a  church  vassal,  to  seek  with  his  sword 
the  means  of  ranking  with  those  proud  men  who 
despised  his  clownish  poverty.     And   when  Am- 
brose acknowledges  that,  bent  as  he  is  by  afflic- 
tion, he  has  not  forgotten  the  effect  of  beauty  on 
the  heart  of  youth— that  even  in  the  v,.',ichcs  of 
the  night,  broken  by  the  thoughts  of  an  imprison- 
ed queen, adistracted  kingdom,  a  church  laid  waste 
and  ruinous,  come  other  thoughts  than  these  sug- 
gest, and  other  feelings  that  belong  to  an  earlier 
and  happier  course  of  life;  a  single  allusion  sends 
us  back  through  the  whole  intervening  time,  and 
we  see  him  again  in  the  deep  window-recess  of 
Glendearg,  and  Mary's  looks  of  simple  yet  ear- 
nest anxiety,  -watching  for  his  assistance  in  their 


the  ultimate  utility  of  power,  and  love,  never  for-  childish  studies.  The  allusion  would  have  been 
getting  itself  in  its  object,  are  the  attributes  of  pretty,  but  how  inferior  if  Ambrose  had  been  a 
men.    Their  purposes  are  formed  on  a  general  ba- 1  new  character,  and  we  had  been  forced  to  account 


lance  of  compensating  motives,  and  pursued  only 
while  their  means  appear  not  totally  inadequate. 
The  greater  susceptibility,  which  is  always  the 
charm,  and  sometimes  the  misfortune,  of  women, 
deprives  them  of  the  same  accurate  view  of  the 
proportion  of  different  objects.  The  one  upon 
which  they  are  intent,  whether  it  be  a  lover,  a 
parent,  a  husband,  a  child,  a  king,  a  preacher,  a 
ball,  or  a  bonnet,  swallows  up  the  rest.  Hence 
the  enthusiasm  of  their  loyalty,  tlie  devotedness  of 
their  affection,  the  abandonment  of  self,  and  the 
general  vehemence  of  emotion,  which,  in  fiction 
as  well  as  in  reality,  operate  contagiously  on  our 
feelings.  But  our  author  has,  in  the  Monasterv, 
neglected  the  power  of  representing  the  female 
character,  which  he  possesses  so  eminently,  and, 
m  general,  uses  so  liberally.  The  heroine  is  milk 
and  water,  or  any  thing  still  more  insipid.  Dame 
Glendinning  and  Tibbie  are  the  common  furni- 
ture of  a  farm-house;  and  Mysie  Happer  and  poor 
Catherine,  though  beautiful,  are  mere  sketches. 


for  it  by  some  vague  theory  as  to  his  former  his 
tory.  The  Abbot  has,  however,  far  greater  advan- 
tages over  its  predecessor  than  those,  great  as  they 
are,  thatarisefroratheir  relative  situation.  Wees- 
cape  from  the  dull  tower  of  Glendearg,  with  its  nar- 
row valley  and  homely  inmates,  to  Edinburgh,  and 
Holyrood  House,  and  Loch-leven  Castle,  and  the 
field  of  Langside,  and  to  high  dames  and  mighty 
earls,  and  exchange  the  obscure  squabbling  of  the 
hamlet  and  the  convent  for  events  where  the  pas- 
sions of  indi\iduals  decided  the  fate  of  kingdoms, 
and,  above  all,  we  exchange  unintelligible  fairyism 
for  human  actors  and  human  feelings. 

It  is  true  there  is  a  sorceress  on  tlie  stage,  but 
one  endued  with  powers  far  greater  for  evil  or  for 
good  than  the  White  Lady.  History  has  never  de- 
scribed, or  fiction  invented,  a  character  more  truly 
tiMgic  than  Queen  xMary.  The  most  fruitful  ima- 
gination could  not  have  adorned  her  with  more 
accomplishments,  or  exposed  her  to  greater  ex- 
tremes of  fortune,  or  alternated  them  with  greater 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


rapidity.  And  tlie  mystery  whicli,  after  all  the 
exertions  ot  her  friends  and  enemies,  still  rests  on 
her  conduit,  and  whieli  our  aullior  lias  most  skil- 
fully left  as  dark  as  lie  found  it,  prevents  our  be- 
ins;  either  siioeked  or  unmoved  by  her  final  cala- 
mities. The  former  would  have  been  tlie  case,  if 
her  innocence  could  have  been  established.  We 
could  not  have  borne  to  see  such  a  being  plunged, 
Ly  a  false  accusation,  from  such  happiness  into 
6uch  misery.  The  latter  would  liave  followed,  if 
ahe  could  have  been  proved  to  be  guilty.  Her  suf- 
ferings, bitter  as  they  were,  were  less  unmixed 
than  those  of  Bothwell.  lie  too  endured  a  long 
imprisonment,  but  it  was  in  a  desolate  climate, 
without  the  alleviations  which  even  Elizabeth  al- 
lowed to  her  rival,  without  the  hope  of  escape,  or 
the  sympathy  of  devoted  attendants:  such  was  his 
misery,  that  his  reason  sunk  under  it.  And  though 
his  suflerings  were  greater  than  those  of  his  ac- 
complice, if  sucli  she  were,  his  crime  was  less. 
He  had  not  to  break  tlie  same  restraints  of  intimate 
connexion  and  of  sex.  But  nobody  could  read  a 
tragedy  of  which  his  misfortunes  formed  the  sub- 
stance; because  we  are  sure  of  iiis  guilt,  the}'  will 
excite  no  interest.  While  we  continue  to  doubt 
hers,  Mary's  will  be  intensely  afiecting. 

Tliough  Kknilworth  ranks  high  among  our 
author's  works,  we  think  it  inferior,  as  a  whole, 
to  his  other  tragedies,  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor, 
the  historical  part  of  Waverley,  and  the  Abbot, 
botlj  in  materials  and  in  execution. 

Amy  Robsart  and  Elizabeth  occupy  nearly  the 
same  space  upon  tlie  canvas  as  Catherine  Seyton 
and  Mary.  But  almost  all  the  points  of  interest, 
■which  are  divided  between  Amy  and  Elizabeth, 
historical  recollections,  beauty,  talents,  attractive 
virtues  and  unhappy  errors,  exalted  rank  and  deep 
misfortune,  are  accumulated  in  Mary;  and  we 
want  altogether  that  union  of  the  lofty  and  the 
elegant,  of  enthusiasm  and  playfulness,  which  en- 
chanted us  in  Catherine.  Amy  is  a  beautiful  spe- 
cimen of  that  class  which  long  ago  furnished  Des- 
derhona:  the  basis  of  whose  character  is  conjugal 
love,  whose  charm  consists  in  its  purity  and  its 
devotedness,  whose  fault  springs  from  its  undue 
prevalence  over  filial  duty,  and  whose  sufferings 
are  occasioned  by  the  preverted  passions  of  him 
■who  is  the  object  of  it.  Elizabeth  owes  almost  all 
her  interest  to  our  early  associations,  and  to  her 
marvellous  combination  of  the  male  and  female 
dispositions,  in  tiiose  points  in  which  they  seem 
most  incompatible.  I'he  representation  of  such  a 
character  loses  much  of  its  interest  in  history,  and 
■would  be  intolerable  in  pure  fiction.  In  the  for- 
mer, its  peculiarities  are  softened  down  b)'  the 
distance,  and  Eiizabetii  appears  a  fine,  but  not  an 
uncommon  object — a  great,  unamiable  sovereign; 
and  the  same  pecidiarities,  sliown  up  by  the  mi- 
croscopic exaggeration  of  fiction,  would,  if  judged 
only  by  the  rules  of  fiction,  offend  as  unnatural; 
but  supported  by  the  authority  of  history,  would 
be  most  striking.  A  portrait  miglit  be  (h-awn  of 
Elizabeth,  uniting  the  magnanimous  courage,  the 
persevering  but  governable  anger,  the  power  of  i 
weighing  distant  against  immediate  advantages,  i 
and  tlie  brilliant  against  tlie  useful,  and  of  subject-  j 
ing  all  surrounding  minds,  even  the  most  manly,  ' 
to  her  infiuence,  with  the  most  craving  vanity,  the  < 
most  irritable  jealousy,  the  meanest  duplicity, 
and  the  most  capricious  and  unrelenting  spite,  ' 
that  ever  degraded  the  silliest  and  most  hateful  of  | 
her  sex.  I 


Sir  Walter  has  not,  we  think,  made  the  most  of 
his  opportunities.  He  has  complied  with  the  laws 
of  poetical  consistency,  witiiout  recollecting  that, 
in  this  instance,  the  notoriety  of  Elizabeth's  his- 
tory warranted  their  violation.  Instead  of  pushing 
to  tiic  utmost  the  opposing  qualities  that  formed 
!ier  character,  lie  has  softened  even  the  incidents 
that  he  has  directly  borrowed.  When  Leicester 
knelt  before  her  at  Kenil  worth,  ere  she  raised  him 
she  passed  her  hand  over  bis  liead,  so  near  as  al- 
most to  touch  his  long  curled  and  perfumed  hair, 
and  with  a  movement  of  fondness  that  seemed  to 
intimate  she  would,  if  she  dared,  have  made  the 
motion  a  sliglit  caress.  Listen  to  sir  James  Mel- 
vil's  account  of  the  occurrence. 

"  I  was  required  to  stay  till  he  was  made  earl 
of  Leicester,  whicli  was  done  at  Westminster,  the 
queen  herself  helping  to  put  on  his  ceremonial, 
he  sitting  upon  his  knees  (kneeling)  before  her 
with  great  gravity;  but  she  could  not  refrain  from 
putti:ig  her  hands  into  his  neck,  smilingly  tick- 
ling liiin,  the  French  ambassador  and  1  standing 
by.  Tiien  she  turned,  asking  me  how  Hiked  him?''* 
Again,  when  she  discovers  Leicester's  conduct,  in 
which  ever}- cause  of  personal  irritation  is  most 
skilfully  accumulated,  she  punishes  him  only  by 
a  quarter  of  an  hour's  restraint  under  the  custody 
of  the  eaii-marsiial. 

When,  at  a  later  period,   and  under   circum- 
stances of  much  less  aggravation,  she  detected  his 
marriage  with  lady  Essex,  she  actually  iiriprison- 
ed  him.   Our  author  lias  not  ventured  on  the  full     \ 
vehemence  of  her  affection  or  her  rage.     But,  af-      \ 
ter   all,    his  picture   of  the  lion-nearted   queen, 
though  it  might  perhaps  have  been  improved^*- 
the  admission  of  stronger  contrast.s,  is-so  viv-d.-aoa** 
so  magnificent,  that  we  caniiardly,  wt 
than  it  is.  " '  '^ 

The  PiiiATE  is  a  bold  attempt 'to 'Vnake  uui  a 
long  and  eventful  story,  frcjm  a  veiy  narrow  tiir- 
cle  of  society,  and  a  soene'so  circum.scribed  as 
scarcely  to  admit  of  any  great  scope-  or  variety  of 
action;  and  its  failure,  in  a  certaih  degree,  must 
in  fairness  be  ascribed  chiefly  to  this  scantiness 
and  defect  of  the  materials.  '* 

The  Foutunes  of  Nigei  it  of  arfhistorical  cha- 
racter, and  an  attempt  to  describe  and  illustrate 
by  examples  the  manners  of  the'  court,  and,  ge- 
nerally speaking,  of  the  age  of  Jatnes  I  of  Eng- 
land. .;- 

Without  asserting  the  high  excellence  of  Saint 
Ronan's  Well,  we  may  venture  to  affirm  that  it 
does  not  deserve  the  contempt  ■uith  which  it  has 
been  treated  bj'  some  critics.  The  story,  indeed, 
is  not  very  probable,  and  there  are  various  iticon- 
sistencies  in  the  plot;  tlie  characters,  though  ap- 
parently intended  to  be  completel)"  modern,  are  in 
some  instances  more  suitable  to  the  last  genera- 
lion;  the  hero's  portrait  is  feebly  drawn:  the  mo- 
ral tone  of  the  work  is  less  correct  and  legitimate 
than  that  which  pervades  our  author's  preceding 
productions,  and  the  impulses  of  feeling  and  hu- 
manity are  less  natural  and  forcible;  but  it  is  still 
a  work  which  bears  the  marks  of  a  master's  hand, 
the  intei-est  is  well  sustained,  the  incidents  are  re- 
lated with  spirit,  many  of  the  dialogues  are  lively 
and  pfeasant,  and  not  only  the  characters  of  the 
heroine,  but  also  those  of  the  landlady  of  Touch- 
wood, are  drawn  with  a  discriminating  and  pow- 
erful pencil. 

In  the  historical  novels  of  Hedgaijntlet,  Que>.-- 
Tis  DfR'WAHr,  and  Woodstock,  the  author  dis- 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT, 


plays  a  truly  graphic  power  in  the  delineation  of 
characters,  which  he  sketches  with  an  ease,  and 
colours  with  a  brilliancy,  and  scatters  about  with 
a  profusion,  which  but  few  writers,  in  any  age, 
have  been  able  to  accomplish.  With  spells  of  ma- 
gic potency,  and  with  the  creations  of  a  rich  and 
varied  fancy,  so  skilfully  has  he  stolen  us  from 
ourselves,  with  such  exquisite  cunning  has  he  ex- 
tracted a  kind  of  poetry  from  the  common  incidents 
of  life,  with  such  an  extent  of  legendary  knowledge, 
he  has  displayed  so  wonderful  an  aptitude  in  draw- 
ing from  historic  research  those  minute  traits  of 
manners  and  modifications  in  social  life,  which,  by 
reason  of  the  wide  range  which  it  traverses,  and 
the  rapidity  with  which  it  moves  along,  are  in  his- 
tory too  general  and  indistinct;  that  it  would  be 
worse  than  affectation  to  stand  aloof  from  the  ge- 
neral feeling,  and  to  refuse  our  humble  proportion 
of  those  "  golden  opinions  he  has  bought  from  all 
sorts  of  men,"  and  which  have  fixed  him  in  so  high 
a  rank  in  the  literature  of  his  countrv'. 

The  Tales  of  the  Crusaders  have  not  been 
received  with  that  enthusiasm  of  delight  which 
greeted  some  of  our  author's  former  productions: 
yet  they  undoubtedly  possess  considerable  merit, 
and,  amidst  much  that  is  feeble,  uninteresting, 
and  absurd,  bear  evident  marks  of  sense  and  talent. 

To  sum  up  our  observations  on  the  Waverley 
Novels,  in  a  few  words,  we  think  their  author  has 
succeeded  by  far  the  best  in  the  representation  of 
rustic  and  homely  characters,  and  not  in  the  ludi- 
crous or  contemptuous  representation  of  them — 
but  by  making  them  at  once  more  natural  and  more 
interesting  than  they  had  ever  been  made  before 
'  ''in  any  sjork  of  fiction;  by  showing  them,  not  as 
clpvvns  to  be  laughed  at,  or  wretches  to  be  pitied 
*^and  despised, — but  as  human  creatures,  with  as 
maay  pleasures,  add  fewer  cares,  than  their  supe- 
riors— with  affections  not  only  as  strong,  but  often 
as  delicate,  as  those  whose  language  is  smoother — 
and  wi''  ,.  vein  of  humour,  a  force  of  sagacity,  and 
very  fr  .ently  an  elevation  of  fancy,  as  high  and 
^  natural  as  can  be  met  with  among  more  culti- 
vated beings.  The  great  merit  of  all  these  deline- 
ations is  their  admirable  truth  and  fidelity,  the 
uhole  manner  and  cast  of  the  characters  being  ac- 
curately moulded  to  their  condition;  and  the  finer 
attributes,  so  blended  and  harmonized  with  the 
I  native  rudeness  and  simplicity  of  their  life  and  oc- 
cupations, that  they  are  made  interesting  and  even 
noble  beings,  without  the  least  particle  of  foppery 
or  exaggeration,  and  delight  and  amuse  us,  without 
trespassing  at  all  on  the  province  of  pastoral  or 
romance. 

Next  to  these,  we  think,  he  has  found  his  hap- 
piest subjects,  or  at  least  displayed  his  greatest 
powers,  in  the  delineation  of  the  gi-and  and  gloomy 
aspects  of  nature,  and  of  the  dark  and  fierce  pas- 
sions of  the  heart.  The  natural  gaiety  of  his  tem- 
per does  not  indeed  allow  him  to  dwell  long  on 
such  themes;  but  the  sketches  he  occasionally  in- 
troduces are  executed  with  admirable  force  and 
spirit,  and  give  a  strong  impression  both  of  tlie 
vigour  of  his  imagination  and  the  variety  of  his 
talent.  It  is  only  in  the  tliird  rank  that  we  would 
place  his  pictures  of  cliivalry  and  chivalrous  cha- 
racter, his  traits  of  gallantry,  nobleness,  and  ho- 
nour, and  that  bewitching  assemblage  of  gay  and 
gentle  manners,  with  generosity,  candour,"  and 
courage,  which  has  long  been  familiar  enough  to 
readers  and  writers  of  novels,  but  has  never  before 


been  represented  with  such  an  air  of  truth,  and  so 
much  ease  and  happiness  of  execution. 

Among  his  faults  and  failures,   we  must  o-jve 
the  first  place  to  his  descriptions  of  virtuous  vmino 
ladies,  and  his  representations  of  the  ordinarv'  busi- 
ness of  courtship  and  conversation  in  polished  life. 
We  admit  that  those  things,  as  they  are  common- 
ly conducted,  are  apt  to  be  a  little  insipid  to  a  mere 
critical  spectator, — and  that  while  they  consequent- 
ly require  more  heightening  than  strange  adven- 
tures or  grotesque  persons,  they  ailmit  less  of  ex- 
aggeration or  ambitious  ornament:  yet  we  cannot 
think  it  necessary  that  they  should"  be  altogether 
so  lame  and  mawkish  as  we  generally  find  them  in 
the  hands  of  this  spirited  writer,  w'hose  powers 
really  seem  to  require  some  stronger  stimulus  to 
bring  them  into  action,  tlian  can  be  supplied  by 
the  flat  realities  of  a  peaceful  and  ordinarj-  exis- 
tence.   His  love  of  the  ludicrous,  it  must  also  be 
observed,  often  betrays  him  into  forced  and  vul- 
gar exaggerations,  and  into  the  repetition  of  com- 
mon and  paltry  stories;  though  it  is  but  fair  to  add, 
that  he  does  not  detain  us  long  with  them,  and 
makes  amends,  by  the  copiousness  of  his  assort- 
ment, for  the  indi'fferent  quality  of  some  of  the 
specimens.    It  is  another  consequence  of  this  ex- 
treme abundance  in  which  he  revels  and  riots,  and 
of  the  fertility  of  the  imagination  from  which  it  is 
supplied,  that  he  is  at  all  times  a  little  apt  to  over- 
do even  those  things   which  he  does  best.    His 
most  striking  and  highly-coloured  characters  ap- 
pear rather  too  often,  and  go  on  rather  too  lono-. 
It  IS  astonishing,  indeed,  with  what  spirit  they  are 
supported,  and  how  fresh  and  animated  they  are 
to  the  very  last;  but  still  there  is  something  too 
much  of  them,  and  they  would  be  more  vvaited 
for  and  welcomed,  if  they  were  not  quite  so  la- 
vish of  their  presence.    It  was  reserved  for  Shak- 
speare  alone  to  leave  all  his  characters  as  new  .ind 
unworn  as  he  found  them,  and  to  carrv  Falstaft 
through  the  business  of  three  several  plays   and 
leave  us  as  greedy  of  his  sayings  as  at  the  moment 
of  his  first  introduction.  It  is  no  light  praise  to  the 
author  before  us,  that  he  has  sometimes  reminded 
us  ot  this,  and,  as  we  have  before   observed,   of 
other  inimitable  excellencies  in  that  most  gifted  of 
all  inventors.  ^ 

He  is  above  all  things  national  and  Scottish  and! 
never  seems  to  feel  the  powers  of  a  giant  except 
when  he  touches  his  native  soil.  His  countnmen 
alone,  therefore,  can  have  a  full  sense  of  his'  me- 
rits, or  a  perfect  relish  of  his  excellencies-  and 
those  only,  indeed,  of  them,  who  have  mingled  as 
he  has  done,  pretty  freely  with  the  lower  orders 
and  made  themselves  familiar  not  only  with  their 
language,  but  with  the  habits  and  traits  of  charac- 
ter of  which  It  then  onlv  becomes  expressive.  It 
IS  one  thing  to  understand  the  meaning  of  words 
as  thev  are  explained  by  other  words  in  a  glossary 
or  dictionary,  and  another  to  know  their  value  as 
expressive  of  certain  feelings  and  humours  in  the 
speakers  to  whom  they  are  native,  and  as  sio-ns 
both  ot  temper  and  condition  among  those  who  arc 
familiar  with  their  import. 

^\  e  shall  make  no  apologv  to  our  readers  for 
introducing  here,  the  following  animated  delinea- 
tion  oi  the  author  of  Waverley,  from  the  pen  of  an 
acute  critic. 

"  Sir  Walter,"  says  this  writer,  "  has  found  out 
that  facts  are  better  than  fiction;  that  there  is  no 
romance  like  the  romance  of  real  life;  and  that 
can  we  but  arrive  at  what  men  feel,  do,  and  sav 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


in  strikinc;  and  singular  situations,  the  result  will 
be  more  lively,  auclible,  and  full  of  vent,  than  the 
fine-spun  cobwebs  of  the  brain.  Our  author  has 
conjured  up  the  actual  people  he  has  to  deal  with, 
or  as  much  as  he  could  get  of  them,  in  'their  ha- 
bits as  they  lived.'  He  has  ransacked  old  chroni- 
cles, and  poured  the  contents  upon  his  page;  he 
has  squeezed  out  musty  records;  he  has  consulted 
■way-faring  pilgrims,  bed-rid  sibyls;  he  has  invok- 
ed tile  spirits  of  the  air;  lie  has  conversed  with  the 
living  and  the  dead,  and  let  them  tell  their  story 
their  o«n  way;  and  by  borrowing  of  others,  has 
enriched  his  own  genius  with  everlasting  variety, 
truth,  and  freedom.  He  has  taken  his  materials 
from  tlie  original,  authentic  sources,  in  large  con- 
crete masses,  and  has  not  tampered  with,  or  too 
much  frittered  them  away.  He  is  the  only  amanu- 
ensis of  truth  and  history.  It  is  impossible  to  say 
how  fine  liis  writings  in  consequence  are,  unless 
we  could  describe  how  fine  nature  is.  All  that 
portion  of  the  history  of  his  country  that  he  has 
touched  upon,  (wide  as  the  scopeis,)the  manners, 
the  personages,  the  events,  the  scenery,  lives  over 
again  in  his  volumes.  Nothing  is  wanting — the  il- 
lusion is  complete.  There  is  a  hurtling  in  the  air, 
a  trampling  of  feet  upon  the  ground,  as  these  per- 
fect representations  of  human  character,  or  fanciful 
belief,  come  thronging  back  upon  the  imagination. 
We  will  merely  recal  a  few  of  the  subjects  of  his 
pencil  to  the  reader's  recollection,  for  nothing  we 
could  add  by  way  of  note  or  commendation,  could 
make  the  impression  more  vivid. 

"  There  is  (first  and  foremost,  because  the  ear- 
liest of  our  acquaintance)  the  baron  of  Brad  war- 
dine,  stately,  kind-hearted,  whimsical,  and  pedan- 
tic; and  Flora  Mac-Ivor,  (whom  even  we  forgive 
for  her  jacobitism,)  the  fierce  Yich  Ian  Vohr,  and 
Evan  Dhu,  constant  in  death,  and  Davie  Gellatley, 
roasting  his  eggs,  or  turning  his  rhymes  with  rest- 
less volubility,  and  the  two  stag  hounds  that  met 
Waverley,  as  fine  as  ever  Titian  painted,  or  Paul 
Veronese; — then  there  is  old  Balfour  of  Burley, 
brandishing  his  sword  and  his  bible  with  fire-eyed 
fury,  trying  a  fall  with  tlie  insolent,  gigantic 
Bothwell,  at  the  change-house,  and  vanquishing 
him  at  the  noble  battle  of  Loudon-hill;  there  is 
Bothwell,  himself,  drawn  to  the  life,  proud,  cruel, 
selfish,  profligate — but  with  the  love-letters  of  the 
gentle  Alice,  (written  thirty  years  before,)  and  his 
verses  to  her  memory,  found  in  his  pocket  after 
his  death;  in  the  same  volume  of  Old  Mortality, 
is  that  lone  figure,  like  one  in  Scripture,  of  the 
woman  sitting  on  the  stone,  at  the  turning  to 
the  mountain,  to  warn  Burley  that  there  is  a 
lion  in  his  path;  and  the  fawning  Claverhouse, 
beautiful  as  a  panther,  smooth-looking,  blood- 
spotted:  and  the  tanatics,  Macbriar  and  Muckle- 
wrath,  crazed  with  zeul  and  sufferings;  and  the 
inflexible  Morton,  and  the  faithful  Edith,  who 
refused  to  '  give  her  hand  to  another,  while  her 
heart  was  wiili  her  lover  in  the  deep  and  dead  sea.' 
In  The  Heart  ofJlid-Lothian,  we  have  Eflie  Deans, 
(that  sweet  faded  flower,)  and  Jeanie,  her  more 
than  sister,  and  old  David  Deans,  tlie  patriarch  of 
St.  Leonard's  Crsgs,  and  Butler,  and  Dumbiedikes, 
eloquent  in  his  silence,  and  .Mr.  Bartoline  Saddle- 
tree, and  his  prudent  helpmate,  and  Porteous, 
swinging  in  the  wind,  and  Madge  Wildfire,  full 
of  finen  and  madness,  and  her  ghastly  motlier. 
Again,  there  is  Meg  Merrilies,  standing  on  her 
rock,  stretched  on  her  bier,  with  '  her  head  to  the 
east,'  and  Dirk  Hatteraick,  (equal  to  Shakspeare's 


Master  Bamardine,)  and  Glossin,  the  soul  of  an 
attorney,  and  Dandie  Dinmont,  with  his  teirier- 
pack  and  his  pony  Dumple,  and  the  fiery  colonel 
Mannering,  and  the  modish  old  counsellor  Pley- 
dell,  and  Dominie  Sampson:  and  Rob  Roy,  (like 
the  eagle  in  his  eyrie,)  and  Baillie  Nicol  Jarvie, 
and  tlie  inimitable  major  Galbraith,  Rashleigh 
Osbaldistone,  and  Die  ^'ernon,  the  best  of  secret- 
keepers;  and  in  the  .Intiqiuirif,  the  ingenious  Mr. 
Oldbuck,  and  the  old  bedesman,  Edie  Ochiltree, 
and  that  pi-eternatural  figure  of  old  Elspeth,  a  liv- 
ing shadow,  in  whom  the  lamp  of  life  had  been  long 
extinguished,  had  it  not  been  fed  by  remorse  and 
'  thick-coming' recollections;  and  tliat  striking  pic- 
ture of  feudal  tyranny  and  fiendish  pride,  the  un- 
happy earl  of  Glenallan;  and  the  Black  Dwarf,  and 
his  friend,  Hobbie  of  the  Heughfoot,  (the  cheerful 
hunter,)  and  his  cousin  Grace  Armstrong,  fresh 
and  laughing  like  the  morning;  and  the  Children 
of  the  Mist,  and  the  baying  of  the  blood-hound, 
that  tracks  their  steps  at  a  distance,  (the  hollow 
echoes  are  in  our  ears  now,)  and  Amy  and  her  hap- 
less love,  and  the  villain  Varney,  and  the  deep  voice 
of  George  of  Douglas — and  the  immovable  Bala-  . 
fre,  and  ^Iaster  Oliver,  the  barber,  in  Quentin 
Durward — and  the  quaint  humour  of  the  Fortunes 
of  Xigel,  and  the  comic  spirit  of  Peveril  of  the 
Peak — and  the  fine  old  English  romance  of  Ivan- 
hoe.  What  a  list  of  names!  ^^'hat  a  host  of  asso- 
ciations! What  a  thing  is  human  life!  What  a 
power  is  that  of  genius  I  What  a  worl(itf  thought 
and  feeling  is  thus  rescued  from  oblivion!  How 
many  hours  of  heartfelt  satisfaction  has  our  author 
given  to  the  gay  and  thoughtless!  How  many  sad 
heai'ts  has  he  soothed  in  pain  and  solitffde !  It  is  , 
no  wonder  that  the  public  repay;  witli»lejigthened 
applause  and  gratitude,  the  pleasure  they  receive. 
He  writes  as  fast  as  they  can  read,  and  Jtie  does  not 
write  himself  down.  He  is  always  in  the  public  eye, 
and  we  do  not  tire  of  him.  His  WiorstisT)«tter  thaJi 
any  other  person's  best.  His  back-grmmd«  (and 
his  latter  works  are  little  else  but  back-grounds 
capitally  made  out, )  are  more  attractive  than  the 
principal  and  most  complicated  figures  oigA\iiie 
writers.  His  works  (taken  together)  are  Smosi 
like  a  new  edition  of  human  nature.  This  is  inc>°d 
to  be  an  author !  #         .     , 

"  The  political  bearing  of  tne  Scotd^SfoveUhAS 
been  a  considerable  recolnmendation  to  fhem. 
They  are  a  relief  to  the  mind,  rarified  apfit  has 
been  with  modern  philosophy,  and  h^ted  with 
ultra-radicalism.  The  candour  of  sir  Waltfer's  his- 
toric pen  levels  our  bristling  prejudices,  and  sees 
fair  play  between  roun'dheads  and  cavaJiers — be- 
tween protestant  and  papist.  He  is  a  writerrecon- 
ciling  all  the  diversities  of  human  nature  to  the 
reader.  He  does  not  enter  into  the  hostile  distinc- 
tions of  sects  and  parties,  but  treats  of  the  strengtli 
or  the  infirmity  of  the  human  mind,  of  the  virtues 
and  vices  of  the  human  breast,  as  they  are  to  be 
found  blended  in  the  whole  race  of  mankind.  No- 
thing can  show  more  handsomely,  or  be  more  g;al- 
lantly  executed." 

Another  critic  attempts  a  comparison  between 
our  author  and  the  late  lord  Byron,  as  follows: — 

"  The  two  most  celebrated  writers  of  this  age, 
lord  Byron  and  sir  Walter  Scott,  resemble  each 
other  not  a  little  in  their  works.  Their  respective 
series  of  productions,  from  Cliilde  Harold  to  Don 
Juan,  and  from  Waverley  to  Woodstock,  though 
diftering  essentially  in  structure,  object,  and  sub- 
ject, agree,  nevertheless,   in  several  particulars. 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


/ 


Each  series,  for  example,  evinces  a  remarkable 
qualification  of  mind  in  the  author,  and  each  be- 
trays a  remarkable  defect.  It  is  likewise  a  singu- 
lar coincidence,  that  the  same  qualification  and  the 
same  defect  should  exist  in  both,  viz.  extraordinary 
facility  of  invention  as  far  as  respects  composition, 
and  difficulty  of  invention  as  far  as  respects  cha- 
racter. Both  authors  are  about  equally  remarkable 
for  the  said  power,  and  (if  the  expression  may  be 
used)  impotence  of  mind,  in  these  diftereut  pro- 
vinces of  invention. 

"  And  first  as  to  composition.  The  prodigal  ef- 
fusion of  poetry,  which  in  Childe  Harold,  the  Cor- 
sair, the  Giaour,  &c. ,  kc,  almost  overwhelmed 
the  reading  world,  is  only  to  be  paralleled  by  the 
quantity  of  prose  so  dissolutely  expended  in  the 
composition  of  Waverley,  Guy  Mannering,  &c., 
&c.,  a  series  to  which  we  can  see  indeed  no  pro- 
bable termination.  Both  the  poems  and  the  novels 
indicate  a  fertility  of  mind  in  this  respect,  amount- 
ing to  what  miglit  be  designated  even  a  rank  luxu- 
riance. Before  we  had  eaten  down  one  croj)  of  this 
intellectual  pasture,  another  began  to  present  itself, 
and  a  third  growth  shot  up  whilst  our  heads  were 
deep  in  tlie  second.  There  is  here  an  obvious  re- 
serablsftjce  between  the  two  series  of  works  now 
compared.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  the 
pott  or  the  novelist  were  the  greater  spendthrift 
of  his  words.  In  both,  eloquence  is  of  so  splendid 
and  profluent  a  nature,  that  it  takes  the  form,  and 
might  assume  the  name,  of  splendid  loquacity. 
The  labou?  with  these  authors  seems  to  have  been 
merely  that  of  transcribing  from  the  folds  of  the 
brait^toCjie  leaves  of  their  paper.  Facility  in  com- 
position-^afid  w  hen  we  say  this,  we  do  not  mean 
fluency  witiiouta  considerable  degree  of  solidity, — 
is  the  qiiaili§cati()h  in*vvhich  these  two  great  wri- 
ters reseiAle  each  other,  and  that,  perhaps,  in 
yhich  tney^ost  surpass  all  their  contemporaries. 
W^e  ^llow  there  is  much  difference  between  the 
'  weighty  i>uinon'  of  Childe  Harold,  or  Waverley, 
and  the  '  French  wire'into  which  the  small  portion 
of  stefling  cfe,  forming  the  real  worth  of  Sardana- 
paluA.  orReJIaundet,  is  drawn;  but  still,  the  same 
ease  of  l^i^fl^e,  tiie  same  wealth  of  imagery,  is 
everywhere  displayed,  even  in  their  most  precipi- 
ta'e  v.Ovjl,  by  ea^h  writer, — and  with  about  equal 
claii»£  an  our  admiration.  Sir  Walter,  like  his  late 
noble:^ompetitor  for  the  crown  of  fame,  in  his 
more  lucent  works,  seems  to  have  depended  almost 
vholly  oflfthe  pQjver  of  \»riting adinjinitum,  agree- 
ably upon  any-5Bf  no  subject.  But  all-powerful  as 
those  two  great  writers  may  be  considered,  in  the 
department  of  eloquence,  and  what  may  be  gene- 
rally described  as  composition,  they  are  botli  ra- 
dically, though  not  perhaps  equally,  impotent  in 
the  province  of  character,  variously  modified  by  the 
different  circ\imstances  in  which  it  is  placed 
throughout  all  lord  Byron's  poems, — that  of  a  no- 
ble-minded, but  depraved  being,  of  fine  feelings, 
but  irregular  passions,  more  or  less  satirical  and 
misanthropical  in  his  disposition,  gloomy,  heart- 
witliei-ed,  reckless,  and  irreligious.  Sir  Walter 
Scott  has  taken  a  circle  of  somewhat  greater  cir- 
cumference, but  within  which  he  is  just  as  strictly 
confined.  He  lias  excogitated,  or  his  experience 
has  furnished  him  with  a  certain  definite  number 
of  characters,  and  these  lie  plays  as  he  would  chess- 
men, sometimes  bringing  one  forward,  sometimes 
another,  but  w ithoul  the  power  of  increasing  the 
number  of  men  on  the  board." 

The  Waverley  novels  were  highly  admired  by 


Byron;  he  never  travelled  without  them,  "They 
are,"  said  he  to  captain  Medwin  one  da}',  "  a  li- 
brary in  themselves — a  perfect  literarv'  treasure. 
I  could  read  them  once  a  year  with  new  pleasure." 
During  that  morning  he  had  been  reading  one  of 
sir  Walter's  novels,  and  delivered  the  following 
criticism:  "  How  difficult  it  is  to  say  anything 
new  I  Who  was  that  voluptuary  of  antiquity  who 
offered  a  reward  for  a  new  pleasure'  Perhaps  all 
nature  and  art  could  not  supply  a  new  idea.  This 
page,  for  instance,  is  a  brilliant  one;  it  is  full  of 
w  it.  But  let  us  see  how  much  is  original.  This 
passage,"  continued  liis  lordship,  "comes  from 
Shakspeare;  this  bon  mot  from  one  of  Sheridan's 
comedies;  this  observation  from  another  writer; 
and  yet  the  ideas  are  new  moulded,  and  perhaps 
Scott  was  not  aware  of  their  being  plagiarisms.  It 
is  a  bad  thing  to  have  a  good  memory. "  "  I  should 
not  like  to  have  you  for  a  critic,"  observed  cap- 
tain Medwin.  "  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,"  was 
the  reph'. 

On  the  death  of  the  illustrious  Byron,  sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  evinced  iiis  candour  and  liberality  of  mind 
in  the  following  tribute  to  iiislordsliip's  memory: — 

"  Tliat  mighty  genius,  which  walked  amongst 
men  as  something  superior  to  ordinary  mortality, 
and  wliose  powers  were  beheld  with  wonder,  and 
something  approaching  to  terror,  as  if  we  knew 
not  whetlier  they  were  of  good  or  of  evil,  is  laid 
as  soundly  to  rest  as  the  poor  peasant  whose  ideas 
never  went  beyond  his  daily  task.  The  voice  of 
just  blame;  and  that  of  malignant  censure,  are  at 
once  silenced;  and  we  feel  almost  as  if  the  great 
luminary  of  heaven  had  suddenly  disappeared  from 
the  sky,  at  the  moment  when  every  telescope  was 
levelled  for  the  examination  of  the  spots  wliich 
dimmed  its  brightness.  It  is  not  now  the  question 
what  were  Byron's  faults — what  liis  mistakes:  but 
how  is  the  blank  v  liich  he  has  left  in  British  lite- 
rature to  be  filled  up?  Not,  we  fear,  in  one  gene- 
ration, which,  among  many  highly-gifted  persons, 
has  produced  none  who  approach  Byron  in  origi- 
nalit}',  the  first  attribute  of  genius.  Ordy  thirty-se- 
ven years  old — so  much  already  done  for  immor- 
tality— so  much  time  remaining,  as  it  seems  to  us 
short-sighted  mortals,  to  maintain  and  to  extend 
his  fame,  and  to  atone  for  errors  in  conduct  and 
levities  in  composition:  who  will  not  grieve  tliat 
such  a  race  has  been  shortened,  though  not  always 
keeping  the  strait  path — such  a  ligiit  extinguished, 
though  sometimes  flaming  to  dazzle  and  to  bewil- 
der!' One  word  on  this  ungjrateful  subject  ere  we 
quit  it  for  ever. 

"  The  errors  of  lord  Byron  arose  neither  from 
depravity  of  heart, — for  Nature  had  not  committed 
the  anomaly  of  uniting  to  such  extraorilinaiy  ta- 
lents an  imperfect  moral  sense, — nor  from  feelings 
dead  to  the  admiration  of  virtue.  No  man  had 
ever  a  kinder  heart  for  sympatiiy,  or  a  more  open 
hand  for  the  relief  of  distress;  and  no  mind  was 
ever  more  formed  for  the  enthusiastic  admiration 
of  noble  actions,  provided  he  was  convinced  that 
the  actirs  bad  jiroceeded  on  disinterested  princi- 
ples. But  his  wonderful  genius  was  of  a  nature 
which  disdained  restraint,  even  when  restraint  was 
most  w  holesome.  W'hcn  at  school,  the  tasks  in 
which  he  excelled  were  those  only  which  he  un- 
dertook voluntarily;  and  iiis  situation  as  a  young 
man  of  rank,  witii  strong  passions,  and  in  the  un- 
controlled enjoyment  of  considerable  fortune,  add- 
ed to  that  imi)utience  of  strictness  or  coercion 
which  was  natural  to  him  as  an  author;  he  refused 


MEMOIR  01'  Sill  WALTER  SCOTT. 


to  plead  at  tlie  bar  of  criticism.  As  u  man,  he 
would  not  submit  to  be  morally  amenable  to  llie 
tribunal  of  public  opinion.  Remonstrances  from  a 
friend,  of  «  bose  intentions  and  kindness  he  was  se- 
cure, had  often  i;reat  weight  with  him;  but  tliere 
\v(!re  few  who  could  venture  on  a  task  so  difficult. 
l{ei)roi)f  lie  endured  with  impatience,  and  reproach 
hardened  Isiiu  in  his  error;  so  that  he  often  resem- 
bled the  g.dlant  war-sleed,  who  rushes  forward  on 
the  steel  that  wounds  him.  In  the  most  painful  cri- 
sis of  his  private  life,  he  evinced  this  irritability 
and  impatience  of  censure  in  such  a  degree,  as  al- 
most to  resemble  tUe  noble  victim  of  the  bull-fight, 
which  is  more  maddened  by  the  squibs,  darts,  and 
petty  annoyances  of  the  unworthy  crowds  beyond 
the  lists,  tiian  by  the  lance  of  his  nobler,  and  (so 
to  speak)  his  more  legitimate  antagonist.  In  a  word, 
much  of  that  in  which  he  erred  was  in  bravado  and 
scorn  of  his  censors,  and  was  done  witli  the  mo- 
tive of  Dryden's  despot,  '  to  show  his  arbitrary 
jiower.'  It  is  needless  to  say  that  his  was  a  false 
and  prejudicial  view  of  such  a  contest;  and  if  the 
noble  bard  gained  a  sort  of  triumph,  by  compel- 
ling tiie  worlil  to  read  poetry,  though  mixed  with 
baser  matter,  because  it  was  his,  he  gave  in  return 
an  unworthy  triumph  to  the  unworthy,  beside 
deep  sorrow  to  tliose  whose  applause,  in  his  cool- 
er moments,  lie  most  valued. 

"  It  was  the  same  with  his  politics,  which  on 
several  occasions  assumed  a  tone  menacing  and 
contemptuous  to  the  constitution  of  his  country; 
while,  in  fact,  he  was  in  his  own  heart  sufficiently 
sensible,  not  only  of  his  privileges  as  a  Briton,  but 
of  the  distinction  attending  his  high  birth  and  rank, 
and  was  peculiarly  sensitive  of  those  shades  wliich 
constitute  what  is  termed  the  marmers  of  a  gentle- 
man. Indeed,  notwithstanding  his  having  employ- 
ed epigrams,  and  all  the  petty  war  of  wit,  when 
such  would  have  been  much  better  abstained  from, 
he  would  have  been  found,  had  a  collision  taken 
place  between  the  different  parties  in  the  state, 
exerting  all  his  energies  in  defence  of  that  to  which 
he  naturally  belonged. 

"  We  are  not  Byron's  apologists,  for  now,  alas! 
he  needs  rione.    His  excellencies  will  now  be  uni- 
versally acknowledged,  and  his  faults  (let  us  hope 
and   believe)  not  remembered  in  his  epitaph.    It 
will  be  recollected  what  a  part  he  has  sustained 
in  Britisli  literature  since  the  first  appearance  of 
Childe   Harold,  a  space  of  nearly  sixteen  years. 
There  has  been  no  reposing  under  the  shade  of 
his  laurels,  no  living  upon  the  resource  of  past  re - 
putation;  none  of  those  petty  precautions  which  | 
little  authors  call  taking  care  of  their  fame.  Byron 
let  his  fame  take  care  of  itself.   His  foot  was  always 
in  the  arena,  his  shield  hung  always  in  the  lists; 
and  although  his  own  gigantic  renown  increased 
the  difficulty  of  the  struggle,  since  he  could  pro- 
duce nothing,  iiowever  great,  which  exceeded  the 
public  estimate  of  his  genius,  yet  he  advanced  to 
the  honourable  contest  again  and  again,  and  came 
always  off  with  distinction,  a!  most  always  with  com- 
plete triumph.   As  various  in  compositioii  as  Shak- 
speare   himself  (this  will  be  admitted  by  all  wlio 
are  acquainted  with  his  Don  Juan,)  he  has  em- 
braced every  topic  inhuman  life, and  sounded  every 
string  on  llie  divine  harp,  from  its   slightest  to  its 
most  powerful  and  heart-astounding  tones.   There 
is  scai'ce  a  passion  or  a  situation  whieii  has  escai)e(i 
his  pen;  and  lie  might  be  drawn,  like  Garrick,  be- 
tween the  weejiing  and  the  laughing  rouse,  although 
his  most  poMerfulefforls  liave  certainly  been  dedi- 


cated to  Melpomene.  His  genius  seemed  as  proli- 
fic as  various.  The  most  prodigal  use  did  not  ex- 
haust his  powers,  but  seemed  rather  to  increase 
their  vigour.  N<'itlier  (Childe  Harold,  nor  any  ol 
the  most  beautiful  of  bis  earlier  tales,  contain  more 
exquisite  morsels  of  poetry  than  are  to  be  found 
scattered  through  the  cantos  of  Don  Juan,  amidst 
verses  which  he  appears  to  have  throw  n  off  with 
an  effort  as  spontaneous  as  tiiat  of  a  tree  resigning 
its  leaves  to  the  wind.  But  that  noble  tree  will 
never  more  bear  fruit  or  blossom  !  It  has  been  cut 
down  in  its  strength,  and  the  past  is  all  that  re- 
mains to  us  of  Byron.  We  can  scarce  reconcile 
ourselves  to  the  idea — scarce  think  that  the  voice 
is  silent  forever,  which,  bursting  so  often  on  our 
ear,  was  often  heard  with  rapturous  admiration, 
sometimes  with  regret,  but  always  with  the  deep- 
est interest: 

All  that's  briglit  must  fade, 
'I'he  bi-ightest  still  the  Hietost. 
"  With  a  strong  feeling  of  awful  sorrow,  we  take 
leave  of  the  subject.  Death  creeps  u[)on  our  most 
serious  as  well  as  upon  our  most  idle  employments; 
and  it  is  a  reflection  solemn  and  gratifying,  that  he 
found  our  Byron  in  no  moment  of  levity,  but  con- 
tributing his  fortune,  and  liaznrding  his  life,  in  be- 
half of  a  people  only  endeared  to  him  by  tbeirf)ast 
glories,  and  as  fellow-creatures  suffering  up '!er  the 
yoke  of  a  heathen  oppressor.  To  have  faltjlj, inik 
crusade  for  freedom  and  humanityv,  as  h>T?Jlden^ 
times,  it  would  have  l;een  an  atonei)ient>tor  the<J\ 
blackest  crimes,  an<l  may  in  the  present  be  allgvV- 
ed  to  expiate  greater  follies  than  dven  exaggerated 
calumny  has  propagated  against  U^on."  -  "^ 
The  first  person  on  whom  his  majesty  George 
IV  conferred  a  baronetage,  was  sir  Wa'lt^'^cott; 
and  in  August,  1822,  wlicn  tlie  k^g  Jjopotu-ed 
Edinburgh  with  a  visit,  sir  Walter  iicttjd  as  cj-ou- 
pier,  or  vice-president,  at  a  dinner  given  bj' the 
lord  Provost  and  corporation,  to  the  roj^al  gue^. 

In  the  summer  of  1825,  sir  Walter  paid  a  visit  to  • 
Ireland,  where  he  was  most  hospitably  receKed  by 
the  sonsofthe  Shamrock.  During  his  stay  in,Dub- 
lin  he  frequently  visited   the  library  adjoinyig  rjt^,/f 
Patrick's  cathedral;  on  one  of  these  occasion*  the 
deputy  librarian,  who  happened  to  be  a  collegian,'  . 
having   got    into    conversation   with    the    [then)  '< 
"  Great  unknown,"  wished  to  take  him    \fl^'  sur 
prise,  and  thereby  prove  his  own  dexterity.   W'th^  , 
this  view  he  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  sir  Walter, «ilo  /i.u  J 
know  that  it  was  only  lately  I  have  had  ti(ne  to    at  "^ 
through  your  Redgauntlet."    "  Sir,"  replied  sir 
Walter,    "  I  never  met  with  such  a  book."  The 
librarian  stood  rebuked,  and  said  nothing. 

As  sir  Walter  and  a  friend  were  one  day- -slowly 
sauntering  along  the  High-street,  Edinburgh,  their 
ears  were  saluted  by  the  cries  of  an  Italian  vender 
of  images,  who,  in  broken  English,  was  extolling 
his  brittle  ware  to  excite  custom,  llie  chief  bur- 
then of  the  itinerant  merchant's  song,  however, 
was  the  bust  of  de  Grate  Unknoivn,  which  he  de- 
clared to  be  a  perfect  likeness.  He  now  offered 
his  wares  to  the  inspection  of  our  two  gentlemen, 
still  dwelling  upon  "  de  Grate  unknown,"  as  de 
"  most  pa.rfaite  likeness  of  de  wonderful  original 
himself."  The  friend  of  sir  Waller  desired  him 
to  look  at  the  features  of  the  latter,  when  the  poor 
fellow,  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy,  exclaimed,  "  'tis  he, 
'tis  de  grand  unknown!  1  make  my  most  profits 
by  him,  and  1  will  beg  him  to  take  von,  two,  tree 
images,  all  vat  he  like,  for  not  any  ting." 

1  he  following  lively  description  of  sir  Walter's 


\ 


/ 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


personal  appearance  was  written  by  a  gentleman 
vho  visited  Edinburgh  about  two  years  ago: — 

"  My  departure  from was  so  sudden,  that 

I  had  no  time  to  seek  letters  of  introduction;  and 
the  Scotch  are  not  naturally  fond  of  introductions 
•which  only  give  them  trouble;  but  I  had  resolved 
upon  seeing  sir  Walter  Scott  before  I  left  Edin- 
burgh, and,  had  Constable  been  open,  1  could  have 
been  at  no  loss,  but  his  door  was  unfortunately 
shut.    I  conU-ived,  however,  to  get  an  introduction 

to  Mr. ,  the  historical  painter,  with  whom  I 

knew  the  poet  was  acquainted,  and  with  whom  it 
appears  he  spends  many  an  hour,  but  I  was  just 
thirty  minutes  too  late !  Sir  Walter  had  been  tiiere, 
had  told  the  painter  some  anecdotes  which  lie  as- 
sured me  threw  him  into  convulsions,  and  that  he 
had  been  laughing  ever  since;  and  1  believed  him, 
for  he  was  liardly  out  of  a  convulsion  when  I  en- 
tered.   Disappointed — I  proceeded  to  the  parlia- 
ment-house (where  sir  Walter  sits  ns  chief  clerk 
to  the  lord  commissioners,)  and  as  soon  as  I  found 
out  my  way  into  court,  I  had  the  good  luck  to  find 
the  object  of  my  pursuit.   1  needed  no  monitor  to 
point  him  out — I  knew  him  instantly.   I  had  never 
seen  him  before  in  my  life;  but  I  had  read  some  of 
his  works,  and,  from  the  pictorial  and  ideal  togeth- 
er, r  had  formed  in  my  mind  his  face  exactly — and 
had  I  seen  him  hobbling  in  his  favourite  '  Prince's- 
-neet^'  t.^hould  have  known  him  to  be  sir  Walter 
)tt.   1  I'iushed  on  to  the  advocates'  bench  (a  place 
.c^V^d  exclusively  for  the  advocates,)  to  be  as 
neat  hiea'as  pos|ibfe-*there  I  had  no  right  to  be, 
.  certainly,  but,  much  to  the  credit  of  Scotch  man- 
*  pers,  they  saw  I  was  a  stranger — knew  no  better — 
[''and  they  suffered  me  to  remain.     On  first  behold- 
^  ing  sif  W.  Scott,  I  felt  a)l  the  veneration  which  is 
»■  due, t(^tfle  good  and  the' great.   1  confess  I  could 
[■;   haveloielt  down  and  worshipped  him,  tiiough  to 
I    maal  ne^tlr  b^ent  a  knee.k  I  shall  endeavour  to  de- 
■  scrroe  his  person — he  is  fell,  five  feet  tea  or  ele\en 
jnches^rather  stout  than  otherwise,  but  not  corpu- 
lent— appears  to  be  about  sixty — is  healthy,  but 
j|lanvcd,in  one  of  his  legs,  and  walks  with  difficulty. 
MiL^^^air-is  pure  white,  and,  falling  tiiinly  over  his 
ifutldy  forehead,  gives  him  a  venerable  aspect.  You 
might  fancy  him  the  '  Village  Preacher'  of  Oliver 
Goldsmitli,  and  his  costume  heightens  the  resem- 
k     A'ance.    His  complexion  is  ruddy.     His  head  is 
>    VmguN'-U^  formed;  uncommonly  high  from  the  eye- 
brow«V/)  the  crown,  and  tapers  upwards,  some- 
what '     the  conical  fiirra,  but  there  is  no  projec- 
Wpn  oi  i'  rehead,  the  bump  which  philosophers  lay 
samuch  stress  upon  as  being  a  sign  of  great  intel- 
lec*i    His  eyes  are  small,  and  1  think  dark-blue — 
you  can  seldom  catch  their  expression,  on  account 
of  the  great  projection  of  the  eye-brows;  but  when 
you  do,  the  look  is  divine;  they  express  a  mine  of 
intellect,  and   a  kind   heart.    1  wonder  many  who 
have  seen  him  say,  his  countenance  is  expressive 
of  'shrewd  cunning' — there  is  no  cunning  in  his 
looks — nothing    but   goodness    and    genius.     His 
jnanners  are  prepossessing,  and  he  is  very  acces- 
sible.   1  perceived,  wlienever  an  advocate  or  law- 
man came  to  speak  with  him,  he  took  him  kind- 
ly by  the  hand — and  then  looked  so  kindly.    The 
Scotch  venerate  him,   as   well  they  may: — '  suum 
magnum   ingenium  honorem   illis  facit. '    I  gazed 
on    this  extraordinary    man   mitil  his  image   was 
indelibly  engraven  on  my   organs  of  vision;  and, 
were  I  a  porirait  painter,  I  could  now  paint  his 
likeness   from   recollection.     Observing   I    was  a 
stranger,   placed  in  the  advocates'  seat,    and  no 


advocate,  and  appearing,  I  have  no  doubt,  very 
curious,  he  gazed  upon  me — we  looked  at  each 
other,  like  poor  Sterne  and  the  fair  glover,  for  some 
time — it  was  curiosity  in  me,  but  condescension  in 
him." 

It  is  not  generally  known  that  there  was  a  poet 
of  the  name  of  Walter  Scott,  before  the  present 
celebrated  bard.  He  lived  about  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  describes  himself  as 

An  old  souldier  and  no  scholler; 
And  one  that  can  write  none 
But  just  the  letters  of  his  name. 

On  the  death  of  his  grandfather,  sir  Robert  Scott, 
of  Thirlstone,  his  father,  having  no  means  to  bring 
up  his  children,  put  tliis  ^\";dler  to  attend  cattle  in 
the  field;  "  but,"  says  he,  "  I  gave  them  the  short 
cut  at  last,  and  left  the  kine  in  the  corn;  and  ever 
since  that  time,  I  liave  continued  a  souldier  abroad 
and  at  home."  He  left  a  poem  written  at  the  age 
of  seventy-three,  dedicated  to  two  gentlemen  of 
the  name  of  Scott,  which  he  thus  concludes: 

Begone  my  book,  stretch  forth  tliy  wings  and  f:y, 

Among^st  the  nobles  and  fjentility; 

Thou'it  not  to  sell  to  scavengers  and  clomis. 

But  given  to  worthy  persons  nf  renown. 

The  number's  few  I've  printed,  in  regard 

My  charges  have  been  great,  and  I  hope  reward; 

I  caused  not  to  print  many  above  twelve  score. 

And  the  printers  are  engaged  that  ihey  shall  print  no  more. 

Lately  at  a  private  dinner-party,  sir  Walter 
Scott,  Mr.  H.  Mackenzie,*  and  Mr.  Alisont  hap- 
pened to  be  present.  In  taking  their  seats,  saTis 
ceremonie,  the  baronet  found  himself  placed  be- 
tween these  two  illustrious  individuals.  The  re- 
lative position  of  these  three  celebrated  characters 
soon  attracted  the  attention  of  a  gentleman  present, 
who  exclaimed — 

Our  host  hath  his  guests  most  happily  placed; 
See  Genius  supported  by  Feeling  and  Taste. 

VVe  know  of  no  species  of  composition  so  de- 
lightful as  that  which  presents  us  with  personal 
anecdotes  of  eminent  men;  and  if  its  greatest  charm 
be  in  the  gratification  of  our  curiosity,  it  is  a  cu- 
riosity, at  least,  that  has  its  origin  in  enthusiasm. 
We  are  anxious  to  know  all  that  is  possible  to  be 
known  of  those  who  have  an  honoured  place  in  pub- 
lic opinion.  It  is  not  merely  that  every  cii-cumstance 
derives  a  value  from  the  person  to  whom  it  relates; 
but  an  apparently  in  significant  anecdote  often  throws 
an  entirely  new  light  on  the  history  of  the  most 
admired  works:  the  most  noble  actions,  intellectual 
discoveries,  or  brilliant  deeds,  though  they  shed 
a  broad  and  lasting  lustre  round  those  «  ho  have 
achieved  them,  occupy  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
life  of  an  individual;  and  we  are  not  unwilling  to 
penetrate  the  dazz'ing  glorv,  and  to  see  how  the 
remaining  intervals  are  filled  up — to  look  into  the 
minor  details,  to  detect  incidental  foibles,  and  to 
be  satisfied  what  qualities  they  have  in  common 
with  ourselves,  as  well  as  distinct  from  us,  entitled 
to  our  pity,  or  raised  above  our  imitation.  The 
heads  of  great  men,  in  short,  are  not  all  we  want 
to  get  a  sight  of;  we  wish  to  add  tlie  limbs,  the 
drapen ,  the  back-ground.  It  is  thus  that,  in  the 
intimacy  of  retirement,  we  enjoy  with  them  "  calm 
contemplation  and  \>oeUv.  ease."  We  see  the  care- 
less smile  play  upon  their  expressive  features;  we 
hear  the  dictates  of  unstudied  wisdom,  or  the  sal- 
lies of  sportive  wit  fall  without  disguise  from  their 

•  The  celebrated  author  of  the  "Manof  Feeling."" 
t  Author  of"  Essays  on  the  Xaturc  and  Priia-iples  of 
Taste." 


XXll 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


lips;  we  see,  in  fine,  how  poets,  and  philosophers, 
and  srholnrs,  live,  converse,  and  behave.  With 
these  sentiments,  our  readers  will  not  be  surprised 
at  our  introducinj;  here  the  following  literary  and 
miscellaneous  dialosrue,  translated  from  the  tour 
ot  an  eminent  foreigner. 

"Sin  \V.  Scott. — '  Well,  doctor,  how  did  you 
like  the  banks  of  the  Tweed  and  Melrose  Abbey?' 

Uh.  I'liHOT. — 'They  are  worthy  of  the  bard 
who  has  sung  them.  I,  besides,  paid  a  visit  to  Ab- 
botsford,  and  surveyed  with  interest  your  Gothic 
sculptures,  your  armoury,  and  pictures,  some  of 
which  are  speaking  representations.  I  shall  now 
re-peruse,  witii  double  pleasure,  the  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel,  and  your  other  works.' 

Sin  \VAi.TF,n  Scott. — '  Are  you  acquainted  with 
tlie  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border'' 

Dn.  PicuoT. — '  A  great  part  of  it;  but  more  es- 
pecially with  your  own  imitations  of  the  old  border 
ballads.    It  was,  1  believe,  your  first  publication?' 

Sill  WALTEn  Scott. — '  Not  exactly.  I  made 
my  lUbut  in  1799,  with  an  imitation  of  some  bal- 
lads of  Biirger,  and  atranslation  of  the  chivalresque 
drama  of  Gcethe,  Goetz  von  Berlichingen.  These 
essays  procured  me  the  acipiaintance  of  the  famous 
Lewis,  author  of  the  Monk,  and  surnamed  Monk 
Lewis.  He  was  a  very  agreeable  man,  whose  ima- 
gination was  particularly  fond  of  the  supernatural, 
and  of  popular  superstitions.  I  read  to  him  my 
Eve  of  St.  John  and  Glenfinlas;  and  he  requested 
my  permission  to  insert  these  two  poems  in  his 
Tales  of  Wonder. ' 

Dn.  PicHOT. — '  I  should  apprehend  that  the 
Monk  of  Lewis  is  a  little  out  of  fashion.' 

Sin  WALTEn  Scott. — '  It  is  a  work  written  with 
power.  It  produced  an  effect,  although  it  came 
after  the  romances  of  Mrs.  Radcliffe.  Like  the 
latter,  Lewis  chose  the  south  as  the  seat  of  his  ac- 
tion: in  a  southern  atmosphere,  passions  as  well  as 
vegetation  have  more  energy;  passion  is  wanted  in 
works  of  this  kind.  The  marvellous  alone  will 
not  suffice  for  so  sceptical  an  age  as  this.  I  should 
have  liked  Mrs.  Radcliffe  more,  if  she  had  been 
less  anxious  about  the  explanation  of  her  mysteries. 
Lewis  wrote  as  if  he  believed.' 

Dn.  Pichot. — '  Might  not  Mrs.  Radcliffe,  as  a 
woman,  be  in  dread  of  passing  for  superstitious?' 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  It  may  be  so.  Her  works, 
compared  with  the  common  novel,  are  what  melo- 
drames  are,  compared  with  tragedies  and  come- 
dies.  Terror  is  their  chief  spring  of  action.  But 
there  are  some  good  melo-drames,  Walpole  cre- 
ated the  melo-dramatic  romance;  but  Mrs.  Rad- 
cliffe surpassed  Walpole.  Lewis  and  Maturinhave 
alone  come  near  Mrs.  Radcliffe.  The  Montorio 
Family  is  a  very  astonishing  work.' 

Dr.  Pichot. — '  Was  your  Goetz  von  Berlich- 
ingen published  at  Edinburgh?' 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  No,  I  published  it  at 
London,  where  I  then  was.  It  is  from  the  same 
epoch  that  my  acquaintance  with  Messrs.  Canning 
and  Frere  commenced.' 

Dr.  Pichot. — '  You  have  contributed  to  transfer 
a  portion  of  the  English  bookselling  business  to 
Edinburgh.' 

Sin  WALTEn  Scott. — '  Authors  doubtless  make 
publishers;  but  Mr.  Archibald  Constable  has  done 
much  for  Scotch  authorship.' 

Dn.  Pkuot.—  ' Scotland  has  always  supplied 
great  men  to  the  literary  republic' 

Sin  Walter  Scott. — '  The  patriarch  of  our 
authors  is  Mr.  Henry  Mackenzie,  who  knew  Hume 


and  Robertson  intimately.  In  his  life  of  John 
Home,  he  has  charmingly  described  the  literary 
society  of  Kdintxirgh  during  the  second  half  of  the 
last  centur)-.  He  is  a  poet  and  romance-writer;  a 
poet  in  versification,  and  a  poet  also  in  his  prose 
fictions;  indeed,  it  is  difficult  for  a  good  romance- 
writer  not  to  be  so  in  some  degree.  He  is  an  inge- 
nious critic  in  his  periodical  essays  (the  Mirror  and 
Lounger,)  and  a  pathetic  author  in  his  novels. 
There  is  a  little  of  Sterne's  manner  in  his  Man  o( 
Feeling;  the  pathos  of  Julia  de  Roubigne  is  more 
natural  and  pure. ' 

Dr.  Pichot. — '  Scotland  continues  to  enrich 
English  literature  with  its  best  works.  Thomas 
Campbell  is  a  Scotchman.' 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  A  Scotchman  and  a 
great  poet.    Lord  Byron  is  also  a  little  Scotch.' 

Dn.  Pichot. — '  May  I  ask  you  on  what  terms 


you  are 


N 


Sir  Walter  Scott. — •!  received  a  letter  from 
him  yesterday.  We  are  in  correspondence,  and 
that  of  an  amicable  and  intimate  description.' 

Dr.  Pichot. — '  He  has  scoffed  a  little  at  Scot- 
land.' 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  The  Edinburgh  Re- 
view went  much  too  far.  Lord  Byron  is;serv>Jrri- 
table.'  '^< 

Dr.  Pichot, — '  I  saw  the  portrait  of  Mr.  Jeffrey 
at  Abbotsford.    I  presume  you  are  friendly.'  * 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  Yes;  he  Ts  one  of  our 
literary  notables,  and  a  distinguished  barrister.' 

Dr.  Pichot. — 'Have  you  also  appeared  at  the 
bar?' 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  Like  all'youiig  t^arrisr 
ters,  I  have  Y)leaded  on  criminal  trials.  "■ 

"  I  shall  here  add,  from  the  authority  of  Mr.    M 
Lockhart,  that  sir  W^altei'',  when  called  to  tfie  Jwr, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  gave  but'  few  testimonies 
of  his  talent.    He  once,  however,  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  speaking  before  t^e  Genei'al  Assembly,  "and 
the  question  having  suddfcnly  kindled  his  powers, 
he  expressed  himself  with  a  flood  of  eloquence.;.  >  • 
The  famous  Dr.  Blair  was  present,  and  said  aloud;,/ 
'  This  young  barrister  will  be  a  great  man.'-' 

"  I  resume  our  dialogue.  Dn.  Pichot. — '  Y'ou 
quitted  pleading  for  a  judicial  situation.' 

Sir  Walter  Scott. — '  1  was  not  appointed  clerk 
of  the  Court  of  Session  till  after  I  had  published 
Marmion.    I  was  already  sheriff  of  Selkirk^Mre.' 

"  Lady  Scott  entered  the  drawing-room,  and  laid 
a  box  on  the  table,  which  she  opened,  and  showed  ' 
to  Mr.  Crabbe,  and  then  to  me:  this  box  contained 
a  kind  of  cockade  or  St.  Andrew's  cross,  compose<l 
of  pearls  and  precious  stones  found  on  the  coast  of 
Scotland. 

Lady  Scott. — 'It  is  a  St.  Andrew's  cross,  which 
the  ladies  of  Scotland  have  commissioned  sir  Wal- 
ter to  present  to  his  majesty  before  he  alights.  It 
is  the  work  of  a  lady  of  high  rank  and  great  beau- 
ty.' 

"  I  naturally  admired  the  cross,  the  pearls,  and-., 
the  delicacy  of  the  workmanship.  Two  childrenj./' . 
now  entered;  one  the  youngest  son  of  sir  Walteiyj  < 
and  the  other,  I  believe,  a  brother  of  Mr.  Lock-  ■"-- 
hart;  'those  are  his  majesty's  two  pages,'  siiid 
lady  Scott  to  me;  and  she  explained  to  me  that  tliey 
would  be  pages  only  during  the  residence  of  the 
king  at  Edinburgh.  I  asked  sir  Walter  if  he  had 
not  another  son;  and  he  replied,  that  he  had  a  son 
twenty  years  of  age,  a  lieutenant  in  the  army."  .  .,' 

The  late  dreadful  crisis  in  the  commercial  world,        ''',■ 
which  began  with  the  bankers  and  ended  with  the        .'  J 


^rEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


^ 


booksellers,  caused  the  failure  of  the  house  of 
Constable  and  Co.  of  Edinburgh,  who  -were  not 
only  the  publishers  of  our  author's  works,  but 
with  whom  he  wa"s  associated  in  business,  as  a 
sleeping  partner.  This  disastrous  event  necessari- 
ly removed  the  thin  veil  which  had  hitherto  con- 
cealed the  "  Great  Unknown"  from  the  full  gaze 
of  an  admiring  public.  The  avowal  of  sir  Walter 
himself  was  made  at  the  Edinburgh  Theatrical 
Fund  Dinner,  the  details  of  which,  from  their  pe- 
culiar interest  in  relation  to  the  subject  of  this 
sketch,  we  are  bound  to  lay  fully  before  our  rea- 
ders. 

"  The  first  Annual  Dinner  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatrical  Fund  was  held  yesterday  (24th  Feb. 
1827,)  in  tlie  Assembly  rooms,  sir  Walter  Scott 
in  the  chair;  and  near  wiiom  sat  the  earl  of  Fife, 
lord  Meadowbank,  sir  John  Hope  of  Pinkie,  hart., 
admiral  Adam,  baron  Clerk  Rattray,  Gilbert  In- 
nes,  esq.,  James  Walker,  esq.,  Robert  Dundas, 
esq.,  Alexander  Smith,  esq.,  &.c. 

"  After  dinner  the  usual  toasts  were  given,  when 
the  ohairman,  in  an  appropriate  speech,  proposed 
the  memory  of  his  late  royal  highness  the  duke  of 
York. — Drank  in  solemn  silence. 

*  "The  chairman  (Sir  Walter  Scott)  then  re- 
quesiechthat  geatlenien  would  fill  a  bumper,  as  full 
as  it,would  hoWi|hvhile  he  would  say  only  a  few 
words.  He  was  ivhe  habit  of  hearing  speeches, 
an#  he  knew  the  feStig  with  which  long  ones  were 
regacded.  fte'  was  IHe  tl>at  it  was  perfecth'  unne- 
?essary  i^r  him»to  ^fter  into  any  vindication  of 
the  ^Iramatic  art,  -v^Kh  tliey  had  come  here  to 
support.  Thi%  howdSr,  he  considered  to  be  the 
proper  time  apd  proiHB  occasion  for  him  to  say  a 
few  w(Jft)«  on 'that  low  of  representation  which 
%\4ks  an  innate  feeling  iihuman  nature.  It  was  the 
first  ansiusj^ment  that  tl«  child  had — it  grew  great- 
er as  he  gfew  up;  and,  Iven  in  the  decline  of  life, 
no'ifejt:  amused  so  muci  as  when  a  common  tale 
is  wHl\old»  The  first  fliiug  a  child  does  is  to  ape 
hi?  =eiioolmaster,  by  fledging  a  cliair.  It  was  an 
ij  irnient  natural  to  humanity.  It  was  implanted 
in  oHB  ver}-  nature,  to  lake  pleasure  from  such  re- 
presenHki^ns,  at  propel'  times,  and  on  proper  occa- 
sions.   In  all-ages  the,  theatrical  art  had  kept  pace 

»with  the  im|irovement  of  mankind,  and  with  the 
progress  of  letters  and  tiie  fine  arts.  As  he  has  ad 


men  by  whom  they  were  passed,  and  to  the  legis- 
lators by  whom  they  were  adopted.  What  were 
the  times  in  which  {hese  laws  were  passed?  Was 
it  not  when  virtue  was  seldom  inculcated  as  a  mo- 
ral duty,  tliat  we  were  required  to  relinquish  the 
most  rational  of  all  our  amusements,  when  the 
clergy  were  enjoined  celibacy,  and  when  the  laity 
were  denied  the  right  to  read  their  bibles.  He 
thouglit  that  it  must  have  been  from  a  notion  of 
penance  that  they  erected  tlie  drama  into  an  ideal 
place  of  profaneness,  and  the  tent  of  sin.  He  did  not 
mean  to  dispute  that  there  were  many  excellent 
persons  who  thought  differently  from'  him,  and 
they  were  entitled"  to  assume  tliat  tiiey  were  not 
guilty  of  any  hypocrisy  in  doing  so.  He  gave  them 
full  credit  for  their  tender  consciences,  in  making 
these  objections,  which  did  not  appear  to  him  re- 
levant to  those  persons,  if  they  were  what  they 
usurp  themselves  to  be;  and  if  they  were  persons 
of  worth  and  piety,  he  should  crave  the  liberty  to 
tell  them,  that  the  first  part  of  tiieir  tkity  was  cha- 
rity, and  that  if  they  did  not  choose  to  go  to  the 
theatre,  they  at  least  could  not  deny  that  they 
might  give  away,  from  their  supei-flnity,  what  was 
required  for  the  relief  of  the  sick,  tlie'  support  of 
the  aged,  and  the  comfort  of  the  afflicted.  These 
were  duties  enjoined  by  our  religion  itself.  (Loud 
cheers.)  The  performers  are  in  a  particular  man- 
ner entitled  to  the  support  or  regard,  when  in  old 
age  or  distress,  of  those  who  had  partaken  of  the 
amusements  of  those  places  which  they  render  an 
ornament  to  societv".  Their  ail  was  of  a  peculiar- 
ly delicate  and  precarious  nature.  They  had  to 
Serve  a  long  apprenticeship.  It  was  very  long  be- 
fore even  the  first-rate  geniuses  cnuld  acquiie  the 
mechanical  knowledge  of  the  stage  business.  They 
must  languish  long  in  obscurity  before  they  can 
avail  themselves  of  their  natural  talents;  and'after 
that,  they  have  but  a  shoit  space  of  lime,  during 
which  they  are  fortunate  if  they  can  provide  the 
means  of  comfort  in  the  decline  of  life.  That  comes 
late,  and  lasts  but  a  short  time,  after  which  they 
are  left  dependent.  Their  limbs  fail,  their  teeth 
are  loosened,  their  voice  is  lost,  and  they  are  left, 
after  giving  happiness  to  others,  in  a  most  discon- 
solate state.  The  public  were  liberal  and  generous 
to  those  deserving  tiieir  protection.  It  was  a  sad 
thing  to  be  dependent  on  the  favour,  or,  he  might 


v-  ced  from  tite  rudQ"  stages  of  society,  the  love  of  |  say,  in  plain  terms,  on  the  caprice  of  the  public; 

dramafic  representlftioiis  has  increased,   and  all  I  and  this  more  particularly  for  a  class  of  persons 

of  whom  extreme  prudence  is  not  the  character. 
There  might  be  instances  of  opportunities  being 
neglected;  but  let  them  tax  themselves,  and  con- 
sider tlie  opportunities  they  lir.d  neglected,  and 
the  sums  of  money  they  had  wasted;  let  every  gen- 
tleman look  into  his  own  bosom,  and  say  whether 
these  were  circumstances  which  would  soften  his 
own  feelings,  where  he  to  be  plunged  into  distress. 
He  put  it  to  every  generous  bosom — to  every  better 
feeling — to  say  what  consolation  was  it  to  old  age 
to  be  told  that  you  might  have  made  provision  at 
a  time  which  had  been  neglected — (loud  cheers) 
— and  to  find  it  objected,  that  if  you  had  pleased 
you  miglit  have  been  wealthy.  He  had  hitherto 
been  speaking  of  wliat,  in  theatrical  language, 
were  called  stars,  but  they  were  sometimes  fallen 
ones.  There  was  another  class  of  sufieiers  natu- 
rally and  necessarily  connected  witii  the  theatre, 
without  whom  it  was  impossible  to  go  on.  The 
sailors  have  a  saying,  every  man  cannot  be  a  boat- 
swain.   If  tliere  must  be  persons  to  act  Hamlet, 


>rorks  of  this  nature  have  been  improved,  in  clia^ 
racter  and  in  Atruetuie.  They  liad  only  to  turn 
their  eyes  tt?  the  history  of  ancient  Greece,  al- 
though he  diu  lint  pretend  to  be  very  deeply 
versed  in  ancient  history.  Its  first  tragic  poet 
commanded  a  body  of  troops  at  .Marathon.  The 
second  and  next  were  men  who  shook  Athens 
with  their  discourses,  as  their  theatrical  works 
shook  the  theatre  itself.  If  they  turned  to  France, 
in  the  time  of  Lewis  the  fourteenth,  that  era  in  the 
classical  history  of  that  country,  lliey  would  find 
tliat  it  was  referred  to  by  all  Frenchmen  as  tin; 
golden  age  of  the  drama  there.  And  also  in  En- 
gland, in  the  time  of  queen  Elizabeth,  the  drama 
began  to  mingle  deeply  and  wisely  in  the  general 
pofilics  of  Europe,  not  only  not  receiving  laws 
from  otiiers,  but  giving  laws  to  tiie  world,  and  vin- 
dicating the  riglils  of  mankind.  (Cheers.)  There 
have  been  various  times  when  the  dramatic  an 
subse([ucntly  fell  into  disrepute.  Its  professors  have 
been  stigmatised,  and  laws  have  been  passed  against 


them,  less  dishonourable  to  them  than  to  the  states- 1  there  must  also  be  people  to  act  Laertes  the  King 


MEMOIU  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


Rosencraiitz,  and  Guildenstern,  otherwise  a  drama 
cannot  go  on.  If  even  Garrick  himself  were  to  rise 
from  the  dead,  he  eoidd  not  act  Hamlet  alone. 
There  must  be  (generals,  colonels,  commanding-of- 
ficers, and  subalterns;  but  what  are  the  private  sol- 
diers to  do'  Many  liave  mistaken  their  own  talents, 
and  have  been  driven  in  early  youth  to  try  the  stage, 
to  wliich  they  are  nrt  coni])etent.  He  would  know 
what  to  sav  to  the  poet  and  the  artist.  He  woidd 
say  that  it  was  fciolish,  and  lie  would  recommend 
to  the  poet  to  biionie  a  scribe,  and  the  artist  to 
paint  sign-posts — (loud  laughtei.) — Hut  he  could 
not  send  tlie  player  adrift,  for  if  he  cannot  play 
Hatnlet,  he  must  i)lay  Guildenstern.  Where  there 
are  many  labourers  wtges  must  he  low,  and  no 
man  in  such  a  situation  can  decently  support  a  wife 
and  family,  and  save  something  oft"  his  income  for 
old  age.  VVhat  is  this  man  to  do  in  latter  life? 
Are  yon  to  cast  him  oft'  like  an  old  hinge,  or  a 
|)iece  of  useless  machinery,  wliich  has  done  its  work? 
To  a  person  w  bo  has  contributed  to  our  amuse- 
ment, this  would  be  luikiiid,  ungrateful,  and  un- 
cbristian.  His  wants  are  not  of  bis  own  making, 
but  arise  from  the  natural  sources  of  sickness  and 
old  age.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  one  class 
of  sufferers  to  whom  no  imprudence  can  he  ascrib- 
ed, except  on  first  entering  on  the  profession.  Af- 
ter putting  bis  band  to  the  dramatic  plough,  lie 
cannot  draw  back,  but  must  continue  at  it,  and 
toil  till  death  release  him,  or  charity,  by  its  milder 
assistance,  steps  in  to  render  that  want  more  tolera- 
ble. He  had  little  more  to  s:iy,  except  that  lie  sin- 
cerely hoped  that  the  collection  to-day,  from  the 
number  of  respeclaide  gentlemen  present,  would 
meet  the  views  entertained  by  the  patrons.  He 
hoped  it  would  do  so.  They  should  not  be  dis- 
heartened. Though  they  could  not  do  a  great  deal, 
they  might  do  something.  The}'  had  this  consola- 
tion, that  every  thing  they  parted  with  from  their 
superfluity  would  do  some  good.  They  would  sleep 
the  better  themselves  when  they  have  been  the 
means  of  giving  sleep  to  others.  It  was  ungrateful 
and  unkind,  that  those  who  had  sacrificed  their 
yiiuth  to  our  amusement  should  not  recive  the  re- 
ward due  to  them,  but  should  be  reduced  to  hard 
fare  in  their  old  age.  We  cannot  think  of  poor 
Falstaff"  going  to  bed  without  his  cup  of  sack,  or 
Macbeth  fed  on  bones  as  marrowless  as  those  of 
Banqiio — (loud  cheers  and  laughter.)  As  he  be- 
lieved that  they  were  all  as  fond  of  the  dramatic 
art  as  he  was  in  his  younger  days,  he  would  pro- 
pose that  they  should  drink'  The  Theatrical  Fund,' 
with  thee  times  three. 

"  Mr.  Mackay  rose  on  behalf  of  his  brethren, 
to  return  their  thanks  for  the  toast  just  drimk. 
After  ably  advocating  the  cause  of  the  Fund,  he 
concluded  by  tendering  to  the  meeting,  in  the  name 
of  bis  brethren  and  sisters,  their  unfeigned  thanks 
for  their  liberal  support,  and  begged  to  propose 
the  health  of  the  I'atrons  of  the  Edirdiurgh  Theat- 
rical Fund.    (Cheers.) 

"  Lord  Mkaiiowbank  begged  to  propose  a 
he;dth,  which,  in  an  assembly  of  Scotsmen,  would 
be  received,  not  w  ith  an  ordinary  feeling  of  delight, 
but  vvitli  rapture  and  enlliusiasm. — He  knew  that 
it  woulil  be  painlul  to  bis  feelings  if  he  were  to 
speak  to  him  in  the  terms  which  his  heart  prompt- 
ed; and  that  he  had  sheltered  himself  under  his 
native  modesty  from  the  applause  which  he  de- 
served. But  it  was  gratifying  at  last  to  know  that 
these  clouds  were  now  dispelled,  and  that  the 
Great  Unknown — the  mighty  magician — (here  the 


room  literally  rung  with  applauses,  which  were 
continued  for  some  minutes) — the  minstrel  of  our 
country,  w  ho  had  conjured  up,  not  the  phantoms 
of  departed  ages,  but  realities,  now  stands  revealed 
before  the  eyes  and  affections  of  his  country.  In 
his  presence  it  would  ill  become  him,  as  it  would 
be  displeasing  to  that  distinguished  person,  to  say, 
if  he  were  able,  what  every  man  must  feel,  who 
recollects  the  enjoyment  he  has  had  from  the  great 
efforts  of  his  mind  and  genius.  It  has  been  left  for 
him,  by  his  writings,  to  give  his  country  an  imper- 
ishable name.  He  had  done  more  for  his  country, 
by  illuminating  its  annals,  by  illustrating  the  deeds 
of  its  warriors  and  statesmen,  than  any  man  that 
ever  existed,  or  was  produced,  within  its  territory. 
He  has  opened  up  the  peculiar  beauties  of  this 
countr}'  to  the  eyes  of  foreigners.  He  has  exhibited 
the  deeds  of  those  patriots  and  statesmen  to  whom 
we  owe  the  freedom  we  now  enjoy.  He  would  give 
the  health  of  sir  Walter  Scott,  which  was  drunk 
with  enthusiastic  cheering. 

"  Sir  Walter  Scott  certainly  did  not  think 
that,  in  coming  here  to-day,  he  would  hav4  the 
task  of  acknowledging,  before  three  hundred  gen- 
tlemen, a  secret  which,  considering  that  it  was 
communicated  to  more  than  twenty  people,  was 
remarkably  well  kept.  He  was  nam  beforQ^he  bar 
of  bis  countrj-,  and  might  be  unt^^tQod  to  be  on 
trial  before  lord  Meadowbank  sfs  an  offen.ler;  yet 
he  was  sure  that  every  imparUat  jury  would  b  ng  • 
in  a  verdict  of  Not  Proven.  Jpte^l'/d  fif^^tnow  U|  nk 
it  necessar)'  to  enter  into  thWreaigons  of  lfis'™.^ng 
silence.  Perhaps  he  miglifihave  acted  from  ca- 
price. He  had  now  to  say,  ttwevei;,  that  the  Vnc- 
rits  of  these  works,  if  they  had  any,  i'.atTlheiiiiults, 
were  entirely  imputable  to  himself.  (L.o' 
loud  cheering.)  He  was  afraid  lo  think  on 
had  done.  '  Look  on't  agian  I  darfe  not.'  ii^ 
thus  far  unbosomed  himstJf,  and  he  knew  that 'it 
would  be  reported  to  the  fublic.  He  meant,  i^k  en 
he  said  that  he  was  the  author,  that  he  w-astfit  .0- 
tal  and  undivided  author.  (With  the  exception|of 
quotations,  there  Avas  not  a  single  word  that  w^s  ', 
not  derived  from  himself,  onsuggested  in  the  courSe' 
of  his  reading.  The  wandl  was  now  brdtoen,  and 
the  rod  buried.  You  will  allow  me  further  to  say,- 
with  Prospero,  'Tis  your  breath  that  has  filled  my^ 
sails;  and  to  crave  one  single  !toast  in  the.cai^city' 
of  the  author  of  these  novels/and  he  would  d^-' 
cate  a  bumper  to  the  health  otene  whahasre^/re- 
sented  some  of  those  charactersJinof  which  \')e  J|jad 
endeavoured  to  give  the  skeleton,  with  a  degi-Se  of 
liveliness  which  rendered  him  grateful.  He  would 
propose  the  health  of  his  friend  Baillie  Nicol  Jat'- 
vie — (loud  applause,) — and  he  was  sure,  that  when 
the  author  of  Waverley  and  Rob  Roy  drinks  to 
Nicol  Jarvie,  it  would  be  received  with  that  de- 
gree of  applause  to  which  that  gentleman  has  al- 
wa}  s  been  accustomed,  and  that  they  would  take 
care  that,  on  the  present  occasion,  it  sliould  be 
PHoniRiou-; !    (Long  and  vehement  applause.) 

"  Mr.  Mackat,  who  spoke  with  great  humour 
in  the  character  of  Baillie  Jarvie. — My  conscience ! 
My  worthy  father  the  deacon  could  not  have  be- 
lieved that  his  son  could  hae  had  sic  a  compliment 
paid  to  him  by  the  Great  Unknown. 

■  Sir  Walter  Scott. — Not  unknown  now,  Mr. 
Baillie. 

"  Mr.  Mackay. — He  had  been  long  indentified 
with  the  Baillie,  and  he  was  now  vain  of  the  cog- 
nomen which  he  had  worn  for  eight  years,  and  he 
questioned  if  any  of  his   brethren  in  the  council 


/ 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


had  given  such  universal  satisfaction.  (Loud  laugli- 
ter  and  applause.)  Before  he  sat  down  he  begged 
to  i)ropose,  '  the  lord  Frovostand  the  city  of  Edin- 
hurgh.' 

"  Mr.  Pat.  Robeutsois-  gave  '  Mrs.  Henry  Sid- 
dons,  and  success  to  the  Theatre-Royal  of  Edin- 
burgh.' 

"  Mr.  MuREAT  returned  thanks  for  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons. 

"  Sir  Walter  Scott  here  stated,  that  Mrs. 
Siddons  wanted  the  means,  but  not  the  will,  of  be- 
ginning the  Theatrical  Fund.  He  here  alluded  to 
the  great  ability  of  Mr.  Murray's  management, 
and  of  his  merits,  which  were  of  the  first  order, 
and  of  which  every  person  wlio  attends  the  thea- 
tre must  be  sensible;  and,  after  alluding  to  the  em- 
barrassments witli  which  the  Theatre  was  threat- 
ened, he  concluded  by  giving  the  health  of  Mr. 
Murraj-,  which  was  drank  with  three  times  three. 

"  Mr.  MuRiiAT— Gentlemen,  I  wish  I  could  be- 
lieve that,  in  any  degree,  1  merited  the  compli- 
ment^ willi  which  it  has  pleased  sir  Walter  Scott 
to  pre%ce  the  proposal  of  my  health,  or  the  very 
flattering  manner  in  which  you  have  done  me  the 
honour  to  receive  it.  When,  upon  the  death  of 
ra)'  dear  brother,  the  late  Mr.  Siddons,  it  was  pro 
posed  that  I4^uld  undertake  tlie  management  of 
the  F.dinbur^W^lieatre,  1  confess  I  drew  back, 
doubting  my  capSt^ility  to  free  it  from  the  load  of 
debt  and  difficulty  .%ith  which  it  was  surrounded. 
In  tnis%ate  of  anxien  I  solicited  the  advice  of  one 
who  had  eve'"  Iionoured  me  with  his  kindest  re- 
garcf,  and  whose  name  no  member  of  my  profes- 
sion can  pronounce  without  feelings  of  the  deepest 
«respe<5t  and  gratitude^I  allude  to  the  late  Mr. 
Johnivemble.  (Grea  applause. )  To  him  1  ap- 
plied; and  with  the  re|etition  of  his  advice  I  siiall 
cpase. to- transgress  upon  your  time.  (Hear,  hear.) 
'  My  dear  VVilliam,  fear  not;  integrity  and  assi- 
duity must  prove  an  overmatch  for  all  difficulty, 
nnd  tliough  I  approve  your  not  indulging  a  vain 
onfidence  in  your  own? ability,  and  viewing  with 
j'cspectful  apprehensidn  tlie  judgment  of  the  au- 
tlience'^DU  liave  to  actjbefore,  yet  be  assured  that 
.  judgfnent  will  ever  bfe  tempered  by  feeling  tliat 
you  are  acting  for  the\vidow  and  fatherless. '  (Loud 
applaiise. ) 
"  My.  J.^Maconochie  gave  '  the  health  of  Mrs. 

S'     Siddons. 'jf,  -^ 

•■'  't-Sir  W^  Scott  said,  that  if  any  thing  could  re- 
boncile  hiA  to  old  age,  it  was  the  reflection  that 
he  had  s^n  the  rising  as  well  as  the  setting  sun 
ot  Mrs.  Siddons.  He  remembered  well  their  break- 
fasting near  to  the  theatre — waiting  the  whole  day 
— the  crushing  at  the  doors  at  six  o'clock — and 
their  going  in  and  counting  their  fingers  till  seven 
o'clock.  But  the  very  first  step,  tiie  very  first  word 
which  she  uttered,  was  sufficient  to  overpay  him 
for  all  his  labow-s.  The  house  was  literally  elec- 
trified; and  it  \ias  only  from  witnessing  the  effects 
of  her  genius,  that  he  could  guess  to  what  a  pitch 
theatrical  excellence  could  be  carried.  Those 
young  fellows  who  have  only  seen  the  setting  sun 
of  this  distinguished  performer,  be.wtiful  and  se- 
rene as  that  was,  must  give  us  old  fellows,  who 
have  seen  its  rise,  leave  to  liold  our  heads  a  little 
higher. 

"  Mr.  Mackat  announced  that  tlie  subscription 
for  the  night  amounted  to  280/.;  and  he  expressed 
gratitude  for  this  substantial  proof  of  their  kind- 
ness. 


"  Mr.  Mackat  here  entertained  the  company 
with  a  pathetic  song. 

"  Sir  W.  Scott  apologized  for  having  so  long 
forgotten  their  native  land.  He  would  now  give 
Scotland,  tlie  land  of  cakes.  He  would  give  every 
river,  every  loch,  every  hill,  from  Tweed  to  John- 
nie Groat's  house — every  lass  in  her  cottage  nnd 
countess  in  her  castle;  and  rnay  her  sons  stand  bv 
her,  as  their  fatliers  did  before  them,  and  he  who 
would  not  drink  a  bumper  to  Ids  toast,  may  he 
never  drink  whiskey  more. 

"  Sir  W.  Scott — Gentlemen,  I  crave  a  bumper 
all  over.  The  last  toast  reminds  me  of  a  neglect 
of  duty.  Unaccustomed  to  a  public  dutj-  of  this 
kind,  errors  in  conducting  the  ceremonial  of  it 
may  be  excused,  and  omissions  pardoned.  Per- 
haps I  have  made  one  or  two  omissions  in  tlie 
course  of  the  evening,  for  which  I  trust  you  will 
grant  me  your  pardon  and  indulgence.  One  thing 
in  particular  I  have  omitted,  and  1  would  now  wish 
to  make  amends  for  it  by  a  libation  of  reverence 
and  respect  to  the  memory  of  Shakspeare.  He  was 
a  man  of  universal  genius,  and  from  a  period  soon 
after  his  own  era  to  the  present  day  lie  has  been 
universally  idolized.  When  I  come  to  his  honoured 
name,  I  am  like  tlie  sick  man  who  hung  up  his 
crutches  at  the  shrine,  and  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  he  did  not  walk  better  than  before.  It  is  in- 
deed difficult,  gentlemen,  to  compare  liim  to  any 
other  individual.  The  only  one  to  wliom  I  can  at 
all  compare  him  is  the  wonderful  Arabian  dervise, 
who  dived  into  the  body  of  each,  and  in  that  way 
became  familiar  with  the  tlioughts  and  secrets  of 
their  hearts.  He  was  a  man  of  obscure  origin,  and 
as  a  player,  limited  in  liis  acquirements.  But  he 
was  born  evidently  with  a  universal  genius.  His 
eyes  glanced  at  all  the  varied  aspects  of  life,  and 
his  fancy  portrayed  with  equal  talents  the  king  on 
the  throne,  and  the  clown  who  cracks  his  chest- 
nuts at  a  Christmas  fire.  Whatever  note  be  takes, 
he  strikes  it  just  and  true,  and  awakens  a  corre- 
sponding cliord  in  our  own  bosoms.  Gentlemen,  I 
propose  '  the  memory  of  William  Shakspeare.' 
"Glee,  'Lightly  tread,  'tis  hallow'd  ground.' 
"  After  the  glee,  sir  Walter  rose,  and  begged  to 
propose  as  a  toast  the  health  of  a  lady,  whose  living 
merits  are  not  a  little  lionourable  to  Scotland.  The 
toast  (said  he)  is  also  flattering  to  the  national 
vanity  of  a  Scotchman,  as  the  lady  whom  I  intend 
to  propose  is  a  native  of  this  cnuntr)-.  From  the 
public  her  works  have  met  with,  the  most  favour- 
able reception.  One  piece  of  hers,  in  particular, 
was  often  acted  here  of  late  years,  and  gave  plea- 
sure of  no  mean  kind  to  many  brilliant  and  fasliion- 
able  audiences.  In  her  private  character,  she  (he 
begged  leave  to  say)  is  as  remarkable  as  in  a  public 
sense  she  is  for  her  genius.  In  short,  he  would  in 
one  word  name — 'Joanna  Baillie.' 

"  W.  Mexzies,  esq.,  advocate,  was  sure  that  all 
present  would  cordially  join  him  in  drinking  '  the 
health  of  Mr.  Terry.' 

"  Sir  W.  Scott — '  Mr.  Baron  Clerk — the  court 
of  exchequer. ' 

"  Mr.  IBaron  Clerk  regretted  the  absence  of  his 
learned  brother.  None,  he  was  sure,  could  be 
more  generous  in  his  nature,  or  ready  to  help  a 
Scottish  purpose. 

"  Sir  W.  Scott — There  is  one  who  ought  to  be 
remembered  on  this  occasion.  He  is  indeed  well 
entitled  to  our  great  recollection — one,  in  short, 
to  whom  tlie  drama  in  this  city  owes  much.  He 
succeeded,   not  without  trouble,  and  perhaps  at 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


some  considerable  sacrifice,  in  establishing  a  the- 
atre. The  yolititct'r  part  of  the  company  may  not 
recollect  the  theatre  to  whicli  I  allude;  but  there 
are  some  who  with  me  may  remember  by  name 
the  theatre  in  Carrubber's  Close.  There  Allan 
Ramsay  established  his  little  theatre.  His  own 
pastoral  w;is  not  fit  for  the  stage,  but  it  has  its  own 
achniri  rs  in  those  wlio  love  the  Doric  language  in 
which  it  is  written;  and  it  is  not  without  merits  of 
a  very  peculiar  kind.  But,  laying  aside  all  con- 
siderations of  liis  literary  merit,  Allan  was  a  good 
jovial  honest  fellow,  who  could  crack  a  bottle  with 
the  best.   'Tiie  memory  of  Allan  Ramsay.' 

"  Mr.  P.  RonEnTsox — I  feel  that  1  am  about  to 
tread  on  ticklish  ground.  The  talk  is  of  a  new 
theatre,  but  wlierever  the  new  tiieatre  may  be 
erected,  I  trust  we  shall  meet  tiie  old  company. 

"  Sir  Waltf.h  Scott — Wherever  tiie  new  thea- 
tre is  built,  I  iiope  it  will  not  be  large.  There  are 
two  errors  wliicii  we  commonly  commit — tlie  one 
arising  from  our  pride,  the  other  from  our  poverty. 
If  there  are  twelve  plans,  it  is  odds  but  tlie  largest, 
■without  any  regard  to  comfort,  or  an  eye  to  tiie 
probable  expense,  i^  adopted.  There  was  the  col- 
lege projected  on  tliis  scale,  and  undertaken  in 
the  same  manner,  and  who  shall  see  tlie  end  of  it' 
It  has  been  building  all  my  life,  and  may  probalily 
last  (Uu-ing  the  lives  of  my  children,  and  my  chil- 
dren's cliildren.  Let  it  not  be  said,  «  ben  we  com- 
mence a  new  tiieatre,  as  was  said  on  tlie  occasion 
of  laying  the  foundation  stone  of  a  certain  building, 
'  beiiold  the  endless  work  begun. '  Play-going  folks 
should  attend  somewhat  to  convenience.  The  hcw 
theatre  siiould.  in  the  first  place,  be  such  as  may 
he  finislied  in  eighteen  months  or  two  years;  and, 
in  the  second  place,  it  should  be  one  in  which  we 
can  hear  our  old  friends  with  comfort.  It  is  better 
that  a  theati'e  should  be  crowded  now  and  then, 
than  to  have  a  large  theatre,  with  benches  con- 
tinually empty,  to  the  discouragement  of  the  actors, 
and  the  discomfort  of  the  spectators.  (Applause.) 
"  Immediately  afterwards  he  said,  Gentlemen, 
it  is  now  wearing  late,  and  I  shall  request  permis- 
sion to  retire.  T.ike  Partridge,  I  may  say,  '  iio?i 
sum  quail's  eram.'  At  my  time  of  day,  I  can  agree 
with  lord  Ogleby  as  to  the  rheumatism,  and  say, 
'  There's  a  twinge.'  I  hope,  therefore,  you  will 
excuse  me  for  leaving  the  chviir.  (The  worthy 
baronet  then  retired,  amid  long,  loud,  and  raptu- 
rous cheering.") 

"  VVlien  sir  VValtcr  had  thus  declared,  i  propos 
to  nothing,  that  he  was  the  man  who  liad  so  long 
concealed  his  features  under  the  mask  of  the  au- 
thor of  Waverley,  all  the  world  stared,  not  so 
much  at  tlie  unexpectedness  of  the  disclosure,  for 
it  was  virtually  well-known  before,  but  that  the 
declaration  should  be  made  at  that  particular  mo- 
ment, when  lliere  appeax'ed  no  reason  for  i-evealing 
the  quasi  secret.  A  document  which  we  have  1  ,tely 
seen,  however,  explains  the  circumstance,  and  puts 
to  Might  many  sage  conjectures.  The  unfortunate 
position  of  the  atfairs  of  Constable  and  Co.,  and 
of  Ballaiityne  and  Co.,  with  the  latti-r  of  which 
firms  sir  Walter  Scott  was  connected,  has  rendere<l 
it  necessary  that  their  accounts  should  not  only  be 
looked  into,  but  exposed  to  the  creditors.  The 
transatiiiins  recorded  there  show  explicitly  enough 
who  was  the  author  of  Waverley ;--we  not  only 
find  sir  Waller  Scott  receives  payment  for  these 
works,  but  we  fiiul  him  stipulating  for  the  purchase- 
money  of  works  tiieu  uiicoiiceived,  and  of  yielding 
up  eveiy  slivi^r^  or  its  woi  lli,  "iiicji  In-  could  com- 


mand, but  actually  ])ledging  future  labours  akin  to 
former  ones,  for  the  liquidation  of  his  debts.  These, 
and  a  variety  of  other  particulars  are  to  be  fouYid 
in  the  excerpts  of  the  sederunt  book  of  the  meet- 
ings of  Messrs.  JJallantyne's  creditors,  a  copy  of 
which  has  lately  been  in  ])rivate  circulation.  Hence 
the  sudden,  and,  it  must  be  added,  rather  awkward 
avowal  of  the  authorship  on  the  part  of  sir  Walter. 
As  he  was  well  aware  that  the  circumstances  would 
soon  make  their  way  through  the  press,  he  deter- 
mined to  catch  at  some  little  eclat,  while  yet  there 
was  time— some  little  credit  for  disclosing  that 
himself,  whicii  all  the  world  were  soon  to  learn 
from  others. 

"These  are  items  from  the  accounts. 

'Value  of  sir  Walter  Scott's  literary  property. 

'  I.  Copyright  of  published  works,  estimated  at 
the  rate  obtained  from  Constable  and  Co.  for  simi- 
lar works.* 

St.  Ronan's  Well     ....     1,300/. 

Redgauntlet 1,300 

Crusaders 2,000 


4,600/. 


'  2.  Eventual  rights  to  works  sold  to  Constable 
and  Co.  for  which  bonds  to  the  extent  of  7,800/. 
are  granted,  but  for  reasons  above.'ietated,  no  value 
can  be  rated  in  this  state.f 

'  .3.  Works  in  progress. |:  As  non  >f  these  are 
completed,  no  value  put  on  them  at  jvesent  beyond 
what  is  before  stated  as  du^*to  Ballantyne  a*fd  Co. 
for  printing  works  in  process,  au'v  in  the  value 
of  Messrs.  Constable  and  Go. 's  paper*in  hsisil;  b«t 
ultimately  will  be  very  v:Juable.  See,  Appendix 
as  to  these  works.  i    . 

'  In  the  debtor  and  creAcit  account  of  Consta- 
ble and  Co.  with  Ballantyne  ni  '  Go.,  the  following 
item  occurs  on  the  crulii  ?■'  — Sums  adv-anced 
by  Constable  and  Co.  to  sir  d.ter  Sco^t,  being 
their  two-third  shares  of  sums  .tipulated  «lo  be  A 
paid  in  advance  for  two  wprks  of  fiction  not  named, 
and  not  yet  written,  as  pep  missives,  dated  "th  and 
20th  March,  1823.  \  j. 

"These  works  being  iindelivered,  it'Ts'toonsi- 
dered  the  author  has  an  undoubted  right  tO'Vetain 
them,§  and  impute  the  sums  paid  to  uocounfin 
the  general  balance  owing  to  Constable  and  Co?'' 
"In  Appendix,  No.  11,  being  estimates  of  funds 
that  may  accrue  to  Ballantyne  and  Co.  within 
year,  occur  several  curious  particulars  relative  ' 
Woodstock  and  the  Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte. 
Produce  of  J\'exu  Works  by  sir    Walilisr  Scott  at 

present  in  the  course  of  publication.      ■  * 
1.   Woodstock,  3  volumes,  9J.i00;      L.         s.     d. 
sho()-price  31s.  6f/.  boards.  .     .    14,9G2     10    0 
Deduct    one-third,    to    reduce    to 
trade-price,  and  cover  expenses 

of  sale 4,98"  10 

Cost  of  paper  and  print- 
ing (same  as  Red- 
gauntlet) .     .     .     .    2,22.'!     0 


ids  / 
la  f 
to  / 


"  This  piice  is  that  given  for  the  subsequent  editions, 
aftiT  ihc  first  of  10,000." 

t  "  It  is  a  condiiioii  of  these  bonds,  that  if  they  are  not 
paid,  the  copyrights  revcil  to  the  author;  so  that,  ill  spite 
of  the  failure  of  the  graiiters,  it  is  supposed  they  will  be 
paid." 

X  "  This  alludes  to  the  Lif.'  of  Napoleon." 
\  "  Were  the  right  the  other  way,  it  would  be  a  very 
dillleult  matter  to  enforce  it.  An  author  of  works  of  tic- 
tioii  is  not  to  be  delivered  against  his  will;  a  legal  process 
to  force  sir  Walter  Seolt  to  produce  a  couple  of  novels, 
would  be  ihe  Cirsai'eaii  operation  in  literature." 


MEMOIR   OF  SIR  WALTER   SCOTT. 


Sum  to  cover  contingen- 
cies        1,000 


Remains 6,750    0    0 

Add  value  of  copy-right,  after  first 

impression 1,300    0 


Produce  of  Woodstock 


8,050    0 


2.  Life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  5 
vols.  8,000  copies,  shop-price 
52*.  6d.  boards 21,000 

Deduct     one-third,     as 

above 7,006    0 

Ditto  for  paper,  &c.      .    3,706     0 

Ditto  contingencies       .    1,200     0 


9,094    0    0 
Add  value  of  copv-right  after  first 
edition      .     .  " 2,166  13    4 


Produce  of  Bonaparte's  Life 


3.  Litenin,-  produjtfionsby  sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  alreaw  finished,  but 
not  yet  publ^hedj though  in  the 
course  of  publication,  which  may 

be  safely  stated  at 1,000    0    0 

"At  the  second  meeting  of  creditors,  held  3d 
February,  iffi26,  a  resolution  is  entered,  that  the 
printing  establishment  should  be  continued,  both 
as  a  source  of  profit,  and  as  necessary  for  the  pub- 
lidafion  of  sir  W.  Scott's  works;  who  had  requested 
pf  Mr.  Gibson  to  communicate,  that  he  was  to  use 
,  everj'  exertion  in  his  power  on  behalf  of  the  cre- 
*ditoi-s;  and  by  the  diligent  employment  of  his  ta- 
lents, and  adoption  of  a  strictly  economical  mode 
of  life,  to  secure,  as  speedily  as  possible,  full  pay- 
/nent  to  all  concerned, 

"Thfe  ejuse  of  the  delay  in  the  publication  of 
the  Life  of  Napoleon  will  be  found  in  the  followin; 

\  minute: 
;"H*The  circumstances  connected  with  the  two 
.  literary  works,  entitled  Woodstock,  and  the  Life 
vof  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  having  been  considered; 
the  trustees  expressed  theTr  opinion,  tliat  so  far  as 
they  understood  the  nature  of  the  bargain  between 
sir^'Walter  Scott  and  Constable  and  Co.,  the  latter 
had  ho  claim  in  law  for  the  proceeds  of  either  of 
these  books;  but  think  it  desirable  for  all  parties 
that  they  should  be  finished,  which  should  be  com- 
municated to  sir  Walter;  and  also,  that  he  should 
be  requested  to  give  his  aid  to  the  sale  of  them  to 
the  best  advantage. — Mr.  Gibson  was  instructed 
to  endeavour  to  concert  some  arrangement  with 
Constable  and  Co.  for  consigning  in  some  bank 
the  price  of  the  works,  until  all  questions  concern- 
ing them  were  decided.' 

"  On  the  26th  May,  1826,  a  meeting  was  held, 
when  Mr.  Gibson  reported  particulars  of  sale  of 
Woodstock,  7,900  copies  of  which  had  been  sold 
to  Hurst  and  Robinson,  at  6,500/.;  but  they  being 
unable  to  complete  the  bargain,  they  had  been 
transferred  to  Longman  and  Co.  on  same  terms. 
"  The  money  had  been  paid,  and  was  deposited 


this  work.    The  remainder  of  the  impression  had 
been  sold  to  Constable  and   Co. 's  trustee  at  18s. 
66?.  each  copy,  '  at  a  credit  of  ten  months  from  de- 
8,212  10    0  livery,  with  five  per  cent,  discount  for  any  earlier 
payment,'  of  which   the  trustees  approved.     In 
consequence  of  advice  from  sir  Walter  Scott  and 
Longman  and  Co.,  it  had  been  thought  advisable 
Ol  to  restrict  the  first  edition  of  the  Life  of  Napoleon 
—  to  6,000,  instead  of  8,000  copies,  as  originally  in- 
0  tended. 

"  The  excerpts  contain  a  great  number  of  items, 
which  lay  open  the  precise  state  of  sir  Walter's 
private  afeirs:  a  hundred  years  hence  they  mav  be 
0  0='  great  curiosity,  and  their  publication  may  then 
be  correct;  at  present  it  would  certainly  be  inde- 
licate and  unhandsome,  not  only  to  the  admirable 
writer  himself,  but  also  to  several  other  private 
individuals.  Every  thing  belonging  to  a  great  na- 
tional genius  is  public  property,  and  in  the  course 
11,906  0  0  of  a  short  time  these  excerpts' will  be  sought  for 
with  avidity,  and  published  witli  as  little  hesitation 
as  Mr.  Todd  lately  printed  Milton's  pecuniary 
squabbles  with  his  mother-in-law." 

The  last,  but  not  the  "last  best  work"  of  sir 
W.alter  Scott,  is  his  LrFE  of  Napoleon  Bosa- 
11,260  13  4  PARTE,  a  production  of  which  neither  our  limits, 
nor  our  inclinations,  will  allow  us  to  sav  much. 
In  an  historical  point  of  view  it  possesses  few  me- 
rits, and,  we  are  constrained  to  admit,  is  equally 
unworthy  of  the  extraordinary  character  it  treats 
of,  as  of  its  author's  splendid  literan*  reputation. 
The  extent  and  importance  of  the  subject  were 
calculated  to  afford  an  ample  scope  for  the  display 
of  the  very  highest  ability.  A  more  exciting  theme 
of  naiT.ation — a  fairer  field  of  philosophic'al  con- 
templation, was  never  before  given  to  kindle  the 
eloquence,  to  exercise  the  wisdom  and  skill,  or  to 
stimulate  the  intellectual  ambition  of  the  histo- 
rian. Yet,  notwithstanding  the  unquestionable 
powers  of  the  celebrated  author — notwithstanding 
the  fame  which  he  had  "  set  upon  the  cast" — the 
magnitude  of  the  occasion,  and  all  the  inspiring 
circumstances  of  the  undertaking,  it  would  be  vain 
to  deny  that  the  work,  upon  the  whole,  is  a  failure. 
The  book  has,  evidently,  been  written  in  haste 
and  with  negligence;  the  author  has  given  himself 
no  time  either  for  the  well-digested  arrangement 
of  facts,  or  profound  reflection  on  the  great  combi- 
nations of  political  action.  He  has  not,  in  simple 
language,  studied  his  subject;  but  has  put  to- 
gether an  immense  mass  of  materials,  as  rapidly 
as  they  accumulated  under  his  hands,  with  little 
care  in  the  selection,  and  no  thought  for  their  re- 
lative importance  and  measurement.  It  is,  in  short. 


a  voluminous  compilation,  executed  indeed  with 
wonderful  celerity,  and  adorned  with  brilliant  pas- 
sages, but  nothing  worthy  either  of  the  genius  of 
Walter  Scott  or  the  true  dignity  of  history.  But 
the  real  cause  of  his  failure  in  writing  the  history 
of  our  eventful  times  must  not  be  traced  either  to 
ignorance  or  incapacity.  It  is  too  visible  that  lower 
considerations  than  the  generous  love  of  fame  in- 
spired the  author.  Hence,  only,  the  haste,  the 
negligence,  the  prolixity  of  the  "composition,  the 
want  of  compression,  of  reviewing,  of  deliberate 
arr.angement. — At  tlie  same  time,  we  should  be 
guilty  of  great  injustice  if  we  failed  to  remark  the 
extraordinary  skill  displayed  by  sir  Walter  Scott 
in  the  relation  of  military  events.     Not  only  are 


with  sir  W.  Forbes  and  Co.  to  wait  the  issue  ofi  the  shifting  alarums  of  the  battle-field  exhibited 
the  decision  as  to  the  respective  claims  of  Consta-,  with  all  the  eager  animation,  all  the  picturesque 
ble  and  Co.  and  sir  W.  Scott's  trustees,  regarding;  and  dramatic  energy  of  description,  which  were  to 


MEMOIR  OF  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


be  looked  for  from  the  "  author  of  Waverley," 
but  the  plans  of  campaign,  and  the  movements  of 
armies,  are  explained  in  a  clear  and  methodical 
style,  which  evinces-a  perfect  acquaintance  with 
the  principles  of  strategy.— Finally,  of  the  third 
volume  we  are  bound  to  speak  in  terms  of  unqua- 
lified commendation.  It  forms  the  most  exciting 
and  delightful  fi-agment  of  heroic  biography  with 
■which  we  are  acquainted.*  


*  It  is  with  much  regret  that  we  feel  ouwelves  obliged 


to  notice  an  unpleasant  cpislolaiy  discussion,  which  ha 
arisen  between  general  Clourgauu  and  sir  Walter  Scott — * 
in  consequence  of  some  passages  in  the  latter's  "  Lifec 
Napoleon,"  in  which  the  (reneral's  liili-lity  to  his  laie  ex 
iled  niasttris  more  than  called  in  question.  To  this  cliargi 
the gineruL in  a  long  letter  inserted  in  the  )';iii«  joiniials. 
has  given  tlie  "lie  direct,"  and  tertned  the  whole  work  a 
romance.  Sir  Walter  has  since  published  a  s]}iritcd  reply 
in  the  linglish  newspapers,  and  produced  eopits  of  the 
official  dociunents,  &.c.  ou  wliich  the  passages  in  discus- 
sion were  founded. 


i 


THE  FOSTICAL  WORKS 


OF 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 


^f)t  ULuvt  oi  tf)t  nuHt  ilBinmth 


Dum  relego,  scripsisse,  pudet,  quia  plurima  eemo. 
Me  quoque,  qui  feci,  judice,  digna  lini. 

TO   THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  CHARLES,   EARL  OF  DALKEITH, 

THIS  POEM  IS   INSCRIBED,   BT  THE  ACTHOR. 


The  Poett,  now  offered  to  the  public,  is  intend- 
ed to  illustrate  the  customs  and  manners,  which 
anciently  prevailed  on  the  Borders  of  England  and 
Scotland.  The  inhabitants,  living  in  a  state  part- 
ly paSloral  and  partly  warlike,  and  combining  ha- 
hils  of  constant  depredation  with  the  influence  of 
a  rude  spirit  of  chivalry,  were  often  engaged  in 
scenes,  highly  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament. 
L,  As  tfee  description  of  scenerj'  and  manners  was 
^  mort-  the  object  of  the  author,  than  a  combined 
\  and  regular  narrative,  the  plan  of  the  ancient  Met- 
rical Romance  was  adopted,  which  allows  greater 
latitude  in  this  respect, than  would  be  consi  stent  with 
the  dignitj' of  a  regular  Poem.  The  same  model 
offered  other  facilities,  as  it  permits  an  occasi'onal 
alteration  of  measure,  which,  in  some  degree,  au- 
thorizes the  change  of  rhythm  in  the  text.  The 
machineiy  also,  adopted  from  popular  belief,  would 
have  seemed  puerile  in  a  poem,  which  did  not 
partake  of  the  rudeness  of  the  old  Ballad,  or  Met- 
rical Romance. 

For  these  reasons,  the  Poem  was  put  into  the 
mouth  of  an  ancient  Minstrel,  the  last  of  tlierace 
who,  as  he  is  supposed  to  have  survived  the  Revo- 
lution, might  have  caught  somewhat  of  the  refine- 
ment of  modern  poetry,  without  losing  the  sim- 
plicit}'  of  his  original  model.  The  date  of  the  Tale 
itself  is  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
when  most  of  the  parsonages  actnallv  flourished.' 
The  time  occupied  by  the  acUon  is  three  nights 
and  three  davs. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold. 

The  minstrel  was  infirm  and  old; 

His  withered  cheek,  and  tresses  grav. 

Seemed  to  have  known  a  better  day; 

The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 

Was  carried  by  an  orphan  bov.  ' 

The  last  of  all  the  bards  was  he, 

\\  ho  sung  of  Border  chivalry; 

For,  well-a-day!  their  date  was  fled. 

His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead; 

And  he,  neglected  and  oppressed, 

Wished  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest. 

No  more,  on  ])raneing  palfrey  borne, 

He  carolled,  light  as  lark  at  morn; 

No  longer  courted  and  caressed, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest. 

He  poured,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay: 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone; 

A  stranger  filled  the  Stuart's  throne; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  called  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorned  and  poor, 

He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door; 

And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 

The  harp  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  passed  where  Newark's  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  YaiTow's  birchen  bower: 
The  minstrel  gazed  witli  wishful  eye — 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigh. 
With  hesitating  step,  at  last, 
Tlie  embattled  portal-arch  he  passed. 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  rolled  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  duchess*  marked  his  weary  pace, 
His  timid  mitn,  and  reverend  lace, 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell, 
That  they  should  tend  the  old  man  well : 
For  she  had  known  adversity. 
Though  born  in  such  a  high  degree; 
In  pride  of  power,  in  hc'auty's  bloom, 
Had  wept  o'er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb. 
When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied, 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified, 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride: 
And  he  began  to  talk  anon. 
Of  good  earl  Francis,!  dead  and  gone. 
And  of  earl  Walter,^;  rest  him  God! 
A  braver  ne'er  to  battle  rode: 
And  how  full  many  a  tale  he  knew 
Of  the  old  warriors  of  Buccleuch; 
And,  would  the  noble  duchess  deign 
To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain, 
Tiiough  stift"  his  hand,  liis  voice  though  weak, 
He  thought,  even  yet,  the  sooth  to  speak, 
That  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 
He  could  make  music  to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtained; 

The  Aged  Minstrel  audience  gained. 

But,  wiienhe  reached  the  room  of  state, 

Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 

Perchance  he  wished  his  boon  denied: 

For,  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried. 

His  trembling  hand  had  lost  the  ease, 

Which  marks  security  to  please; 

And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain. 

Came  wildering  o'er  his  aged  brain — 

He  tried  to  tune  his  harp  in  vain. 

The  pitying  duchess  praised  its  chime. 

And  gave  liim  heart,  and  gave  him  time. 

Till  every  string's  according  glee 

Was  blended  into  harmony. 

And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 

He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain, 

He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 

It  was  not  framed  for  village  churls, 

But  for  high  dames  and  mighty  earls; 

He  had  played  it  to  king  Charles  the  Good, 

Wiien  he  kept  court  in  Holyrood; 

And  nmch  he  wished,  yet  feared,  to  try 

The  long  forgotten  melody. 

Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  strayed. 

And  an  uncertjiin  Marbling  made. 

And  oft  he  siiook  liis  hoary  head. 

But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 

The  old  man  raised  his  face  and  smiled; 

And  lightened  up  liis  faded  eye. 

With  all  a  poet's  ecstasy ! 

In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong, 

He  swept  the  sounding  chords  alongt 

The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 

His  toils,  his  wants,  were  all  forgot; 

Cold  diflidence,  and  age's  frost. 

In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost; 

Each  blank,  in  faithless  memory  void, 

The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied; 

And,  while  his  harp  responsive  rung, 

'Twas  thus  the  latest  minsthei.  sung. 


*  Anne,  duchess  of  Buccleuch  ami  Monmouth,  repre- 
sentative of  ilie  ancient  lords  of  Ruccleuch,  and  widow  of 
ihe  uuCntunate  Janus,  duke  of  Monmouth,  who  was  be. 
luadid  ill  1685. 

t  Ki-aiiuis  Scott,  earl  of  liuccleuih,  father  to  the  duchess 
JWm1i<  T,  earl  of  Hiiccleiirh,giaiidfathei-  to  tliedui-ht  ss. 
and  a  celebrated  wanior. 


LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


The  feast  was  over  in  Branksome  tower.i 

And  the  Ladye  had  gone  to  her  secret  bower; 

Her  bow'r  that  was  guaided  by  word  and  by  spell, 

Deadly  to  hear,  and  deadly  to  tell — 

Jesu  ISlaria,  shield  us  well! 

No  living  wight,  save  the  Ladye  alone, 

Had  dared  to  cross  the  threshold  stone. 

II. 

The  tables  were  drawn,  it  was  idlesse  all; 

Knight,  and  page,  and  household  squire, 
Loitered  through  the  lofty  hall. 

Or  crowded  round  the  ample  fire: 
The  stag  hounds,  weary  with  the  chase. 

Lay  stretched  upon  the  rushy  floor, 
And  urged,  in  dreams,  the  forest-race. 

From  Teviotstone  to  Eskdale-moor. 

III. 

Nine-and-twenty  knights  of  fame 

Hung  their  shields  in  Branksome  hall;^ 
Nine-and-twenty  squires  of  name 

Brought  them' their  steeds  from  bower  to  stallj 
Nine-and-twenty  yeomen  tall 
Waited,  duteous,  on  them  all: 
They  were  all  knights  of  metal  true,. 
Kinsmen  to  the  bold  Buccleuch.    . 

IV.       i        > 
Ten  of  them  were  sheathed  jn  steel,      <. 
With  belted  sword,  and  spur  on  heel:  -• 
They  quitted  not  tlieir  h:uness  bright, 
Neither  by  day,  nor  yet  by  night: 

They  lay  down  to  rest, 

Witii  corselet  laced. 
Pillowed  on  buckler  cold  and  hard; 

They  carved  at  the  meal  . 

Willi  gloves  of  steel,  ^" 

And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  hckinet 

barred.  V 

V.  *        i  J 

Ten  s(|uires,  ten  yeomen,  raailclad  i^n,     '  ,    f  / 

Waited  tlie  beck  of  the  warders  ten;  y 

Thirty  steeds,  both  fleet  and  wight,  Jl 

Stood  saddled  in  stable  day  and  iiiglit,  / 

Barbed  with  frontlet  of  steel,  I  trow. 

And  with  Jedwood  axe  at  saddle  bow.s 

A  hundred  more  fed  free  in  stall: 

Such  was  the  custom  of  Branksome  hall. 


4 


VI. 

Why  do  these  steeds  stand  ready  (light? 

Why  watch  tliese  warriors,  armed,  l)y  night' 

They  watcli  to  bear  the  bloodhound  baying; 

They  w  atch,  to  hear  the  warhorn  braying; 

To  see  Saint  George's  red  cross  streaming; 

To  see  the  midnight  beacon  gleaming; 

They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile. 
Lest  Scroope,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Thrc'ateu  Branksome's  lordly  towers. 
From  Warkworth,  or  Naworth,  or  merry  Carlisle.* 

VII. 

Such  is  the  custom  of  Branksome  hall.  — 

Many  a  valiant  knight  is  here; 
But  he,  the  chieftain  of  them  all, 
His  sword  hangs  rusting  on  the  wall 

Beside  his  broken  siiear. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


^ 


Bards  long  shall  tell, 
HoAv  lord  Walter  fell !  5 
When  startled  burghers  fled,  afar,     , 
The  furies  of  the  border  war; 
When  the  streets  of  high  Dunedln 
Saw  lances  gleam,  and  falchions  redden, 
And  heard  the  slogan's*  deadly  yell- 
Then  the  chief  of  Branksome  fell. 

VIII. 

Can  piety  the  discord  heal, 

Or  stanch  the  death-feud's  enmity  ? 
Can  christian  lore,  can  patriot  zeal. 

Can  love  of  blessed  charity? 
No!  vainly  to  each  holy  shrine, 
In  mutual'pilgrimage  they  drew,6 
Implored,  in  vain,  the  grace  divine 

For  chiefs  their  own  red  falchions  slew; 
While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Car,'' 

While  Ettrick  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 
The  slaughtered  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 
The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war. 

Shall  never,  never  be  forgot ! 

IX. 

In  sorrow  o'er  lord  Walter's  bier 

The  warRke  foresters  had  bent; 
And  many  alte^ver,  and  many  a  tear, 

Old  Teviot'sTaaids  and  matrons  lent; 
But  o'er  hei  .•'varHpr's  bloody  bier 
The  Ladyc  •roppad  nor  flower  nor  tear ! 
Vengeance,  deep  Brooding  o'er  the  slain, 

Had,'Iocked  the  source  of  softer  wo; 
And  burning  pride,  and  high  disdain. 

Forbade  the^isihg  tear  to  flow; 
Until,  amifl  his  "Son-owing  clan. 

Her  son  lisped  from  the  nurse's  knee — ■ 
Artd^f  I  live  to  be  a  man, 
"  My  fathei^s  death  revenged  shall  be!" 
'^h&.i'ast  tha  i.iother's  tears  did  seek 
■♦*?o  dew  the  want's  kindling  cheek. 

X. 
All'l  )0se  hf^  negligent  attire. 

All  loos«  her  golden  hair, 
Hnng  Margaret  o'er  her  slaughtered  sire, 
J      And  wept'in  wild  despair. 
But  not  alone  the  bitter  tear 

Had  fil^  grief  supplied; 
Foi  hopell^s  love,  and  anxious  fear, 
.H^d  lent  their  mingled  tide: 
Xor  in  '  ;r  mother's  altered  eye 
Dared  she  to  look  for  sympathy. 
iliei  Ajver,  'gainst  her  father's  clan, 

'\^^th  Car  in  arms  had  stood. 
When  Mathouse-buru  to  Melrose  ran 

All  purple  with  their  blood; 

And  well  she  knew,  her  mother  dread, 

Before  lord  Cranstoun  she  should  wed,^ 

Would  see  her  on  her  dying  bed. 

XI. 

Of  noble  race  the  Ladye  came; 
Her  father  was  a  clerk  of  fame. 

Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie;^ 
He  learned  the  art  that  none  may  name. 

In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea.  i" 
Men  said  he  changed  his  mortal  frame 

By  feat  of  magic  mystery; 
For  when,  in  studious  mood,  he  paced 

Saint  Andrew's  cloistered  hall. 
His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 

Upon  the  sunny  wallli' 


•  The  war  cry,  or  gathering  word,  of  a  Border  clan. 


XII. 

And  of  his  skill,  as  bai-ds  avow, 
•  He  taught  that  Ladye  fair. 
Till  to  her  bidding  she  could  bow 

The  viewless  forms  of  air. '^ 
And  how  she  sits  in  seci-et  bower, 
In  old  lord  David's  western  tower. 
And  listens  to  a  heavy  sound, 
That  moans  the  mossy  turrets  round. 
Is  it  the  roar  of  Teviot's  tide, 
That  chafes  against  the  scaur's*  red  side? 
Is  it  the  wind  that  swings  the  oaks? 
Is  it  the  echo  from  the  rocks? 
What  may  it  be,  the  heavy  sound. 
That  moans  old  Branksome's  tunets  roui.u^ 

XIII. 

At  the  sullen,  moaning  sound. 

The  bandogs  bay  and  howl; 
And,  from  the  turrets  round. 

Loud  whoops  the  startled  owl. 
In  the  hall,  both  squire  and  knight 

Swore  tliat  a  storm  was  near. 
And  looked  forth  to  view  the  night< 

But  the  night  was  still  and  clear! 

XIV. 

From  the  sound  of  Teviot's  tide. 
Chafing  with  the  mountain's  side. 
From  the  groan  of  the  windswung  oak. 
From  the  sullen  echo  of  the  rock. 
Prom  the  voice  of  the  coming  storm. 

The  Ladye  knew  it  well ! 
It  was  the  Spirit  of  the  Flood  that  spoke, 
And  he  called  on  the  Spirit  of  the  Fell. 

XV. 

niTER  SPIRIT. 

"  Sleep'st  thou,  brother?" 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 

"Brother,  nay — • 

On  mj"  hills  the  moon-beams  play. 
From  Craig-cross  to  Skelfhillpen, 
By  every  rill,  in  every  glen, 
Meriy  elves  their  morrice  pacing. 

To  aerial  minstrels)'. 
Emerald  rings  on  brown  heath  tracing. 

Trip  it  deft  and  merrily. 
Up,  and  mark  their  nimble  feet! 
Up,  and  list  their  music  sweet!" 

XVI. 

RIVER  SPIRIT. 

"Tears  of  an  imprisoned  maiden 

Mix  with  my  polluted  stream; 
Margaret  of  Branksome,  sorrow  laden, 

Mourns  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam. 
Tell  me,  thou,  who  view'st  the  stars. 
When  shall  cease  these  feudal  jars' 
What  shall  be  the  maiden's  fate? 
Who  shall  be  the  maiden's  mate?" 

XVlI. 

MOUNTAIX  SPIRIT. 

"  Arthur's  slow  wain  his  course  doth  roll 

In  utter  darkness  round  the  pole; 

The  Northern  Bear  lowers  black  and  grim; 

Orion's  studded  belt  is  dim: 

Twinkling  faint,  and  distant  far, 

Shimipers  through  mist  each  planet  star; 

111  may  I  read  their  high  decree! 
But  no  kind  influence  deign  they  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide,  and  Branksome's  tower. 

Till  pride  be  quelled,  and  love  be  free." 


•  Scaur,  a  pi-ecipitous  bank  of  earlh. 


M-: 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


xvm. 

The  unearthly  voices  ceased, 

And  the  heavy  sound  was  still;  • 

It  died  on  the  river's  breast, 

It  died  on  tlie  side  of  the  hill. 
But  round  lord  David's  tower 

The  sound  still  floated  near; 
For  it  rung  in  tlie  Ladye's  bower, 

And  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  ear. 
She  raised  her  stately  head, 

And  her  heart  throbbed  high  with  pride: — 
•'  Your  mountains  shall  bend. 
And  your  streams  ascend. 

Ere  Margaret  be  our  foeman's  bride !" 

XIX. 

The  Ladye  sought  the  lofty  hall. 

Where  many  a  bold  retainer  lay, 
And,  with  jocund  din,  among  them  all, 

Her  son  pursued  his  infant  play. 
A  fancied  mosstrooper,  '3  the  boy 

The  trunclieon  of  a  spear  beslrode, 
And  round  the  hall,  right  merrily, 

In  mimic  foray*  rode. 
Even  bearded  knights,  in  arms  grown  old. 

Share  in  his  frolic  gambols  bore. 
Albeit  their  hearts,  of  rugged  mould, 

Were  stubborn  as  the  steel  they  wore. 
For  the  gray  warriors  prophesied, 

How  the  brave  boy,  in  future  war, 
Should  tame  the  unicorn's  pride, 

Exalt  the  crescent,  and  the  star.  '■* 

XX. 

The  ladye  forgot  her  purpose  high, 

One  moment,  and  no  more; 
One  moment  gazed  with  a  mother's  eye. 

As  slie  paused  at  the  arcVied  door; 
Then,  from  amid  the  armed  train, 
She  called  to  her  "WJjlUawi  of  Delorain^. ' » 

XXI. 

A  stark  mosstrooping  Scott  was  he. 

As  e'er  couched  border  lance  by  knee; 

Through  Solway  sands,  through  Tarras  moss. 

Blindfold  he  knew  the  patlis  to  cross; 

By  wilv  turns,  by  desperate  bounds. 

Had  baffled  Percy's  best  bloodhounds;i6 

[n  Eske,  or  Liddel,  fords  were  none, 

But  he  would  ride  them,  one  bj'  one; 

Alike  to  him  was  time,  or  tide, 

December's  snow,  or  July's  pride; 

Alike  to  him  was  tide,  or  time, 

Moonless  midnight,  or  matin  prime: 

Steady  of  heart,  and  stout  of  hand. 

As  ever  drove  prey  from  Cumberland; 

Five  times  outlawed  had  he  been. 

By  England's  king  and  Scotland's  queen. 

XXII. 

"  Sir  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need. 
Mount  thee  on  the  wightest  steed; 
Spare  not  to  spur,  nor  stint  to  ride. 
Until  you  come  to  fair  Tweed  side; 
And  in  Melrose's  holy  pile 
Seek  thou  tlie  monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle. 
Greet  the  father  well  from  me; 

Say,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 
And  to-night  he  shall  watch  with  thee. 

To  ^ioJUuttreasure  otjlhe  tomb*^-* 
For  this  will  be  Saint  MiclKiePa  night, 
And,  though  stars  be  dim,  the -moon  is  bright; 


*  Foray,  a  predatory  inroad. 


And  the  cross,  of  bloody  red. 

Will  point  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead. 

xxin. 

"  What  he  gives  thee,  see  thou  keep; 
Stay  not  thou  for  food  or  sleep: 
Be  it  scroll  or  be  it  book; 
Into  it,  knight,  thou  must  not  look; 
If-thoureadest,  thou  art  lorn! 
Better  thou  hadst  ne'er  been  born." 

xxiv. 

"  O  swiftly  can  speed  my  dapplegray  steed. 
Which  drinks  of  the  Teviot  clear; 

Ere  break  of  day,"  the  warrior  'gan  say, 
"  Again  will  f  be  here: 

And  safer  by  none  may  thy  errand  be  done. 
Than,  noble  dame,  by  me; 

Letter  nor  line  know  1  never  a  one, 

Wer't  my  neck- verse  at  Haribee.  "* 

XXV. 

Soon  in  his  saddle  sate  he  fast. 

And  soon  the  deep  descent  he  passed. 

Soon  crossed  the  sounding  barbican, t 

And  soon  the  Teviot's  side  he  wt 

Eastward  the  wooded  path  he  rod^ 

Green  hazels  o'er  his  basnet  \ 

He  passed  the  Peel:f  of  Goldil/ 

And  crossed  old  Borthwick'^baringptrand: 

Dimly  he  viewed  the  moatlijR's  mound,}' 

Where  Druid  shades  still  Uftted  round:' 

In  Hawick  twinkled  many  alight; 

Behind  him  soon  they  set  iiinight;        ty      ' 

And  soon  he  spurred  his  colrsgr  kisffh   *  * 

Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazeliean.i8ia|l      '  ^■• 

XX  VI.  -it     ^.^ 

The  clattering  hoofs  the  watchmen  ijprk;IW  > 
"  Stand,  ho!  thou  courier  of  the  dark."      _   -^ 
"  For  Branksome,  ho!"  the  knight  reioftied  • 
And  left  the  friendly  tower  behi^id. 
He  turned  him  now  from  Teviot  side, 

And,  guided  by  the  tinkling  rill. 
Northward  the  dark  ascent  didride, 

And  gained  the  moor  at  Hoillie  hili;      ^ 
Broad  on  tlie  left  before  him  lay. 
For  many  a  mile  the  Roinaa  way.  § 

xxvri.     \ 

A  moment  now  he  slacked  his  meed, 
A  moment  breathed  his  panting\teed;  ^ 
Drew  saddle-girth  and  corslet-banfl. 
And  loosened  in  the  sheath  his  brand. 
On  Mintocrags  the  moonbeams  glint,'*  i 

Where  Barnhill  hewed  his  bed  of  flint; 
AVho  flung  his  outlawed  limbs  to  rest, 
Wiiere  falcons  hang  their  giddy  nest. 
Mid  cliff's,  from  whence  his  eagle  eye. 
For  many  a  league,  his  prey  could  spy; 
Cliffs  doubling,  on  their  echoes  borne. 
The  terrors  of  the  robber's  horn;  -^Ai, 

Clifts,  which,  for  many  a  later  year,      J^ 
The  warbling  Doric  reed  shall  hear,     -^ 
When  some  sad  swain  shall  teach  the  grove, 
Ambition  is  no  cure  for  love. 


1/ 


*  Haribee,  the  place  of  executing  the  Border  marauders 
at  Carlisle.  The  iieck-verse  is  the  beginning  of  the  fifty, 
first  psalm,  Miserere  mei,  err.  anciently  read  by  ciiiui- 
nals,  claiming  the  benefit  of  clergy. 

■fBarbimn,  the  defence  of  the  outer  gate  of  a  feudal  castle. 

t  Peel,  a  Border  tower. 

\  An  ancient  Roman  road,  ci-ossing  through  part  of 
I  Roxburghshire. 


■^ 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


^ 


xxvni. 

Unchallenged,  thence  past  Deloraine 
To  ancient  Riddell's  fair  domain,^o 

Where  Aill,  from  mountains  freed, 
Down  from  the  lakes  did  raving  come, 
Cresting  each  wave  with  tawny  foam, 

Like  the  mane  of  a  chestnut  steed. 
In  vain !  no  torrent,  deep  or  broad, 
Might  bar  the  bold  mosstrooper's  road. 

XXIX. 

At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low, 

And  tlie  water  broke  o'er  the  saddle-bow: 

Above  the  foaming  tide,  I  ween, 

Scarce  half  the  charger's  neck  was  seen; 

For  he  was  barded*  from  counter  to  tail. 

And  the  rider  was  armed  complete  in  mail; 

Never  heavier  man  and  horse 

Stemmed  a  midnight  torrent's  force. 

The  warrior's  very  plume,  I  say. 

Was  daggled  by  the  dashing  spray; 

Yet,  through  good  heart,  and  our  Ladye's  grace. 

At  length  he  gained  the  landing  place. 

XXX. 

Now  Bowden  moor  the  marchman  won. 

And  sternly  shook  his  plumed  head. 
As  glanced  his  eye  o'er  Halidon,-'' 
For  on  his  soul  the  slaughter  red 
Ot  that  unhallowed  morn  arose, 
When  first  the  Scott  and  Car  were  foes; 
When  royal  James  beheld  the  fray. 
Prize  to  the  victor  of  the  day; 
When  Home  and  Douglas,  in  the  van. 
Bore  down  Bu'ccleuch's  retiring  clan. 
Till  gallant  Cessford  's  heartblood  dear 
Reeked  on  dark  Elliot's  border  spear. 

XXXI. 

In  bitter  mood  he  spurred  fast. 
And  soon  thp  hated  heath  was  past; 
And  far  beneath,  in  lustre  wan. 
Old  Melros'  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran;22 
Like  "some  tall  rock,  with  lichens  gray. 
Rose,  dimly  huge,  the  dark  abbaye. 
When  Hawick  he  passed,  had  curfew  rung. 
Now  midnight  laudst  were  in  Melrose  sung. 
The  sound,  upon  the  fitful  gale. 
In  solemn  wise  did  rise  and  fail. 
Like  that  w  ild  harp,  whose  magic  tone 
^  Is  wakened  by  the  winds  alone. 
But  when  Melrose  he  reached,  'twas  silence  all 
He  mee^ .stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 
And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall. 

Here  paused  the  harp;  and  with  its  swell 
The  master's  fire,  and  courage  fell: 
Dejectedly,  and  low,  he  bowed, 
And,  gazing  timid  on  the  crowd, 
He  seemed  to  seek,  in  every  eye, 
If  they  approved  his  minstrelsy: 
And,  diffident  of  present  praise. 
Somewhat  he  s[)oke  of  former  days. 
And  how  old  age,  and  wandering  long. 
Had  done  his  hand  and  harp  some  wrong. 

T!ie  duchess  and  her  daughters  fair. 
And  every  gentle  ladye  there. 
Each  after  each,  in  due  degree, 
Gave  praises  to  his  melody; 
His  hand  was  true,  his  voice  was  clear. 
And  much  thev  lonared  the  rest  to  hear. 


*  Barrier!,  or  barbe<l,  applied  to  a  horse  accoutred  with 
def'-nsive  armoNr. 
iLmirls,  tlie  inidiijght  service  of  the  Catholic  church. 


Encouraged  thus,  the  Aged  Man, 
After  meet  rest,  again  began. 


If  thou  would'st  view  fair  Melrose  aright. 

Go  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight; 

For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 

Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white; 

When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  ruined  central  tower: 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately. 

Seemed  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory: 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery. 

And  the  scrolls  tliat  teach  thee  to  live  and  die'; 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave. 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 

Then  go — but  go  alone  the  while — 

Then  view  Saint  David's  ruined  pile; 

And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear. 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair ! 

n. 

Short  halt  did  Deloraine  make  there; 
Little  recked  he  of  the  scene  so  feir: 
With  dagger's  hilt,  on  the  wicket  sti-nng. 
He  struck" full  loud,  and  struck  full  long. 
The  porter  hurried  to  the  gate — 
"  Who  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  so  latei"' 
"  From  Branksorae  I,"  the  warrior  cried; 
And  straight  the  wicket  opened  wide: 
For  Branicsome's  chiefs  had  in  battle  stood, 

To  fence  the  rights  of  fair  Melrose; 
And  lands  and  livings,  many  a  rood, 

Had  gifted  the  shrine  for  their  soul's  repose. 

111. 

Bold  Deloraine  his  errand  said; 

The  porter  bent  his  humble  head; 

With  torch  in  hand,  and  feet  unshod. 

And  noiseless  step,  the  path  he  trod; 

The  arched  cloisters,  far  and  wide, 

Rang  to  the  warrior's  clanking  stride; 

Till,  stooping  low  his  lofty  crest, 

He  entered  the  cell  of  the  ancient  priest, 

And  lifted  his  barred  aventayle,* 

To  hail  the  monk  of  Saint  Mary's  aisle. 

IV. 

"The  Ladye  of  Branksome  greets  thee  by  me; 

Says,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 
And  "that  to-night  I  shall  watch  with  thee. 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb." 
From  sackcloth  couch  the  monk  arose, 

With  toil  his  stiftened  limbs  he  reared; 
A  hundred  years  had  flung  their  snows 

On  his  thin  locks  and  floating  beard. 

V. 

And  strangely  on  the  knight  looked  he, 

And  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  wild  and  wide; 
"And,  darest  thou,  warrior!  seek  to  see 

What  heaven  and  hell  alike  would  hide' 
My  breast,  in  belt  of  iron  pent. 

With  shirt  of  hair  and  scourge  of  thorn: 
For  three-score  years,  in  penance  spent. 

My  knees  those  flinty  stones  have  worn; 
Yet  all  too  little  to  atone 
For  knowing  what  should  n'er  be  known. 


Aventayle,  visor  of  the  helmet. 


SCOTT'S  POI'/nCAL  WORKS. 


VVoiild'st  lliou  ihy  every  riiture  year 
In  ceaseless  prayer  and  penance  drie, 
Yet  wait  tliy  latter  end  with  feai' — 
Then,  daring  warrior,  follow  me!" 

vr. 

"  Penance,  father,  will  1  none; 

Prayer  know  I  hardly  one; 

For  mass  or  prayer  can  1  rarely  tany. 

Save  to  patter  an  Ave  Mary, 

^Vhen  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray:'* 

Other  prayer  can  1  none; 

So  speed  me  my  errand,  and  let  me  be  gone." 

VII. 

Again  on  the  knight  looked  the  churchman  old. 

And  again  he  sighed  heavily; 
For  he  had  himself  been  a  warrior  bold, 

And  fought  in  Spain  and  Italy. 
And  he  tho't  on  the  days  that  were  long  since  hv. 
When  his  limbs  were  strong,  and  his  courage 

was  high: — 
Now,  slow  and  faint,  he  led  the  way, 
Wliere,  cloistered  round,  the  garden  lay: 
The  pillard  arches  were  over  their  head, 
And  beneath  their  feet  were  the  bones  of  tlie  dead.s 

VIII. 

Spreading  herbs,  and  flow'rets  bright, 
Glistened  with  the  dew  of  night; 
Nor  herb,  nor  flow'rc-t,  glistened  there, 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister'd  arches  as  fair. 
The  monk  gazed  long  on  the  lovely  moon, 

Then  into  the  night  he  looked  forth; 
And  red  and  bright  the  sti-eamers  light 
Were  dancing  in  the  glowing  north. 
So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start; 
Sudden  the  flying  gennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart.c 
He  knew,  by  the  streamers  that  shot  so  bright. 
That  spirits  were  riding  the  northern  light. 

IX. 

By  a  steel-clenched  postern  door. 

They  entered  now  the  chancel  tall: 
The  darkened  roof  rose  high  aloof 

On  pillars,  lofty,  and  liglit,  and  small; 
The  keystone,  that  locked  each  ribbed  aisle, 
Was  a  fieur-de-lys,  or  a  quatre-feuille: 
The  corbells*  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim; 
And  the  pillars,  w  ith  clustered  shafts  so  trim. 
With  base  and  witii  capital  flourished  around. 
Seemed  bundles  of  lances  whicli  garlands  had 
bound. 

X. 
Full  many  a  scutcheon  and  banner,  riven. 
Shook  to  the  cold  nigbtwind  of  heaven. 

Around  the  screened  altar's  pale; 
And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  burn, 
Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 
O  gallant  chief  of  Otterburne  'J 

And  thine,  dark  knight  of  Liddesdalel^ 
O  fading  honours  of  tlie  dead ! 
O  high  ambition,  louly  laid! 

XI. 

The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone^ 
Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliaged  tracery  combined: 
Thou  would'st  have  tiiought  some  fairy's  hand 
'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  osier  wand. 


•  Corbelh,  the  projections  from  which  tlie  arches  spring, 
usually  cut  in  a  fantastic  face  or  mask. 


In  many  a  freakish  knot,  had  twined; 
Then  framed  a  spell,  when  the  work  was  done. 
And  changed  the  willow  wreaths  to  stone. 
The  silver  light,  so  pale  and  faint, 
Sliowed  man)'  a  prophet,  and  manj'  a  saint, 

Whose  image  on  the  glass  was  died; 
Pull  in  the  midst,  his  cross  of  red 
Triumphant  Michael  brandished. 

And  trampled  the  apostate's  pride. 
The  moonbeam  kissed  the  holy  pane. 
And  threw  on  the  pavement  a  bloody  stain. 

XII. 

They  sate  them  down  on  a  marble  stone; 

(A  Scottish  monarch  slept  below;)io 
Thus  spoke  the  monk,  in  solemn  tone; 

"  I  was  not  always  a  man  of  wo; 
For  Paynim  countries  I  have  trod, 
And  fought  beneath  the  cross  of  God: 
Now,  strange  to  my  eyes  thine  arms  appe.ir, 
And  their  iron  clang  sounds  strange  to  my  cm: 

XIII. 

"In  these  far  climes,  it  was  my  lot 
To  meet  the  wondrous  Michael  Scott;" 

A  wizard  of  such  dreaded  fame, 
That  when,  in  Salamanca's  cave, '2 
Him  listed  his  magic  wand  to  wave, 

The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame! '3 
Some  of  his  skill  he  taught  to  me;       \ 
And,  warrior,  I  could  saj'  to  thee 
The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three. 

And  bridled  the  Tweed  with  a  curb  of  slone;'* 
But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin; 
And  for  having  but  thought  them  my  heart  within, 

A  treble  penance  must  be  done.    » 

XIV. 

"When  Michael  lay  on  his  dying  bed, 

His  consience  was  awakened;        ^ 

He  bethought  him  of  his  sinful  d^d,  . 

And  he  gave  me  a  sign  to  come  with  speed;      j» 

I  was  in  Spain  when  the  morning  rose. 

But  I  stood  by  his  bed  ere  evening  close. 

Tlie  words  may  not  again  be  said, 

That  he  spoke  to  me,  on  de.ith-bed  laid: 

They  would  rend  this  abbaye's  massy  nave, 

And  pile  it  in  heaps  above  his  grave. 

XV. 

"  I  swore  to  bury  his  mighty  book, 

That  never  mortal  might  therein  look; 

And  never  to  tell  where  it  was  hid. 

Save  at  the  chief  of  Branksome's  need: 

And  when  that  need  was  past  ;'nd  o'er. 

Again  the  volume  to  restore. 

I  buried  him  on  Saint  Michael's  night, 

When  the  bell  tolled  one,  and  the  moon   was 

brigh*^; 
And  1  dug  his  chamber  among  the  dead. 
When  the  floor  of  the  chancel  was  stained  red. 
That  his  patron's  cross  might  over  him  wave. 
And  scare  the  fiends  from  the  wizard's  grave. 

XVI. 

"  It  was  a  night  of  wo  and  dread. 

When  Michael  in  the  tomb  1  laid! 

Strange  sounds  along  the  chancel  past; 

The  banners  waved  without  a  blast:" — ■ 

— Still  spoke  the  monk,  when  the  bell  tolled  one ! 

I  tell  you,  that  a  braver  man 

Than  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need. 

Against  a  foe  ne'er  spurred  a  steed; 

Yet  somewhat  was  he  chilled  with  dread, 

And  his  hair  did  bristle  upon  his  head. 


y^ 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL 


1^ 


\ 


xvu. 

"Lo,  warrior!    now,  the  cross  of  red 

Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead; 

Within  it  burns  a  wonih'ous  light, 

To  cliase  the  spirits  that  love  the  night; 

That  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchably,i5 

Until  tlie  eternal  doom  shall  be." 

Slow  moved  the  monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 

Which  the  bloody  cross  was  traced  upon; 

He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook; 

An  iron  bar  the  wairior  took; 

And  the  monk  made  a  sign  with  his  withered 

hand. 
The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

XVIII. 
With  beating  heart,  to  the  task  he  went; 
His  sinewy  frame  o'er  tiie  grave-stone  bent; 
With  bar  of  iron  heaved  amain, 
Till  the  toil  drops  fell  from  his  brows,  like  rain. 
It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength, 
That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 
I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 
How  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Summed  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 
iJOf^  Ihrougii  the  galleries  far  aloof! 
'  No  eafthly  tiame  blazed  e'er  so  bright; 
*It  shone  like  heaven's  own  blessed  light; 
:'     f  And,  rssiyfte  from  the  tomb, 

^ho*ed  the  itiohk's  cowl  and  visage  pale, 
I    Banced  on  the  Ark-browed  warrior's  mail, 
And  ki.sedhwwaving  plume. 

•       .       .  1    XIX. 

Before  tlteir  (Hl'eathe  wizard  lay, 
■   As  if  h«  had  not  leen  dead  a  daj-. 
His  hoaiy  bearcl  ni  silver  rolled, 
He  seemed  .some  seventy  winters  old; 
A  palmer's  amice  v.rajjped  him  round, 
With  a  wrought  Spanish  bahlric  bound, 

L'.iJ»a  jjftgrim  from  beyond  the  sea; 
His  left,  hand  held  his  book  of  might; 
'F,^X«flver  cross  was  in  his  right; 
•k.ifl'be  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee: 
•'Kigh  and  majestic  was  liis  look; 
At  which  the  fellesl  fiends  had  shook, 
And  all  unruffled  was  his  face — 
They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace. 

XX. 
Often  had  William  of  Deloraine 
Rode  through  the  battle's  bloody  plain, 
And  trampled  down  the  warriors  slain,   ■ 

And  neither  known  remorse  nor  awe; 
Yet  now  remorse  and  awe  he  owned: 
His  breath  came  thick,  liis  head  swam  round. 

When  this  strange  scene  of  death  he  saw. 
Bewildered  and  unnerved  he  stood, 
And  the  priest  prayed  fervently,  and  loud: 
With  eyes  averted,  prayed  he; 
He  might  not  endure  the  sight  to  see, 
Of  the  man  he  had  loved  so  brotherly. 

XXI. 

And  when  the  priest  his  death-prayer  had  pray 'd. 

Thus  unto  Deloraine  he  said; — 

"  Now,  speed  thee  what  thou  hast  to  do, 

Or,  warrior,  we  may  dearlj*  rue; 

For  those,  thou  maj 'st  not  look  upon. 

Are  gathering  fast  round  the  yawning  stone  !"-^ 

Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 

From  the  cold  hand  the  mighty  book. 

With  iron  clasped,  and  with  iron  bound; 

He  Iho't,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  frown'd; 

3 


But  the  glare  of  the  sepulchral  light. 
Perchance,  had  dazzled  the  warrior's  sight. 

XXII. 

When  the  huge  stone  sunk  o'er  the  tomb. 

The  night  returned  in  double  gloom; 

For  the  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  stai's  were 

few: 
And,  as  the  knight  and  priest  witlidrew, 
With  Avavering  steps  and  dizzy  brain, 
They  hardly  might  the  postern  gain. 
'Tis  said,  as  through  the  aisles  theV  passed, 
They  heard  strange  noises  on  the  blast; 
And  through  the  cloister-galleries  small, 
^^"hich  at  midheight  thread  the  chancel  wall, 
Loud  sobs,  and  laughter  louder,  ran. 
And  voices  unli!<e  the  voice  of  man; 
As  if  the  fiends  ke\>{.  iioliday. 
Because  these  spells  were  brought  to  day. 
I  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  be; 
1  say  the  tale  as  'twas  said  to  me. 

XXIH. 
"  Now,  hie  thee  hence,"  the  father  said; 
"And,  when  we  are  on  death-bed  laid, 
O  may  our  dear  Ladye,  and  sweet  Saint  John, 
Forgive  our  soids  for  tlie  deed  we  have  done!" 
The  monk  returned  him  to  his  cell. 

And  many  a  prayer  and  penance  sped; 
When  the  convent  met  at  t!ie  noontide  bell. 

The  monk  of  Saint  Mary's  aisle  was  dead! 
Before  the  cross  was  the  bodv  laid. 
With  hands  clasped  fast,  as  if  still  he  prayed. 

XXIV. 

The  knight  breathed  free  in  the  morning  wind. 

And  strove  his  hardihood  to  find; 

He  was  glad  when  he  jiassed  the  tombstones  gray, 

Whicli  girdle  round  the  fair  Ahba_\  e; 

For  the  mystic  book,  lo  his  bosom  prest. 

Felt  like  a  load  upon  his  breast; 

And  his  joints,  with  nerves  of  iron  twined. 

Shook,  like  the  aspen  leaves  in  wind. 

Full  fain  was  he  when  the  dawn  of  day 

Began  to  brighten  Cheviot  gray; 

He  joyed  to  see  the  cheerful  light. 

And  he  said  Ave  Mary,  as  well  as  he  might 

XXV. 

The  sun  had  brigiitened  Cheviot  gray. 

The  sun  had  brightened  the  C:>,rter's*  side; 
And  soon  beneath  the  rising  day 

Smiled  Branksome  towers  and  Teviot  tide. 
The  wild  birds  told  their  warbling  tale; 

And  awakened  eveiy  tiower  that  blows; 
And  peeped  forth  the  violet  pale. 

And  spread  iier  breast  the  mountain  rose: 
And  lovelier  than  tlie  rose  so  red. 

Yet  paler  than  the  violet  pale. 
She  earh  left  her  sleepless  lied. 

The  fairest  maid  of  Tevioldale. 

XXVI. 

Why  does  fair  Margaret  so  eai'ly  awake. 

And  don  her  kirlle  so  hastilie: 
And  tlie  silken  knots,  which  in  hurry  she  would 
make. 

Why  tremble  her  slender  fingers  to  tie? 
Why  does  she  stop,  and  look  ot'ien  :iround. 

As  she  glides  down  the  secret  stair; 
And  why  does  she  pat  the  shaggy  blood-hound. 

As  he  rouses  him  up  from  his  lair: 


'  A  mountain  on  the  border  of  England,  abo-vc  Jedburgh. 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And,  though  she  passes  tlic  postern  alone, 
Why  is  not  the  watehnian's  bugle  blown? 

XX  VII. 

The  Ladye  steps  in  iloubt  and  dread, 

Lest  her  walchtul  mother  hear  her  tread; 

The  Ladye  caresses  the  rough  blood-hound. 

Lest  his  voice  should  waken  the  castle  round; 

The  watchman's  bugle  is  not  blown. 

For  he  was  her  foster-father's  son; 

And  she  glides  througli  the  greenwood  at  dawn 

of  light. 
To  meet  baron  Henry,  her  own  true  knight. 

XXVIII. 

The  knight  and  ludye  fair  are  met. 

And  under  the  hawthorn's  boughs  are  set. 

A  fairer  jtnir  were  never  seen 

To  meet  beneath  the  hawthorn  gi-een. 

He  was  stalely,  and  young,  and  tall. 

Dreaded  in  battle,  and  loved  in  hall: 

And  she,  when  love,  scarce  told,  scarce  hid. 

Lent  to  iter  cheek  a  livelier  red; 

When  the  liulf  sigh  her  swelling  breast 

Against  the  silken  riband  prest; 

When  her  blue  eyes  their  secret  told. 

Though  sluided  by  her  locks  of  gold,— 

AA  here  would  you  find  tlie  peerless  fair 

With  Margaret  of  iJranksome  might  compare! 

XXIX. 

And  now,  fair  dames,  methinks  I  see 

You  listen  to  my  minstrelsy: 

Your  waving  locks  ye  backward  throw, 

And  sidelong  bend  your  necks  of  snow: 

Ye  ween  to  hear  a  melting  tale 

Of  two  true  lovers  in  a  dale; 

And  how  the  knight,  with  tender  fire. 
To  paint  his  faithful  passion  strove; 

Swore,  he  might  at  her  feet  expire. 
But  never,  never  cease  to  love; 
And  how  she  blushed,  and  liow  she  sighed, 
And,  half  consenting,  half  denied. 
And  said  that  she  would  die  a  maid; 
Yet,  might  the  bloody  feud  be  stayed, 
Henry  of  Cranstoun,  and  only  he, 
Margaret  of  Branksome's  choice  should  be. 

XXX. 

Alas!  fair  dames,  your  hopes  are  vain ! 
My  harp  has  lost  the  enchanting  strain; 

Its  lightness  would  my  age  reprove: 
My  hairs  are  gray,  my  limbs  are  old. 
My  heart  is  dead,  my  veins  are  cold; — 

1  may  not,  must  not,  sing  of  love. 

XXXI. 

Beneath  an  oak,  mossed  o'er  by  eld. 
The  baron's  dwarf  his  courser  held,!" 

And  held  !iis  crested  helm  and  speai-: 
That  dw  arf  w  as  scarce  an  eai-thly  man. 
If  the  tales  were  true,  that  of  him  ran 

Through  all  the  Border,  far  and  near. 
'Twas  said,  when  the  baron  a  hunting  rode, 
Through  Kedesdale's  glens,  but  rarely  Irod, 
He  heard  a  voice  cry,  '•  Lost!  lost!  lost!" 
And,  like  tennisball  by  racquet  tost, 

A  leap,  of  thirty  feet  and  three. 
Made  from  the  gorse  this  elfin  shape. 
Distorted  like  some  dwarfish  ape. 

And  lighted  at  lord  Cranstoun 's  knee. 
Lord  Cranstoun  was  somewhil  dismayed; 
'Tis  said  llu.t  five  good  miles  hf.  rade, 

To  rid  hiiu  of  his  company; 


But  where  he  rode  one  mile,  the  dwarf  ran  four. 
And  the  dwarf  was  first  at  the  castle  door. 

XXXII. 
Use  lessens  marvel,  it  is  said: 
This  elfish  dwarf  with  the  baron  staid; 
Little  he  ate,  and  less  he  spoke. 
Nor  mingled  witli  the  menial  flock: 
And  oft  ap.art  his  arms  he  tossed, 
And  often  muttered,  "Lost!  lost!  lost!" 

He  was  waspish,  arch,  and  litherlie, 

But  well  lord  Cr.instoun  served  he; 
And  he  of  his  service  was  full  foin; 
For  once  he  had  been  ta'en  or  slain, 

An'  had  it  not  been  his  ministry. 
All,  between  Home  and  Hermitage, 
Talked  of  lord  Cranstoun's  goblin  page. 

XXXIII. 
For  the  baron  went  on  pilgrimage, 
And  took  with  him  this  elfish  page, 

To  Marj-'s  chapel  cf  the  Lowes; 
For  there,  beside  our  Lady's  lake. 
An  offering  he  had  sworn  to  make, 

And  he  would  pay  his  vows. 
But  the  Ladye  of  Eranksome  gatliered  a  baad 
Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  comma»d;'8 

The  trysting  place  was  Newark  Lee. 
Wat  of  Harden  came  thitlier  amain, 
And  thither  came  .John  of 'I'liiHestane,  •«'    0 
And  thither  came  \\'illiam  ot^elopainor         " 

They  were  three  hundred^pears  and  three. 
Through  Douglas-burn,  up  kix&w  stream. 
Their  horses  prance,  ttieir  IArs  glpara.  ' 
They  came  to  saint  Alarv's  l&e^;re  day;  ' 
But  the  chapel  was  voiil,  ancRhe  baron  awav. 
They  burned  the  ciiapel  tor  «ry  rag 
And  cursed  I^ord  Cranstoun'Jgoblfn 

XXXIV.     ' 
And  now,  in  Branksome's  good  green  wood. 
As  under  the  aged  oak  lie  stood. 
The  baron's  courser  pricks  his  ears, 
As  if  a  distant  noise  he  liears; 
The  dwarf  waves  his  long  lean  arm  o.  high. 
And  signs  to  the  lovers  to  pai-t  and  fly;  *     * 
No  time  was  then  to  vow  or  sigh.  ^ 

Fair  Margaret,  through  the  hazel  grove,  - 
Flew  like  the  startled  cu:-hat  dove:* 
The  dwarf  the  stirrup  held  and  rein; 
Vaulted  the  knight  on  his  steed  amain, 
And,  pondering  deep  that  morning's  scene. 
Rode  eastward  through  the  hawthorns  green. 

While  thus  he  poured  the  lengthened  tale, 
The  Minstrel's  voice  began  to  fail; 
Full  shly  smiled  the  observant  page, 
And  gave  the  withered  hand  of  age 
A  goblet,  crowned  with  mightv  wine, 
The  blood  of  Velez'  scorched  vine. 
He  raised  the  silver  cup  on  high, 
And,  while  the  big  drop  filled  his  eye. 
Prayed  God  to  bless  the  duchess  long. 
And  all  w  ho  cheered  a  son  of  song. 
The  attending  maidens  smiled  to  see. 
How  long,  how  deep,  how  zealously. 
The  precious  juice  tiie  Minstrel  quaffed; 
And  lie,  emboldened  by  tiie  draught. 
Looked  gayly  back  to  them,  and  laughed. 
The  cordial  nectar  of  the  bowl 
Swelled  his  old  veins,  and  cheered  hrs  soul; 
A  lighter,  livelier  prelude  ran. 
Ere  thus  his  tale  again  be^aii. 


i 


'  Wood-pigfoii. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


L 

And  said  I  that  my  limbs  were  old; 
And  said  1  that  my  blood  was  cold, 
And  that  my  kindly  fire  was  fled, 
And  my  poor  withered  heart  was  dead. 

And  that  I  might  not  sing  of  love? 
How  could  I  to  the  dearest  theme. 
That  ever  warmed  a  Minstrel's  dream. 

So  foul,  so  false  a  recreant  prove! 
How  could  I  name  love's  very  name, 
Nor  wake  ray  harp  to  notes  of  flame! 

II. 

In  peace.  Love  tunes  the  sliepherd's  reed, 

In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen; 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Love  rules  tlie  court,  the  camp,  the  grove. 

And  men  below  and  saints  above; 

For  love  is  lieaven,  and  heaven  is  love. 

III. 

So  thought  lord  Cranstoun,  as  I  ween, 
While,  pondering  deep  tlie  tender  scene, 
Herode  through  Branksome's  liawthnrn  green. 

But  J.he  page  sliouted  wild  and  slii'ill, — 

And  scarce  iiis  helmet  could  lie  don, 
Whea  downward  from  the  shady  hill 
♦   A  stately  knight  came  y)ricking  on. 
That  warrior's  steed,  so  dapple-gray, 
Was  datk  with  sweat,  and  splashed  with  clay: 

Hi^  aVmour  1»ed  with  many  a  stain: 
He  seemed  in  such  a  weary  plight. 
As  if  he  had  ridden  the  livelong  night; 

For  it  was  William  of  Deloraine. 

'       '    '  IV. 

But  no  whit  weary  did  he  seem, 
Wii^n,  ^iicifig  in  tlie  sunny  heara, 

»^e  markeVl  the  crane  on  the  baron's  crest;' 
For  hjs  ready  spear  was  in  his  rest. 
»Pew  vjjpre  the  words,  and  stern,  and  high, 
V  *That  iiQavked  tlie  foemen's  feudal  hate; 
For  question  fierce,  and  proud  reply, 
Gf^ve  signal  soon  of  dire  debate. 
4^h<iir  very  coursers  seemed  to  know, 
X  That  each  was  other's  mortal  foe; 
And  snorted  fire,  when  wlieeled  around. 
To  give  each  knight  his  vantage  ground. 

V. 

In  rapid  round  the  baron  bent; 

He  sighed  a  sigh,  and  prayed  a  prayer: 
The  prayer  was  to  his  patron  saint. 

The  sigh  was  to  liis  ladye  fair. 
Stout  Deloraine  nor  siglied,  nor  prayed, 
Nor  saint  noi'  ladye  called  to  aid; 
But  he  stooped  liis  head,  and  couched  his  spear, 
And  spurred  his  steed  to  full  career. 
The  meeting  of  these  champions  proud 
Seemed  like  the  bursting  thunder-cloud. 

VI. 
Stern  was  the  dint  the  borderer  lent; 
The  stately  baron  backwards  bent; 
Bent  backwards  to  liis  liorse's  tail. 
And  his  plumes  went  scattering  on  the  gale; 
Tlie  tough  asli  spear,  so  stout  and  true 
Into  a  thousand  flinders  flew. 
But  Cranstoun's  lance,  of  more  avail. 
Pierced  tiirongli,  like  silk,  tlie  borderer's  mail: 
Through  shield,  and  jack,  and  acton  past, 
Deep  in  his  bosom,  broke  at  last. 


Still  sate  the  warrior  saddle  fast, 
Till,  stumbling  in  the  moi-lal  shock, 
Down  went  the  steed,  the  girthing  broke. 
Hurled  on  a  heap  lay-  man  and  horse. 
The  baron  onward  passed  his  course; 
Nor  knew,  so  giddy  rolled  his  brain. 
His  foe  lay  stretched  upon  the  plain. 

VII. 

But  when  he  reined  his  courser  round. 
And  saw  his  foeman  on  the  ground 

Lie  senseless  as  the  bloody  cla)', 
He  bade  his  |>age  to  stanch  the  wound. 

And  there  beside  the  warrior  stay. 
And  tend  him  in  his  doubtful  state. 
And  lead  him  to  Branksome  castle-gate. 
His  noble  mind  Avas  inly  moved 
For  the  kinsman  of  the  maid  he  loved. 
"  Tliis  shalt  tliou  do  without  delay; 
No  longer  here  myself  may  stay; 
Unless  the  swifter  I  speed  away, 
Sbort  shrift  will  be  at  my  dying  day." 

Vlll. 

Away  in  speed  lord  Cranstoun  rode; 

The  goblin-page  behind  abode: 

His  lord's  command  lie  ne'er  withstood, 

Though  small  his  pleasure  to  do  good. 

As  the  corslet  off  lie  took. 

The  dwarf  espied  the  mighty  book! 

Mucli  he  marvelled,  a  knight  of  pride. 

Like  a  book-bosomed  priest  should  ride:^ 

He  thought  not  to  search  or  stanch  the  wound, 

Until  the  secret  he  had  found. 

IX. 

The  iron  band,  the  iron  clasp. 

Resisted  long  the  elfin  gi-asp; 

For  when  the  first  he  had  undone. 

It  closed  as  he  the  next  begun. 

Those  iron  clasps,  that  iron  band. 

Would  not  yield  to  unchristened  hand. 

Till  he  smeared  tlie  cover  o'er 

With  the  borderer's  curdled  gore; 

A  moment  then  the  volume  spread. 

And  one  short  spell  therein  he  read. 

It  had  much  of  glamour  raight,^ 

Could  make  a  ladye  seem  a  knight; 

The  cobwebs  on  a  dungeon  wall. 

Seem  tapestry  in  lordly  hall; 

A  nutshell  seem  a  gilded  barge, 

A  sheeling*  seem  a  palace  large. 

And  youth  seem  age,  and  age  seem  youth;— » 

All  was  delusion,  nought  was  truth. 

X. 

He  had  not  read  aiiollier  spell, 

When  on  his  cheek  a  bufiet  fell, 

So  fierce,  it  stretched  him  on  liie  plain, 

Beside  the  wounded  Deloraine. 

From  the  ground  he  rose  dismayed. 

And  shook  his  huge  and  matted  head; 

One  word  he  muttered,  and  no  more — 

"  Man  of  age,  thou  smitest  sore!" — 

No  more  the  elfin  page  durst  try 

Into  the  wonderous  book  to  ])ry; 

The  clasps,  thougli  smeared  with  Christian  gore. 

Shut  fastei-  than  they  were  before. 

He  hid  it  underneath  his  cloak. — 

Now,  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

1  cannot  tell,  so  mot  1  thrive; 

It  was  not  given  by  man  alive.! 


A  shf|)lierU'i  hut. 


10 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XL 

Unwillingly  Iiimsclf  he  addressed, 

To  do  his  I'liaMi  r's  high  hehest: 

He  lifted  up  llie  living  corse, 

And  l:iid  it  on  the  weary  horse; 

He  led  him  into  Uranksome  liall. 

Before  tli<'  heards  of  the  warders  all; 

And  each  did  after  swear  and  say. 

There  onlv  passed  a  wain  of  hay. 

He  look,  h'im  to  lord  David's  tower, 

Even  to  the  Ladye's  secret  bower: 

And,  but  that  stronger  spells  were  spread, 

And  tlie  door  niiglit  not  be  opened, 

He  had  laid  him  on  her  very  bed. 

Whatc'er  he  did  of  gramarye,* 

Was  always  done  maliciously; 

He  Hung  the  warrior  on  the  ground. 

And  the  blood  welled  freshly  from  the  wound. 

XII. 

As  he  repassed  the  outer  court. 

He  spied  the  fair  young  child  at  sport; 

He  thought  to  train  him  to  die  wood; 

For,  at  a  won!,  be  it  understood, 

He  was  always  for  ill,  and  never  for  good. 

Seemed  to  the  boy  some  comrade  gay 

Led  him  forth  to  the  woods  to  play; 

On  the  drawbridge  the  warders  stout 

Saw  a  terrier  and  lurcher  passing  out. 

XIII. 

He  led  the  boy  o'er  bank  and  fell, 

Until  they  came  to  a  woodland  brook; 
The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell, j 

And  his  own  elvish  shape  he  took. 
Could  he  have  had  Ids  pleasure  vilde. 
He  had  crippled  the  joints  of  the  noble  child; 
Or,  with  his  fingers  long  and  lean. 
Had  strangled  him  in  fiendish  spleen: 
But  his  awful  mother  he  had  in  dread. 
And  also  his  power  was  limited: 
So  he  but  scowled  on  the  startled  child, 
And  darted  through  ll)e  forest  wild; 
The  woodland  brook  he  bounding  crossed. 
And  laughed,  and  shouted  "Lost!  lost!  lost!" 

XIV. 
Full  sore  amazed  at  the  wonderous  change, 

And  frightened,  as  a  child  might  be, 
At  the  wild  yell,  and  visage  strange, 

And  the  dark  words  of  gramarye. 
The  child,  amidst  the  forest  bower. 
Stood  rooted  like  a  lily  iiower; 

And  when  at  len ;;th,  with  trembling  pace. 
He  sought  to  fiad  where  Branksome  lay. 

He  feared  to  see  that  grisly  face 

Glare  from  some  thicket  on  his  way. 
Thus,  starting  oft,  he  journeyed  on. 
And  deeper  in  the  wood  is  gone, — 
For  aye  tiie  more  he  sought  his  way, 
The  farther  still  he  went  astray, 
Until  he  heard  the  myuntains  round 
Ring  to  the  baying  of  a  hound. 

XV. 

And  hark !  and  hark !  the  deep-mouthed  bark 

Comes  nigher  still,  and  nigher: 
Bursts  on  the  path  a  dark  blood-hound, 
His  tawny  muzzle  tracked  the  ground. 

And  his  red  eye  sliol  fire. 
Soon  as  the  wildered  cltild  saw  he. 
He  flew  at  him  risrht  furiouslie. 


*  M:lffic. 


I  ween  you  would  have  seen  with  joy 
The  bearing  of  the  gallant  boy, 
When,  worthy  of  his  noble  sire, 
His  wet  cheek  glowed  'twixt  fear  and  ire! 
He  faced  the  blood-hound  manfully, 
And  held  his  little  bat  on  high; 
So  fierce  he  stj-nck,  the  dog,  afraid, 
At  cautious  distance  hoarsely  bayed. 

But  still  in  act  to  spring; 
When  dashed  an  arclier  through  the  glade, 
And  when  he  saw  the  hound  was  stayed, 

He  drew  his  tough  bowstring: 
But  a  rough  voice  cried,  *'  Siioot  not,  hoy! 
Ho!  shoot  not,  Edward — 'tis  a  boy!" 

XVI. 

The  speaker  issued  from  the  wood. 
And  checked  liis  fellow's  surly  mood, 

And  quelled  the  ban-dog's  ire: 
He  was  an  English  yeoman  good, 

And  born  in  Lancashire. 
Well  could  he  hit  a  fallow  deer. 

Five  hundred  feet  him  fro; 
With  hand  more  true,  and  eye  more  clear, 

No  archer  bended  bow. 
His  coal-black  hair,  shorn  round  and  clos^# 

Set  offiiis  sun-burned  face;  »■ 

Old  England's  sign,  Saint  George's  cross,     -, 

His  barret-cap  did  grace;  ,  > 

His  bugle-horn  hung  by  his  side. 
All  in  a  wolf-skin  baldric  tied; 
And  his  short  falchion,  sharp  and  cleSr,. 
Had  pierced  the  throat  of  many  4i  deer. 

XVII.     •     • 

His  kirtle,  made  of  forest  green. 

Reached  scantly  to  his  knee; 
And,  at  Ids  belt,  of  arrows  keen  ^  ^ 

A  furbished  sheaf  bore  he:  •  ' .  ' 

His  buckler  scarce  in  breadth  a  span, 

No  larger  fence  had  he: 
He  never  counted  him  a  man 

Would  strike  below  the  knee;^       ^ 
His  slackened  bow  was  in  his  h:4nd, 
And  the  leash,  that  was  his  blood-hound's  band. 


^■V; 


xvin. 

He  would  not  do,  the  fair  child  harm, 
But  held  him  with  his  powerful  arm. 
That  he  might  neither  fight  nor  flee; 
For  when  the  red  cross  spied  he, 
The  boy  strove  long  and  violently. 
"  Now,  by  Saint  George,"  the  archer  cries, 
"Edward,  methinks  we  have  a  prize! 
This  boy's  fair  face,  and  courage  free, 
Show  he  is  come  of  high  degree." 

XIX. 

"  Yes!  I  am  come  of  high  degree. 

For  I  am  the  heir  of  bold  Buccleueb; 
And,  if  thou  dost  not  set  me  free. 

False  southron,  thou  shall  dearly  rue! 
For  Walter  of  Harden  shall  come  with  speed, 
And  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 
And  every  Scott  from  Esk  to  Tweed; 
And,  if  thou  dost  not  let  me  go. 
Despite  thy  arrows,  and  thy  bow, 
I'll  have  thee  hanged  to  feed  the  crow!" 

XX.  .  ■   -^  ' 

"  Gramercy,  for  thy  good  will,  fair  bbv! 
My  mind  was  never  set  so  high; 
But  if  thou  art  chief  of  such  a  clan. 
And  art  the  son  of  such  a  man, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MNSTREL 


11 


And  ever  comest  to  thy  command, 

Our  wardens  had  need  to  keep  good  order: 
My  bow  of  yew  to  a  hazel  wand, 

Thou'lt  make  them  work  upon  the  border. 
Meantime  be  pleased  to  come  with  me, 
For  good  lord  Daci-e  shall  thou  see. 
1  think  our  work  is  well  begun. 
When  we  have  taken  thy  father's  son. " 

XXI. 

Although  the  child  was  led  away, 
In  Branksome  still  he  seemed  to  stay, 
For  so  the  dwarf  his  part  did  play; 
And,  in  the  shape  of  that  young  boy, 
He  wrought  the  castle  much  annoy. 
The  comrades  of  the  young  Buccleuch 
He  pinched,  and  beat,  and  overthrew; 
Nay,  some  of  them  he  well  nigh  slew. 
He  tore  dame  Maudlin's  silken  tire, 
And,  as  Sym  Hall  stood  by  the  fire. 
He  lighted  the  match  of  his  bandelier,* 
And  wofully  scorched  the  hackbutteer.f 
It  may  be  hanlly  thought  or  said, 
The  mischief  that  tlie  urchin  made. 
Till  many  of  the  castle  guessed. 
That  the  young  baron  was  possessed  I 

XXII. 
M'ell  I  ween  the  charm  he  held 
^Tffe  nqMe  Ladye  had  soon  dispelled; 
But  ?fi?»s  deeply  busied  then 
To'ien'd  We  wounded  Deloraine. 
Much  she  wondered  to  find  him  lie, 

.On  the  stone  threshold  stretched  along; 
She  thought  some  spirit  of  the  sky 

Had  done  the  bold  moss-trooper  wrong; 
.  Because,  despite  her  precept  dread. 
Perchance  he  in  the  book  had  read; 
But  the  broken  lance  in  his  bosom  stood, 
And  it  was  earthly  steel  and  viood. 

XXIII. 

Siip  drew  the  splinter  from  the  wound. 

And  with  a  charm  she  stanched  the  blood :' 
She  bade  the  gash  be  cleansed  and  bound; 

No  longer  by  his  couch  she  stood; 
But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance, 
Aijd  washed  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 
'^jp.  salygd  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er.^ 
^>j*iam  of  Deloraine,  in  trance, 
•  Whene'er  she  turned  it  round  and  round, 
'Twisted,  as  if  she  galled  his  wound. 
Then  to  her  maidens  she  did  say, 
That  lie  should  be  whole  man  and  sound, 
Within  the  course  of  a  night  and  dav. 
Full  long  she  toiled;  for  she  did  rue 
Mishap  to  friend  so  stout  and  true. 

XXIV. 

So  passed  the  day — the  evening  fell, 
'Twas  near  the  time  of  cui-few  bell; 
The  air  was  mild,  trie  wind  was  calm. 
The  stream  was  smooth,  the  dew  was  balm; 
E'en  the  rude  watchman,  on  the  tower. 
Enjoyed  and  blessed  the  lovely  hour; 
Far  more  fair  Margaret  loved" and  blessed 
The  hour  of  silence  and  of  rest. 
On  the  high  tuixet  silting  lone. 
She  waked  at  times  the  lute's  soft  tone; 
Touched  a  wild  note,  and,  all  between, 
Thought  of  the  bower  of  hawthorns  green. 


*  Bandelier,  belt  for  carrj-ing  amraunitioQ. 
t  Hackbutteer,  musketeer. 


Her  golden  hair  streamed  free  from  band, 
Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her  hand. 
Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar, 
For  lovers  love  the  western  star. 

XXV. 

Is  yon  the  star,  o'er  Penchryst  Pen, 

That  rises  slowly  to  her  ken. 

And,  spreading  broad  its  wavering  light, 

Shakes  its  loose  tresses  on  the  night.' 

Is  yon  red  glare  the  western  star?^ 

O,  'tis  the  beacon  blaze  of  war! 

Scarce  could  she  draw  her  tightened  breath, 

For  well  she  new  the  fire  of  death! 

XXV!. 

The  warder  viewed  it  blazing  strong, 
And  blew  his  warnote  loud  and  long. 
Till,  at  the  high  and  haughty  sound, 
Rock,  wood,  and  river,  rung  around. 
The  blast  alarmed  the  festal  hall. 
And  startled  forth  the  waiTiors  all; 
Far  downward,  in  the  castle-yard, 
Full  many  a  torch  and  cresset  glared; 
And  helms  and  plumes,  confusedly  tossed. 
Were  in  the  blaze  half  seen,  half  lost; 
And  spears  in  wild  disorder  shook. 
Like  reeds  beside  a  frozen  brook. 

xxvu. 

The  seneschal,  whose  silver  hair 

Was  reddened  by  the  torches'  glare. 

Stood  in  the  midst,  with  gesture  proud, 

And  issued  forth  his  mandates  loud. 

'•  On  Penchryst  glows  a  bale  of  fire. 

And  three  ai-e  kindling  on  Priesthaughswire;' 

Ride  out,  ride  out. 

The  foe  to  scout! 
Mount,  mount,  for  Branksome,*  every  man! 
Thou,  Todrig,  warn  the  Johnstone  clan. 

That  ever  are  true  ar.d  stout. 
Ye  need  not  send  to  Lidslesdale; 
For,  when  they  see  the  blazing  bale, 
Elliots  and  Armstrongs  never  fail. — 
Ride,  Alton,  ride,  for  death  and  life! 
And  warn  the  warden  of  the  strife. 
Young  Gilbert,  let  our  beacon  blaze. 
Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends,  to  raise."'" 

xxvni. 

Fair  Margaret,  from  the  turret  head, 
Heard,  far  below,  tlie  coursers'  tread. 

While  loud  the  harness  rang. 
As  to  their  seats,  with  clamop  dread. 

The  ready  horsmen  sprang; 
And  trampling  hoofs,  and  iron  coats. 
And  leaders'  voices,  mingl^-d  notes, 
Aiid  out!. and  out! 
In  hasty  route. 

The  horsemen  galloped  forth; 
Dispersing  to  the  south  to  scout. 

And  east,  and  west,  and  north, 
To  view  their  coming  enemies. 
And  warn  their  vassals  and  allies. 

XXIX. 

The  ready  page,  with  hurried  hand 
Awaked  the  need-fire"st  slumbering  brand. 

And  ruddy  blushed  the  heaven: 
For  a  sheet  of  flame,  from  the  turret  high. 
Waved  like  a  bloodflag  on  the  sky. 

All  flaring  and  uneven. 


•  Mount  for  Branksome  was  the  gatherine  word  of  the 
Suotts.  t  Seed-Jii  c",  ueacun. 


12 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  soon  a  score  of  fires,  I  ween, 

Frnni  liciglii,  iiTid  liill,  and  clift",  were  seen; 

Each  with  warlike  tidings  fraiiglit; 

Each  IVoni  L-aiii  liif  signal  canghl; 

Each  after  each  they  glanced  to  sight. 

As  stars  arise  upon  the  nigiit. 

They  gleamed  on  many  a  dusky  tarn,* 

Haunted  by  tiie  lonely  earii;t 

On  many  a  cairn's  gray  pyramid, 

Where  iirns  of  mii^Uly  chiels  lie  hid;" 

'I'ill  high  Dunediii  the  hlazes  saw, 

J'roin  Solira  and  l);impendeV  Law; 

And  Lolliiau  lieard  the  regent's  order, 

'riiat  all  should  how  net  them  for  the  Border. 

XXX. 

The  livelong  night  in  Hranksonie  rang 

The  ceaseless  sound  of  steel; 
The  castle-bell,  willi  backward  clang. 

Sent  forth  the  larum  peal; 
Was  frequent  heai-d  the  heavy  jar, 
^\'here  massy  stone  and  iron  bar 
Were  pile<l  on  echriing  keep  and  tower, 
To  whelm  the  I'oc  uilii  deadly  shower; 
Was  freipiciit  heard  ihe  changing  guard. 
And  watchword  from  tlie  sleepless  ward; 
While,  wearied  by  the  endless  din, 
Blood-houn<l  and  ban-dcg  yelled  w  ithin. 

XXXI. 

The  noble  dame,  amid  the  broil. 
Shared  the  gray  seneschal's  high  toil. 
And  spoke  of  danger  with  a  smile; 
Cheered  the  young  knights,  and  council  sage 
Held  with  the  chiefs  of  riper  age. 
No  tidings  of  the  foe  were  brought. 
Nor  of  his  numbers  knew  they  aught. 
Nor  ill  what  time  the  truce  he  sought. 

Some  said,  that  there  were  thousands  ten. 
And  others  weened  that  it  was  nought 

But  Level!  clans,  or  Tynedale  men, 
Who  came  to  gather  in  black  mail,|l 
And  Liddesdaie,  w  ith  small  avail. 

Might  drive  them  lightly  back  agen. 
So  passed  the  anxious  night  away. 
And  w  elcome  was  the  peep  of  day, 

Ceased  the  high  sound — the  listening  throng 

Applaud  the  Master  of  tlie  song; 

And  marvel  much,  in  helpless  age. 

So  hard  should  be  his  pilgrimage. 

Had  he  no  friend,  no  daughter  dear. 

His  wandering  toil  to  share  and  cheer; 

No  son,  to  be  his  father's  staj', 

And  guide  him  on  the  rugged  way? 

"  Ay,  once  he  had — but  he  was  dead  !" — 

Upon  the  haip  he  stooped  his  head. 

And  busii'd  himself  the  strings  witlial, 

To  hide  the  Lear,  llial  fain  w'uuld  fall. 

In  solemn  measiu-e,  soft  and  slow. 

Arose  a  father's  notes  of  wo. 

CANTO  ly. 

1. 

SwF,F.T  Teviol!  on  thy  silver  tide 
The  glaring  bale-fires  blaze  no  more;     - 

No  longer  steel-clad  wai-riors  ride 
Along  thy  wild  and  willowed  shore: 

Where'er  tliou  wind'sl,  by  dale  or  hill. 

All,  all  is  peaceful,  all  is  still. 


'  Tniii,  a  niiiiinl:iiii  laUc. 

+  Enrti,  the  Sfof.isli  eaiflc.     \  Bomiie,  niuke  rc.idy. 

II  Prirti'ition  inmuy  fxiiutrd  hy  free-booter*. 


il; 

tiphian'&eyft' 


As  if  thy  waves,  since  time  was  born, 
Since  first  thej'  rolled  their  way  to  Tweed, 
Had  only  heard  the  shepherd's  reed. 

Nor  started  at  the  bugle-horn. 

II. 
Unlike  the  tide  of  human  time, 

Which,  though  it  change  in  ceaseless  flow, 
Retains  each  grief,  retains  each  crime. 

Its  earliest  course  was  doomed  to  know 
And,  darker  as  it  dow  nward  bears. 
Is  stained  with  past  and  ])resent  tears. 

Low  as  that  tide  has  ebbed  with  me. 
It  still  reflects  to  memory's  eye 
The  hoiu',  my  brave,  my  only  boy. 

Fell  by  the  side  of  great  Dundee.' 
Why,  when  the  volleying  musket  played 
Against  the  bloody  Highland  blade. 
Why  was  1  not  beside  him  laid! — 
Enough — he  died  the  death  of  fame; 
Enough — he  died  with  conquering  Crjeme! 

in. 

Now  over  border,  dale  and  fell, 

Full  wide  and  far  was  terror  spread; 

For  pathless  march,  and  mountain  cell. 
The  peasant  left  his  lowly  shed. 2 

The  frightened  flocks  and  herds  were  pent 

Beneath  the  peel's  rude  battlement; 

And  maids  and  matrons  <)ropt  the  te:u| 

While  ready  warriors  seized  the  sp« 

From  lirauksome's  towers,  the  %vatiptuan'&  eyi|'' 

Dun  wi-ealhs  of  distant  smoke  can  spj^,    • 

Which,  curling-  in  the  rising  sun. 

Showed  southern  ravage''  w  as  begun.   "'^  ' 

Now  loud  the  heedful  gate-ward  cried — 
"  Pi'epare  ye  all  for  blows  and  blood! 
Wat  Tiidinn,^  from  the  Liddel-side,  * 

Comes  wading  through  the  flood. 
Full  oft  the  Tynedale  snatchers  knock 
At  his  lone  gate,  and  i>rove  the  lock'; 
It  was  but  last  Saint  Barnabright        r 
They  sieged  him  a  whole  summer  night* 
But  fled  at  morning;  well  they  knew,       %    ■, 
In  vain  he  never  twanged  the  yew.  ^ 

Right  sharp  has  been  the  evening  shower, 
That  drove  him  from  his  Liddel  tower; 
And,  by  my  faith,"  the  gate- ward  §hid, 
"  1  think  'twill  prove  a  Warden-raid."^  ,• 

While  thus  he  spoke,  the  bold  yeoman       'j^ 

Entered  the  echoing  barbican. 

He  leil  a  small  and  shaggy  nag, 

Tiial  ihrougli  a  bog,  from  hag  to  hagt 

Could  bound  like  anv  Bilhope  stag,^ 

It  bore  his  wifi>  and  children  twain. 

A  half-clotI\ed  serf]:  was  all  their  train: 

His  wife,  stout,  ruddy,  and  dark-browed. 

Of  silver  brooch  and  bracelet  proud,*' 

Laughed  to  her  friends  among  the  crowd. 

He  was  of  stature  passing  tall. 

But  sparely  formed,  and  lean  withal: 

A  battered  morion  on  his  brow; 

A  leathern  jack,  as  fence  enow. 

On  his  broad  shoulders  loosely  hung; 

A  border  axe  behind  was  slung; 

Mis  spear,  six  Scottish  ells  in  length. 
Seemed  newly  tlied  with  gore; 

His  shafts  and  bow,  of  wonderous  strength, 
His  hardy  partner  bore. 


v>>. 


•  An  ini'oail  eomuiaiided  by  the  warden  in  person. 
t  Tlie  lirokc-n  ^ruund  in  a  botj.  }  Bondsman. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


VI. 

Thus  to  the  ladye  did  Tinlinn  show 

The  tidings  of  the  English  foe. — 

"Belted  Will  Howard'?  is  marching  here, 

And  hot  lord  Dacre,8  with  many  a  spear. 

And  all  the  German  hagbiit-men,9 

Wlio  long  have  lain  at  Askerten: 

They  crossed  the  Liddel  at  curfew  hour, 

And  burned  my  little  lonely  tower; 

The  fiend  receive  their  souls  therefor! 

It  had  not  been  burned  this  year  and  more. 

Barn-yard,  and  dwelling,  blazing  bright, 

Served  to  guide  me  on  my  flight; 

But  I  was  chased  the  livelong  night. 

Black  John  of  Akeshaw,  and  Fergus  Grceme, 

Full  fast  upon  my  traces  came. 

Until  I  turned  at  Priesthaugliscrogg, 

And  sliot  their  horses  in  the  bog, 

Slew  Fergus  with  my  lance  outright — 

1  had  him  long  at  high  dL-spite: 

He  drove  my  cows  last  Fastern's  night." 

VII. 

Now,  weary  scouts  from  Liddesdale, 
Fast  hurrying  in,  confirmed  the  tale; 
As  far  as  they  could  judge  by  ken. 

Three  hours  would  bring  to  Teviot's  strand 
Tlu-ee  thousand  armed  Englishmen. 

Meanwhile,  full  many  a  warlike  baud. 
From  Teviot,  Aill,  and  Ettrick  shade, 
(Came  in,  their  chief's  defence  to  aid. 
There  was  saddling  and  mounting  in  haste. 

There  was  pricking  o'er  moor  and  lee; 
He  that  was  last  at  the  trysting  place 

VVaS%ut  lightly  held  of  his  gay  ladye. 

*  Vill. 

From  feir  Saint  Mary's  silver  wave. 

From  (k-eary  Gamescleugh's  dusky  height. 
His  ready  lances  Thirlestane'o  brave 

Arrayed  beneath  a  banner  briglit. 
The  treasured  fleur-de-luce  he  claims 
To  wreath  his  shield,  since  royal  James, 
EncampeJ  by  Fala's  mossy  wave, 
The  proud  distinction  grateful  gave, 

For  faith  mid  feudal  jars; 
What  time,  save  Thirlestane  alone, 
Of  Scotland's  stubborn  bai-ons  none 

Would  .fnarch  to  southern  wars; 
And  hence,  in  fair  remembrance  worn, 
Yon  sheaf  of  spears  his  crest  lias  borne; 
Hence  his  high  motto  shines  revealed— 
"Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field. 

IX. 

An  aged  knigl\t,  to  danger  steeled, 

With  many  a  moss-trooper,  came  on: 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
Tlie  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield. 

Without  the  bend  of  Murdieston." 
Wide  lay  his  lands  round  Oakwood  tower, 
And  wide  round  haunted  Castle  Ower; 
High  over  Borthwick's  mountain  flood, 
His  wood-embosomed  mansion  stood; 
In  the  dark  glen,  so  deep  below. 
The  herds  of  plundered  England  low, 
His  bold  retainers'  daily  food. 
And  bought  with  danger,  blows,  and  blood. 
Marauding  chief!  Ids  sole  delight 
The  mooidight  raid,  the  morning  fight; 
Not  even  the  flower  of  Yarrow's  charms. 
In  youth,  might  tame  his  rage  for  arms; 
And  still,  ill  age,  he  spurned  at  rest. 
And  still  liis  iuows  the  helmet  pressed. 


Albeit  the  blanched  locks  below 
Were  white  as  Dinlay's  spotless  snow: 
Five  stately  warriors  drew  the  sword 

Before  their  father's  band; 
A  braver  knight  than  Harden's  lord 

Ne'er  belted  on  a  brand. 

X. 

Scotts  of  Eskdale,"2  a  stalwart  band. 

Came  trooping  down  the  Todshawhill; 
By  the  sword  they  won  their  laud, 

And  by  the  sword  they  hold  it  still. 
Hearken',  Ladye,  to  the  tale, 
How  tliy  sires  won  fair  Eskdale. — 
Earl  Morton  was  lord  of  that  valley  fair, 
The  Beattisons  were  Ids  vassals  there. 
The  earl  was  gentle,  and  milil  of  mood. 
The  vassals  were  warlike,  and  fierce,  and  rude; 
High  of  heart,  and  haughty  of  word. 
Little  they  recked  of  a  tame  liege  lord. 
The  earl  to  fair  Eskdale  came. 
Homage  and  seignory  to  claim: 
Of  Gilbert  the  Galliard,  a  heriot*  he  sought. 
Saying,  "  Give  thy  best  steed,  as  a  vassal  ought." 
— "Dear  to  me  is  my  bonny  white  steed, 
Oft  has  he  helped  me  at  pinch  of  need; 
Lord  and  earl  tliough  thou  be,  1  trow, 
I  can  rein  Bucksfoot  better  than  thou." 
Word  on  word  gave  fuel  to  fire. 
Till  so  highly  blazed  tlie  Beattisons'  ire, 
But  that  the  earl  to  flight  had  ta'en. 
The  vassals  there  their  lord  had  slain. 
Sore  he  plied  both  whip  and  spur. 
As  he  urged  his  steed  through  Eskdale  muir; 
And  it  fell  down  a  weary  weight. 
Just  on  the  threshold  of  Branksome  gate. 

XL 

The  earl  was  a  wrathful  man  to  see, 

Full  fain  avenged  would  he  be. 

In  haste  to  Branksnme's  lord  he  spoke. 

Saying— "Take  these  traitors  to  tliy  yoke: 

l-'or  a  cast  of  hawks,  and  a  purse  of  gold. 

All  Eskdale  I'll  sell  thee,  to  have  and  hold: 

Beshrew  thy  heart,  of  the  Beattisons'  clan 

If  thou  leavest  on  Esk  a  landed  man: 

But  spare  Woodkerrick's  lands  alone, 

For  he  lent  me  his  horse  to  escape  upon."— 

A  glad  man  then  was  Branksome  bold, 

Down  he  flung  him  the  purse  of  gold; 

To  Eskdale  soon  he  spurred  amain, 

And  with  iiim  five  hundred  riders  has  ta'en. 

He  left  his  merrymen  in  tlie  midst  of  the  hill. 

And  bade  them  hold  them  close  and  still; 

And  alone  he  wended  to  tlie  plain. 

To  meet  with  the  Galliard  and  all  his  train. 

To  Gilbert  the  Galliard  thus  he  said: — 

"  Know  thou  me  for  thy  liege  lord  and  head: 

Deal  not  with  me  as  with  Morton  tame. 

For  Scotts  play  best  .at  the  roughest  game. 

Give  me  in  peace  my  heriot  due. 

Thy  bonny  white  steed,  or  thou  shalt  rue. 

If  my  horn  1  three  times  wind, 

Eskdale  shall  long  have  the  sound  in  mind. " 

XII. 

Loudly  the  Beattison  lavighed  in  scom: — 
"  Little  care  we  for  thy  winded  horn.  ^ 

Ne'er  shall  it  be  the  Galliard's  lot. 
To  yield  his  steed  to  a  haughty  Scott. 


*  The  feudal  superior,  in  certain  cases,  was  entitled  to 
tlie  Iiesl  hoisr  of  the  vassal,  in  name  of  Heriol,  or  Here- 
zeld. 


14 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Wenil  lliou  to  Uranksome  buck  on  foot, 

With  rusty  spur  and  niirv  boot." — 

He  blew  his  bu>;le  so  loud  and  hoarse, 

That  the  dun  di-cr  starteil  at  far  Craikcross; 

He  bU'W  a^ain  so  loud  and  clear, 

Through  the  gray  mountain  mist  there  did  lances 

appear; 
And  the  third  blast  rang  with  such  a  din, 
That  the  ecliocs  answered  from  Pentoun-linn, 
And  all  his  riders  came  lightly  in. 
Then  had  you  seen  a  gallant  shock, 
Wiien  saddles  were  emptied,  and  lances  broke! 
For  each  scornful  word  the  Galliard  had  said, 
A  Beattison  on  tiie  field  was  laid. 
His  own  good  sword  the  chiefiain  drew. 
And  he  bore  the  Galliard  through  and  through; 
Where  the  Beattisoiis'  blood  mixed  with  the  rill. 
The  Galliard's  Haugh,  men  call  it  still. 
The  Scolts  have  scaitered  the  Beattison  clan, 
In  Eskdale  they  left  but  one  landed  man. 
The  valley  of  Esk,  from  the  mouth  to  the  source, 
Was  lost  and  won  for  that  bonny  white  horse. 

XIII. 
Whitslade  the  Hawk,  and  Headshaw  came. 
And  warriors  more  than  I  mav  name; 
From  Yarrow-cleuch  to  Hindhaug-swair, 

From  Woodhouselie  to  Cliester-glen, 
Trooped  man  and  horse,  and  bow  and  spear; 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden.'^ 
And  better  hearts  o'er  Border  sod 
To  siege  or  rescue  never  rode. 

The  Ladye  marked  the  aids  come  in. 
And  high  her  heart  of  pride  arose: 
She  bade  her  youthful  son  attend, 
That  he  might  know  his  father's  friend, 

And  learn  to  face  his  foes. 
"  The  boy  is  ripe  to  look  on  war; 
I  saw  him  draw  a  cross-bow  stiff. 
And  his  true  arrow  struck  afar 
Tlie  raven's  nest  upon  the  sliff; 
The  red  cross,  on  a  southern  breast, 
Ts  broader  than  the  raven's  nest: 
Thou,  Whitslade,  shall  teach  him  his  weapon  to 

wield. 
And  over  him  hold  his  father's  shield." 

XIV. 

Well  may  you  think,  the  w  ily  page 

Cared  not  to  face  the  Ladye  sage. 

He  counterfeited  childish  fear. 

And  shrieked,  and  shed  full  many  a  tear. 

And  moaned  and  plained  in  manner  wild. 
The  attendants  to  the  Ladye  told. 

Some  fairy,  sure,  had  changed  the  child, 
That  wont  to  be  so  free  and  bold. 
Then  wrathful  was  the  noble  dame; 
She  blushed  blood-red  for  very  siiame: — 
"  Hence!  ere  the  clan  his  faintness  view; 
Hence  with  the  weakling  to  Buccleuch ! — 
W^al  Tinlinn,  tliou  shall  be  his  guide 
To  Hangleburn's  lonely  side — 
Sure  some  fell  fiend  has  cursed  our  line, 
That  coward  should  e'er  be  son  of  mine!" 

XV. 

A  heavy  task  Wat  Tinlinn  had. 
To  guide  the  counterfeited  lad. 
Soon  as  the  palfrey  felt  the  weight 
Of  tliitt  iil-uinen'd  elfish  freight. 
He  bolted,  siii-ung,  and  reared  amain, 
Nor  heeded  bit,  nor  curl),  nor  rein. 
It  cost  Wat  Tinlinn  mickle  toil 
To  drive  him  but  a  Scottish  mile; 


But,  as  a  shallow  brook  they  crossed, 
The  elf,  amid  the  running  stream, 
His  figure  changed,  like  form,  in  dream, 

And  fled,  and  shouted,  "Lost!  lost!  lost!" 
Full  fast  the  urchin  ran  and  laughed, 
But  faster  still  a  cloth  yard  shaft 
Wliistled  from  startled  Tinlinn's  yew. 
And  piercetl  his  shoulder  tiirough  and  through. 
Alihougii  the  imp  might  not  be  slain. 
And  tt»oup;li  the  wound  soon  healed  again. 
Yet,  as  hi'  r.'in,  he  yelled  for  pain; 
.\nd  Wat  of  Tinlinn,  much  agiiast. 
Rode  back  to  Branksome  fiei-y  fast. 

XVI. 

Soon  on  the  hill's  steep  verge  he  stood, 

That  looks  o'er  Branksome's  towers  and  wood; 

And  martial  murmurs,  from  below. 

Proclaimed  the  approaching  southern  foe. 

Tiirough  the  dark  wood,  in  mingled  tone, 

Were  border-pipes  and  bugles  blown: 

Tiie  coursers'  neighing  he  could  ken. 

And  measured  tread  of  marching  men; 

While  broke  at  times  the  solemn  hum, 

The  Almayn's  sullen  kettle-drum; 

And  banners  t;dl,  of  crimson  sheen, 

Above  the  C3[)se  appear; 
And,  glistening  through  ttie  liawthorns  green. 

Shine  luha,  and  shield,  and  spear. 

XVII. 

Light  for.'iyers  liist,  to  view  the  ground, 
Spun-ed  their  fleet  coursers  loosely  round; 

Behind,  in  close  array  and  fast. 
The  Kendal  archers,  all  in  green. 

Obedient  to  the  bui;le  blast. 

Advancing  from  the  wood  were  seen. 
To  back  and  guni-d  the  ai-eher  band,  • 

Lord  Dacre's  bill-men  were  at  hand: 
A  hardy  race,  on  Irthing  bred, 
With  kirtles  white,  and  crosses  red, 
Arrayed  beneath  the  banner  tall, 
That  streamed  o'er  Acre's  conquered  wall: 
And  minstrels,  as  they  marched  in  order, 
Played,   "Noble  lord  Dacre,  he  dwells  on   the 
Border." 

XVIII. 
Behind  the  Englisli  bill  and  bow. 
The  mercenaries,  firm  and  slow. 

Moved  on  to  fight  in  dark  array. 
By  Conr.id  led  of  Wolfenstein, 
Who  brought  ilie  band  from  distant  Rhine, 

And  sold  their  blood  for  foreign  p.iv; 
The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  knew  no  country  owned  no  lord.''* 
They  were  not  armed  like  England's  sons. 
But  bore  the  levin-darting  guns; 
Buff  coats,  all  frounced  and  'broidered  o'er, 
.\nd  morsing-horns*  and  scarfs  they  wore; 
Eacli  belter  knee  was  bared,  to  aid 
The  warriors  in  the  escalade; 
And,  as  they  marched,  in  rugged  tongue, 
Songs  of  Teutonic  feuds  they  sung. 

XIX. 
But  louder  still  the  clamoiu-  grew. 
And  louder  still  the  minstrels  blew. 
When,  from  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
Rode  forth  lord  Howard's  chivalry; 
His  men  at  arms,  with  glaive  and  spear, 
Brought  up  the  battle's  glittering  rear. 


'  Powder  liasks. 


THE  LAY  OF   THE  LAST  MIXSTREL. 


15 


There  many  a  youthful  knight,  full  keen 

To  gain  his  S[)urs,  in  arms  was  seen; 

Willi  favour  in  his  crest,  or  glove, 

Memorial  of  his  ladve-love. 

So  rode  they  forth  in  fair  array. 

Till  full  ihcir  lengthened  lines  display; 

Then  called  a  halt,  and  made  a  stand. 

And  cried,  "  Saint  George  for  meiTy  England !" 

XX. 

Now  even.'  English  eye,  intent, 
On  Branksome's  armed  towers  was  hent: 
So  near  they  were,  that  they  might  know 
The  straining  harsh  of  each  cross  bow: 
On  battlement  and  bartizan 
Gleamed  axe,  and  spear,  and  partizan; 
Falcon  and  culver,*  on  each  tower, 
Stood  prompt  their  deadly  hail  to  shower; 
And  flashing  armour  frequent  broke 
From  ed  lying  whirls  of  sable  smoke, . 
AVhere,  upon  tower  and  turret  head, 
The  scathing  pitch  and  molten  lead 
Reeked,  like  a  witch's  cauldron  red. 
While  yet  they  gaze,  the  bridges  fall, 
The  wicket  opes,  and  from  the  wall 
Rides  forth  the  ho&ry  seneschal. 

XXI. 

Armed  he  rode,  all  save  the  head, 

His  white  bearil  o'er  his  breast-plate  spread; 

Unbroke  by  age,  erect  his  seat. 

He  ruled  his  eager  courser's  gait; 

Forced  him,  with  chastened  fire,  to  prance, 

And,  high  curvetting,  slow  advance: 

In  sign  of  truce,  his  better  hand 

Displayed  a  ])eeled  « illow  wand; 

His  squire,  attending  in  the  rear, 

Kore  high  a  gauntlet  on  a  spear. '* 

When  they  espied  him  riding  out, 

liOrd  Howard  and  lord  Dacre  stout 

Sped  to  the  front  of  their  an-ay, 

To  hear  what  this  old  knight  should  say. 

xxu. 

"  Ye  English  warden  lords,  of  you 
Dc-mauda  the  ladye  of  Buccleuch, 
Why,  'gainst  the  truce  of  Border-tide. 
In  hostile  guise  ye  dare  to  ride, 
With  Kendal  bow,  and  Gilsland  brand, 
And  all  yon  mercenary  band. 
Upon  the  bounds  of  fair  Scotland.? 
My  ladye  redes  you  swith  return; 
And,  if  but  one  poor  straw  you  bum, 
Or  do  our  towers  so  much  molest. 
As  scare  one  swallow  from  her  nest. 
Saint  Maty!  but  we'll  light  a  brand. 
Shall  warm  your  hearths  in  Cumberland." 

XXIII. 

A  wralliful  man  was  Dacre's  lord. 
But  calmer  Howard  took  the  word: 
"  May't  please  thy  dame,  sir  seneschal. 
To  seek  the  castle's  oiitward  wall. 
Our  pursuivant-at-arms  shall  show. 
Both  why  we  came,  and  when  we  go." 
The  message  sped,  the  noble  dame 
To  the  wall's  outward  circle  came; 
Each  chief  around  leaned  on  his  spear, 
To  see  the  pursuivant  appear. 
All  in  lord  Howard's  livery  dressed. 
The  lion  argent  decked  his  breast; 


He  led  a  boy  of  blooming  hue — 
O  sight  to  meet  a  mother's  view ! 
It  was  the  heir  of  great  Buccleuch. 
Obeisance  meet  the  herald  made, 
And  thus  his  master's  will  he  said: 

XXIV. 

"  It  irks,  high  dame,  my  noble  lords, 
'Gainst  ladye  fair  to  draw  their  swords; 
But  yet  they  may  not  tamely  see, 
All  through  the  western  wardeniy, 
Your  law-conlemning  kinsmen  ride, 
And  burn  and  spoil  the  Border-side; 
And  ill  beseems  your  rank  and  birth 
To  make  your  towers  a  flemen's-firih.* 
We  claim  from  thee  William  of  Deloraine, 
That  he  may  suffer  march-treason  pain;'^ 
It  was  but  last  Saint  Cuthbert's  even 
He  pricked  to  Stapleton  on  Leven, 
Harriedt  the  lands  of  Richard  Musgrave, 
And  slew  his  brother  by  dint  of  glaive. 
Then,  since  a  lone  and  widowed  dame 
These  restless  riders  may  not  tame, 
Either  receive  within  thy  towers 
Two  hundred  of  my  master's  powers. 
Or  straight  they  sound  "their  warrison,^ 

I  And  storm  and  spoil  thy  garrison; 
And  this  fair  boy,  to  London  led, 

I  Shall  good  king  Edward's  page  be  bred." 

I  XXV. 

jHe  ceased; — and  loud  the  boy  did  cry, — 

And  streteh'd  his  little  arms  on  high; 

Implor'd  for  aid  each  well-known  face. 

And  sti'ove  to  seek  the  dame's  embrace. 

A  moment  changed  that  ladye's  cheer; 
I  Gushed  to  her  eye  the  unbidden  tear; 
I  She  gazed  upon  the  leaders  round, 
I  And  dark  and  sad  each  warrior  frowned; 
[Then,  deep  within  her  sobbing  breast 
j  She  locked  the  stru^rgling  sigh  to  rest; 
I  Unaltered  and  collected  stood, 
I  And  thus  replied  in  dauntless  mood: — 

I  XXVI. 

;  "  Say  to  your  lords  of  high  emprise, 
Who  war  on  women  and  on  boys 
That  either  William  of  Deloraine 
Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain,''' 
Or  else  he  will  the  combat  take 
'Gainst  Musgrave,  for  his  honour's  sake. 
No  knight  in  Cumberland  so  good. 
But  William  may  count  with  him  kin  and  blood. 
Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword, '8 
M'lien  English  blood  swelled  Ancram  ford;'9 
And  but  that  lord  Dacre's  steed  was  wight. 
And  bore  him  ably  in  the  flight, 
Himself  had  seen  him  dubbed  a  knight. 
For  the  young  heir  of  Branksome's  line, 
God  be  his  aid,  and  God  be  mine; 
Through  me  no  friend  shall  meet  his  doom; 
Here,  w  iiile  I  live,  no  foe  finds  room. 

Then,  if  thy  lords  their  purpose  urge, 
Take  our  defiance  loud  and  high; 

Our  slogan  is  their  lyke-wakef,  dii-ge. 
Our  moat,  the  grave  where  they  shall  lie." 

XX  VII. 

Proud  she  looked  round,  applause  to  claim- 
Then  lightened  Thirlestane's  eye  of  flame; 


•  Ancient  pieces  of  artillery. 


•  An  asylum  for  outlaws,    t  Plundered.   J  Vote  of  assault. 
11  Lyke- wake,  the  watching  a  coi-pse  previous  to  iuterraeut. 


16 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


His  bugle  Wat  of  Harden  blew: 
Pensils  and  pennons  wide  were  flung, 
To  Heaven  the  Border  slogan  rung, 

"  Saint  MaiT  for  the  young  Buccleuch!" 
The  Englisli  war-cry  answered  wide, 

And  forward  bent  each  soulliern  speai'; 
Each  Kendal  archer  made  a  stride, 

And  drew  the  bow-string  to  his  ear; 
Each  minstrel's  war-note  loud  was  blown: — 
But,  ere  a  gray-goose  shaft  had  flown, 

A  horseman  galloi)ed  from  the  real". 

XXVIII. 

"  Ah!  nolile  lords!"  he,  breathless,  said, 
"  AV'hat  treason  has  your  march  betrayed? 
Wliat  make  you  here,  from  aid  so  far, 
Before  _vou  walls,  around  you  war? 
Your  foeiuen  triumph  in  the  thought, 
That  in  the  toils  the  lion's  caught. 
Already  on  dark  Ruberslaw 
The  Douglas  holds  his  weapon-schaw,* 
The  lances,  waving  in  his  train, 
Clothe  the  dun  heap  like  autumn  grain; 
And  on  Ihe  Liddel's  northern  btrand, 
To  bar  retreat  to  Cumberland, 
Lord  Maxwell  ranks  his  merry  men  good, 
Beneath  the  eagle  and  the  rood; 

And  Jed  wood,  Esk,  and  Teviot  dale. 
Have  to  proud  Angus  come; 

And  all  the  IMerse  and  Lauderdale 
Have  risen  with  haugiity  Home. 

An  exile  from  Northumberland, 
In  Liddesdale  I've  wandered  long; 

But  still  my  heart  was  witij  merry  England, 
And  cannot  brook  my  country's  wrong; 
And  hard  I've  spurred  all  night  to  show 
The  mustering  of  the  coming  foe." 

XXIX. 

«'  And  let  them  come!"  fierce  Dacre  cried; 
"  For  soon  yon  crest,  my  father's  pride, 
Tliat  swept  the  shores  of  Judah's  sea. 
And  waved  in  gales  of  Galilee, 
From  Branksome's  highest  towers  displayed. 
Shall  mock  the  rescue's  lingering  aid! — 
Level  each  harquebuss  on  row; 
Uraw,  merry  archers,  draw  the  bow; 
Up,  bill-men,  to  the  walls,  and  cry, 
Uacre  for  England,  win  or  die!" 

XXX. 

"  Yet  hear,"  quoth  Howard,  "  calmly  hear, 

!Nor  deem  my  words  the  words  of  fear: 

For  who,  in  field  or  foray  slack, 

Saw  the  blanche  lion-o  e'er  fall  back' 

But  thus  to  risk  our  Border  flower 

In  strife  against  a  kingdom's  power. 

Ten  thousand  Scots  'gainst  thousands  three, 

Certes,  were  desperate  policy. 

Nay,  take  tlie  terms  the  Ladye  made, 

Ere  conscious  of  the  advancing  aid: 

Let  Musgrave  meet  fierce  Deloraine 

In  single  fight,-'  and  if  he  gain, 

He  gains  for  us;  but  if  he's  crossed, 

'Tis  but  a  single  warrior  lost: 

The  rest,  retreating  as  they  came, 

Avoid  defeat,  and  death,  and  shame." 

XXXI. 

Ill  could  the  haughty  Uacre  brook 
His  brother-warden's  sage  rebuke: 
And  yet  liis  forward  step  he  stayed, 
And  slow  and  sullenly  obeyed. 


'  iren/w)i-sc/ia7v,  tlie  nnlitai  y  arra)  of  a  covmtry. 


But  ne'er  again  the  Border-side 
Did  these  two  lords  in  friendship  ride; 
And  this  slight  discontent,  men  say. 
Cost  blood  upon  another  day. 

xxxn. 

The  pursuivant-at-arms  again 

Before  the  castle  took  his  stand; 
His  trumpet  called,  witli  parleying  strain. 

The  leaders  of  the  Scottish  band; 
And  he  defied,  in  Musgrave's  right, 
Stout  Deloraine  to  single  fight; 
A  gauntlet  at  their  feet  he  laid, 
And  thus  llie  terms  of  fight  he  said: — 
"  If  in  tiie  lists  good  Mussn-ave's  sword 

Vanquish  the  kniglit  of  Deloraine, 
Your  youthful  chieftain,  Branksome's  lord, 

Shall  hostage  for  his  clan  remain: 
If  Deloraine  foil  good  Musgi-ave, 
The  boy  his  liberty  shall  have. 

Howe'er  it  falls,  the  English  band, 
Unharming  Scots,  by  Scots  unharmed, 
In  peaceful  march,  like  men  unarmed. 

Shall  straight  retreat  to  Cumberland. " 

xxxin. 

Unconscious  of  the  near  relief, 

The  proffer  pleased  each  Scottish  chief, 

Though  much  the  Ladye  sage  gainsayed, 
For  though  their  hearts  were  brave  and  true, 
From  Jed  wood 's  recent  sack  they  knew. 

How  tardy  was  the  regent's  aid: 
And  you  may  guess  the  noble  dame 

Durst  not  the  secret  prescience  own, 
Sprung  from  the  art  she  might  not  name. 

By  which  the  coming  help  was  known. 
Closed  was  the  compact,  and  agreed. 
That  lists  should  be  enclosed  with  speed, 

Beneath  tiie  castle,  on  a  lawn: 
They  fixed  the  morrow  for  the  strife, 
On  foot,  with  Scottish  axe  and  knife. 

At  the  fourth  hour  from  peep  of  dawn; 
^Vhen  Deloraine,  from  sickness  freed. 
Or  else  a  champion  in  his  stead, 
Shoidd  for  iiimself  and  chieftain  stand. 
Against  stout  Musgrave,  hand  to  hand. 

XXXIV. 

I  know  right  well,  that,  in  their  lay, 
Full  many  minstrels  sing  and  say, 

Such  combat  should  be  made  on  horse, 
On  foaming  steed,  in  full  career. 
With  brand  to  aid,  when  as  the  speai 

Should  shiver  in  the  course: 
But  he,  the  jovial  harper,-'  taught 
Me,  yet  a  youtli,  how  it  was  fought, 

In  guise  which  now  1  say; 
He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  black  lord  Archibald's  battle  laws,23 

In  the  old  Douglas'  day. 
He  brooked  not,  he,  that  scoffing  tongue 
Should  tax  his  minstrelsy  with  wrong, 

Or  call  liis  song  untrue; 
For  this,  when  they  the  goblet  plied, 
And  such  rude  taunt  had  chafed  his  pride. 

The  bard  of  ReuU  he  slew. 
On  Teviot's  side,  in  fight  they  stood. 
And  tuneful  hands  were  stained  with  blood; 
Where  still  the  thorn's  white  branches  wave, 
Memorial  o'er  his  rival's  grave. 

XXXV. 

Why  should  I  tell  the  rigid  doom, 
That  dragged  my  master  to  his  tomb; 


THE  LAY  OP  THE  LAST  MINSTREL 


17 


How  Ousenam's  maidens  tore  their  hair, 
Wept  till  their  eyes  were  dead  and  dim, 
And  wrung  their  hands  for  love  of  him, 

Who  died  at  Jedwood  Air? 
He  died! — His  scholars,  one  by  one. 
To  the  cold  silent  grave  are  gone; 
And  1,  alas!  survive  alone. 
To  muse  o'er  rivalries  of  yore, 
And  grieve  that  1  shall  hear  no  more 
The  sti'ains,  with  envy  heard  before; 
For,  with  my  minstrel  brelliren  fled. 
My  jealousy  of  song  is  dcatl. 

He  paused:  the  listening  dames  again 
Applaud  the  hoary  Minstrel's  strain; 
With  many  a  word  of  kindly  cheer, — 
In  pity  lialf,  and  half  sincere, — 
Marvelled  the  duchess  how  so  well 
His  legendary  song  could  tell, — 
Of  ancient  deeds,  so  long  forgot; 
Offends,  whose  memory  was  not; 
Of  forests,  now  laid  waste  and  hare; 
Of  towers,  wliich  harbour  now  the  hare; 
Of  manners,  long  since  changed  and  gone; 
Of  chiefs,  who  under  their  gray  stone 
So  long  had  slept,  that  fickle  Fame 
Had  blotted  from  her  rolls  their  name. 
And  twined  round  some  new  minion's  head 
The  fading  wreath  for  which  they  bled; 
In  soo'ih,  ^was  strange,  this  old  man's  verse 
Could  call  them  from  their  marble  hearse. 

The  Harper  smiled,  well  pleased;  for  ne'er 
Was  flattery  lost  on  poet's  ear. 
A  simple  race!  they  waste  their  toil 
For  the  vain  tribute  of  a  smile; 
Fj'en  when  in  age  their  flame  expires. 
Her  dulcet  breath  can  fan  its  fires: 
Their  drooping  fancy  wakes  at  praise. 
And  strives  to  trim  the  short-lived  blaze. 

Smiled  then,  well  pleased,  the  Aged  Man, 
And  thus  his  tale  continued  ran. 


I. 

Call  it  not  vain: — they  do  not  err. 
Who  say,  that,  when  the  Poet  dies. 

Mute  Nature  mourns  her  worshipper, 
And  celebrates  his  obsequies; 
Who  say,  tall  clifi^,  and  cavern  lone. 
For  tlie  departed  bard  make  moan; 
That  mountains  weep  in  crystal  rill; 
That  flowers  in  tears  of  balm  distil; 
Through  his  loved  groves  that  breezes  sigli. 
And  oaks,  in  deeper  groan,  reply; 
And  rivers  teach  their  rushing  wave 
To  murmur  dirges  round  his  grave. 

II. 

Not  that,  in  sooth,  o'er  mortal  urn 
Those  things  inanimate  can  mourn; 
But  that  the  stream,  the  wood,  the  gale. 
Is  vocal  with  the  plaintive  wail 
Of  those,  wlio,  else  forgotten  long. 
Lived  in  the  poet's  faithful  song. 
And,  with  the  poet's  parting  brcalb. 
Whose  memory  feels  a  second  death. 
The  maid's  pale  shade,  who  wails  her  lot, 
That  love,  true  love,  should  be  forgot. 
From  rose  and  hawthorn  shakes  the  tear 
Upon  the  gentle  minstrel's  bier: 
The  phantom  knight,  liis  gloiy  fled. 
Mourns  o'er  ihi,-  field  lie  heaped  with  dead; 


Mounts  the  wild  blast  that  sweeps  amain, 

And  shrieks  along  the  battle-plain: 

The  chief,  whose  antique  crownlet  long 

Still  sparkled  in  the  feudal  song. 

Now,  from  the  mountain's  misty  throne, 

Sees,  in  the  thanedom  once  his  own. 

His  ashes  undistinguished  lie. 

His  place,  his  power,  his  memory  die: 

His  gi'oans  the  lonelj'  caverns  fill, 

His  tears  of  rage  impel  the  rill; 

All  mourn  the  minstrel's  harp  unstrung, 

Their  name  unknown,  their  praise  unsung. 

lU. 

Scarcely  the  hot  assault  was  staid. 

The  terras  of  truce  were  scarcely  made,   ' 

When  they  could  spy,  from  Branksome's  towers, 

The  advancing  march  of  martial  powers; 

Thick  clouds  of  dust  afar  appeared. 

And  trampling  steeds  were  faintly  heard; 

Bright  spears,  above  the  columns  dun, 

Glanced  momentai-y  to  the  sun; 

And  feudal  banners  fair  displayed 

The  bands  that  moved  to  Branksome's  aid. 

IV. 

Vails  not  to  tell  each  hardy  clan. 

From  the  fair  Middle  Marches  came; 
The  Bloody  Heart'  blazed  in  the  van. 

Announcing  Douglas'  dreaded  name! 
Vails  not  to  tell  what  steeds  did  spurn. 
Where  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderbume^ 

Their  men  in  battle-order  set; 
And  Swinton3  laid  the  lance  in  rest. 
That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 

Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet. 
Nor  lists  1  say  what  hundreds  more. 
From  the  rich  Merse  and  Lammermorc, 
And  Tweed's  fair  borders,  to  the  war. 
Beneath  the  crest  of  Old  Dunbar, 

And  Hepburn's  mingled  banners  come, 
Down  the  steep  mountain  glittering  far. 

And  shouting  still,  "  a  Home!  a  Home!"-i 

V. 

Now  squire  and  knight,  from  Branksome  sent. 

On  many  a  courteous  message  went; 

To  every  chief  and  lord  thev  paid 

Meet  thanks  for  prompt  and  powerful  aid; 

And  told  them, — how  a  truce  was  made. 

And  how  a  day  of  fight  was  ta'en 

'Twixt  Musgrave  and  stout  Deloraine; 
And  how  the  Ladye  prayed  them  deai'. 

That  all  would  stay  the  fight  to  see. 

And  deign,  in  love  and  courtesy. 
To  taste  of  Branksome  cheer. 
Nor,  while  tliey  bade  to  feast  each  Scot, 
Were  England's  noble  lords  forgot; 
Himself,  the  hoary  seneschal. 
Rode  forth,  in  seemly  terms  to  call 
Those  gallant  foes  to  Branksome  hall. 
Accepted  Howard,  than  whom  knight 
Was  never  dubbecl  more  bold  in  fight; 
Nor,  when  from  war  and  armour  free. 
More  famed  for  stately  courtesy. 
But  angry  Dacre  rather  cliose 
In  his  pavilion  to  repose. 

VI. 
Now,  noble  Dame,  perchance  you  ask, 

How  these  two  hostile  armies  met? 
Deeming  it  were  no  easy  task 

To  keep  the  truce  which  here  was  set; 
Where  martial  spirits,  all  on  fire. 
Breathed  onlv  blood  and  mortal  ire. 


18 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Bv  miUnal  inroads,  mutual  blows, 
By  liahit,  ami  by  nalioii,  foes, 

Tliey  met  on  Teviot's  strand: 
Thev  met,  ami  sate  tlieni  mingled  down, 
Witiioiit  a  threat,  wiliiout  a  frown. 

As  brothefs  meet  in  foreign  land: 
ITie  hands,  the  spear  that  lately  grasped, 
Still  in  'he  mailed  gauntlet  clasped, 

W'ere  interchanged  in  greeting  dear; 
Visors  Mere  raise(l,  and  faces  shown, 
And  many  a  friend,  to  friend  made  known, 

Partook  of  social  cheer. 
Some  (h'ove  the  jolly  bowl  ahout; 

With  dice  and  draughts  some  chased  the  day; 
And  some,  v  ith  many  a  merry  shout. 
In  riot, 'revelry,  and  rout, 

Pursued  llie  foot-ball  play.^ 

V!l. 

Yet,  be  it  known,  had  bugles  blown. 

Or  sign  of  war  been  seen. 
Those  Ijands,  so  fair  together  ranged, 
Those  hands,  so  frankly  interchanged, 

Had  died  with  gore  the  green. 
The  merry  shout  bj'  'I'eviot  side 
Had  sunk  in  war-cries  wild  and  wide. 

And  in  the  groan  of  death; 
And  whingers,*  now  in  friendship  bare, 
The  social  meal  to  part  and  sliare, 

Had  found  a  bloody  sheath. 
'Twixt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange. 

In  the  old  Border-day  ;*> 
But  yet  on  Branksome's  towers  and  town. 
In  peaceful  merriment,  sunk  down 

The  sun's  declining  ray. 

VIll. 

The  blitlisome  signs  of  wassel  gay 
Decayed  not  with  tlie  dying  day; 
Soon  through  the  latticed  windows  tall 
Of  lofty  Branksome's  lordly  hall. 
Divided  square  by  shafts  of  stone, 
Huge  flakes  of  ruddy  lustre  shone; 
Nor  less  tiie  gilded  rafters  rang 
"Witii  merry  harp  and  beakers'  clang: 
And  frequent,  on  the  dai-kening  plain, 

Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran. 
As  bands,  their  stragglers  to  regain. 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan;7 
And  revellers,  o'er  their  howls,  proclaim 
Douglas  or  Dacre's  conquering  name. 

IX. 

Less  frequent  heard,  and  fainter  still. 

At  length,  tiie  various  clamours  died; 
And  you  might  hear,  from  Branksome  hill, 

No  sound  but  Teviot's  rushing  tide; 
Save,  v\hen  the  changing  sentinel 
The  challenge  of  his  watch  could  tell; 
And  save,  where,  through  the  dark  profound, 
The  clanging  axe  and  hammer's  sound 

Kung  from  the  nether  lawn; 
For  many  a  busy  hand  toiled  there. 
Strong  pales  to  siiape,  and  beams  to  square. 
The  lists'  dread  barriers  to  prepare 

Against  the  morrow's  dawn. 
X. 
Margaret  from  hall  did  soon  retreat, 

Despite  the  Dame's  reproving  eye; 
Nor  marked  she,  as  she  left  her  seat. 

Full  manv  a  stifled  sigh: 


*  A  sort  of  knife,  or  poniard. 


For  many  a  noble  warri-or  strove 
To  win  the  flower  of  Teviot's  love, 

And  many  a  bold  ally. — 
Willi  tlu-obbing  head  and  anxious  heart. 
All  in  her  lonely  bower  apart. 

In  broken  sleep  she  lay; 
By  times,  from  silken  couch  she  rose; 
While  yet  the  bannered  hosts  repose. 

She  viewed  the  dawning  day: 
Of  all  the  hundreds  sunk  to  rest. 
First  woke  the  loveliest  and  the  best. 

XI. 

She  gazed  upon  the  inner  court, 

Wiiich  in  the  tower's  tall  shadow  lay; 
Where  coursers'  clang,  and  stamp,  and  snort. 

Had  rung  the  live-long  yesterchiy-; 
Now  still  as  (leatli;  till,  stalking  slow, — 

The  jingling  spurs  announced  his  tread,— 
A  stately  warrior  passed  below; 

But  when  he  raised  his  plumed  head.— 
Blessed  Mar}  !  can  it  bei" — 
Secure,  as  if  in  Ousenam  bowers. 
He  walks  through  Branksome's  hostile  towers, 

With  fearless  step  and  free. 
She  dared  not  sign,  she  dared  not  speak— 
Oh !  if  one  page's  slumbers  break. 

His  blood  the  price  must  pay! 
Not  all  the  pearls  queen  Mary  wears. 
Not  Margaret's  yet  more  precious  tears, 

Shall  buy  his  life  a  day. 
XII. 
Yet  was  his  hazard  small;  for  well 
You  may  bethink  you  of  the  spell 

Of  that  sly  urchin  page; 
This  to  his  lord  he  did  impart, 
And  made  him  seem,  by  glamour  art, 

A  knight  from  hermitage. 
Unchallenged,  thus,  the  warder's  post. 
The  court,  unchallenged,  thus  he  crossed, 

For  all  the  vassalage: 
But,  O!  what  magic's  quaint  disguise 
Could  blind  fair  Margaret's  azure  eyes! 

She  started  from  her  seat; 
While  with  surprise  and  fear  she  strove. 
And  both  could  scarcely  master  love — ' 

Lord  Henry's  at  her  feet. 

XIll. 

Oft  have  I  mused,  what  purpose  bad 
That  foul  malicious  urchin  had 

To  bring  this  meeting  round; 
For  happy  love's  a  heavenly  sight, 
And  by  a  vile  malignant  sprite 

In  such  no  joy  is  found; 
And  oft  I've  deemed,  perchance  he  thought 
Their  erring  passion  might  have  wrought 

Sorrow,  and  sin,  and  siiame; 
And  deatii  to  Cranstoun's  gallant  knight. 
And  to  the  gentle  ladye  bright, 

Disgrace,  and  loss  of  fame. 
But  earthly  spirit  could  not  tell 
The  heart  of  them  that  loved  so  well. 
True  love's  the  gift  which  God  has  given 
To  man  alone  beneath  the  heaven. 

It  is  not  fantasy's  hot  fire, 

Whose  wishes,  soon  as  granted  fly; 

It  liveth  not  in  fierce  desire, 

W'ith  dead  desire  it  dotli  not  die; 
It  is  the  secret  sympathy. 
The  silver  link,  the  silken  tie, 
Which  heart  to  heart,  and  mind  to  mind, 
In  body  and  in  soul  can  bind. — 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  ADNSTREL. 


19 


Now  leave  we  Margaret  and  her  knight. 
To  tell  you  of  the  approaching  fight. 

XIV. 

Their  warning  blast  the  bugles  blew, 

The  pipe's  shrill  port*  aroused  each  clan: 
In  haste,  the  deadly  strife  to  view, 
The  trooping  warriors  eager  ran: 
Thick  round  the  lists  their  lances  stood, 
Like  blasted  pines  in  Ettrick  wood; 
To  Branksome  many  a  look  they  threw, 
The  combatants'  approach  to  view. 
And  bandied  many  a  word  of  boast. 
About  the  knight  each  favoured  most. 

XV. 

Meantime  full  anxious  was  the  dame; 
For  now  arose  disputed  claim, 
Of  who  should  figiit  for  Delorainc, 
'Twixt  Harden  and  'twixt  Thirlestane: 
"They  gan  to  reckon  kin  and  rent. 
And  frowning  brow  on  brow  was  bent; 
But  3'et  not  long  the  strife — for,  lo! 
Himself,  the  knight  of  Deloraine, 
Strong,  as  it  seemed,  and  free  from  pain. 
In  armour  sheatlied  from  top  to  toe, 
Appeared,  and  ci-aved  the  combat  due. 
The  dame  her  charm  successful  knew,t 
And  the  fierce  chiefs  their  claims  withdrew. 

XVI. 

■\\Tien  for  the  lists  they  sought  the  plain, 
The  stately  lady's  silken  rein 

Did  noble  Howard  hold; 
Unarmed  by  her  side  he  walked. 
And  much,  in  courteous  phrase,  they  talked 

Of  feats  of  arms  of  old. 
Costly  his  garb — his  Flemish  ruff 
Fell  o'er  his  doublet,  shaped  of  bufT, 

With  satin  slashed,  and  lined; 
Tawny  his  boot,  and  gold  his  spur. 
His  cloak  was  all  of  Poland  fui". 

His  hose  witli  silver  twined; 
His  Bilboa  blade,  by  Marchmen  felt. 
Hung  in  a  broad  and  studded  belt; 
Hence,  in  rude  phrase,  the  Borderers  still 
Cali'd  noble  Howard,  belted  Will. 

XVU. 

Behind  lord  Howard  and  the  dame. 
Fair  Margaret  on  her  palfrey  came. 

Whose  foot-cloth  swept  the  ground; 
White  was  her  wimple  and  her  veil. 
And  her  loose  locks  a  chaplet  pale 

Of  whitest  roses  bound. 
The  lordly  Angus,  by  her  side. 
In  courtesy  to  cheer  her  tried; 
Without  his  aid,  her  iiand  in  vain 
Had  strove  to  guide  her  broidered  I'ein. 
He  deemed  she  suddered  at  the  sight 
Of  warriors  met  for  mortal  fight; 
But  cause  of  terror,  all  unguessed, 
Was  fluttering  in  her  gentle  breast, 
WTien,  in  their  chairs  of  ci-imson  placed. 
The  dame  and  she  the  barriers  gi-aced. 

XVIII. 
Prize  of  the  field,  the  young  Buccleuch, 
An  English  knight  led  forth  to  view; 
Scarce  rued  the  boy  his  present  plight. 
So  much  he  longed  to  see  the  fight. 
Within  the  lists,  in  knightly  pride, 


*  A  martial  piece  of  music,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes. 
tSee  p.  11.  Stanza  XXIII. 


High  Home  and  haughty  Dacre  ride; 
Tlieir  leading  staffs  of  steel  they  wield, 
As  marshals  of  the  mortal  field; 
While  to  each  knight  tlieir  care  assigned 
Like  vantage  of  the  sun  and  wind. 
Tlien  heralds  hoarse  did  loud  proclaim. 
In  king  and  queen,  and  warden's  name. 

That  none,  while  lasts  the  strife. 
Should  dare,  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word. 
Aid  to  a  champion  to  afford. 

On  peril  of  his  life; 
And  not  a  breath  the  silence  broke. 
Till  thus  the  alternate  heralds  spoke:— 

XIX. 

EXGLTSa  HERALD. 

Here  stapdelh  Richard  of  Musgrave, 

Good  knight  and  true,  and  freely  born. 
Amends  from  Delorainc  to  crave. 

For  foul  despiteous  scathe  and  scorn: 
He  sayeth,  that  William  of  Deloraine 

Is  traitor  false  by  Border  laws; 
This  with  his  sword  he  will  maintain. 

So  help  him  God,  and  his  good  cause! 

•  XX. 

SCOTTISH   HERAID. 

Here  standeth  William  of  Deloraine, 
Good  knight  and  true,  of  noble  strain, 
'WTio  sayeth,  that  foul  treason's  stain, 

Since  he  bore  arms,  ne'er  soiled  his  coat; 
And  that,  so  help  him  God  above! 
He  will  on  Musgrave's  body  prove. 
He  lies  most  foully  in  his  throat. 

LORD  DACRE. 

Forward,  brave  champions,  to  the  fight! 
Sound  trumpets! 

LORD  HOSrE. 

"God  defend  the  right!" 

Then,  Teviot!  how  thine  echoes  rang. 
When  bugle-sound  and  trumpet  clang 

Let  loose  the  martial  foes. 
And  in  mid  list,  with  shield  poised  high, 
And  measured  step  and  war}"  eye. 

The  combatants  did  close. 

XXI. 

Ill  would  it  suit  your  gentle  ear. 

Ye  lovely  listeners,  to  hear 

How  to  the  axe  tiie  helms  did  sound. 

And  blood  poured  down  from  many  a  wound; 

For  desperate  was  the  strife  and  long. 

And  either  warrior  fierce  and  strong. 

But,  were  each  dame  a  listening  knight, 

I  well  could  tell  how  warriors  fight; 

For  I  ha^e  seen  war's  lightning  flashing. 

Seen  tlie  claymore  with  bayonet  clashing. 

Seen  through  red  blood  the  war-horse  dashing 

And  scorned,  amid  the  reeling  strife, 

To  yield  a  step  for  death  or  life. 

XXII. 

'Tis  done,  'lis  done!  that  fatal  blow 
Has  stretched  him  on  the  bloody  plain; 

He  strives  to  rise — Brave  Musgrave,  no! 
Thence  never  shalt  thou  rise  again ! 

He  chokes  in  blood — some  friendly  hand 

Undo  the  visor's  barred  band. 

Unfix  the  gorget's  iron  clasp. 

And  give  liim  room  for  life  to  gasp! 

O,  bootless  aid! — Haste,  holy  t'riar, 

Haste,  ere  the  sinner  shall  expire! 

Of  all  his  guilt  let  him  be  shriven. 

And  smooth  his  path  from  eaith  to  heaven  J 


20 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


\XIII. 

In  haste  tlie  holy  friar  sped; — 
His  naked  foot  was  died  with  red, 

As  through  the  lists  he  ran: 
Unmindful  of  tlie  siiouts  on  high. 
That  hailed  the  conqueror's  victory, 

He  raised  the  dying  man; 
Ix)ose  waved  his  silver  beard  and  liair, 
As  o'er  him  he  kneeled  down  in  prayer; 
And  still  the  crucifix  on  high 
He  holds  before  his  darkening  eye; 
And  slill  he  bends  an  anxious  ear. 
His  faltering  penitence  to  hear; 

Still  props  him  from  the  bloody  sod; 
Slill,  even  wlien  soul  and  body  part. 
Pours  ghostly  comfort  on  his  heart. 

And  bids  him  trust  in  God  ! 
Unheard  he  prays; — the  death-pang's  o'er! 
Richard  of  Musgrave  breathes  no  more. 

XXIV. 

As  if  exhausted  in  the  fight, 

Or  musing  o'er  the  piteous  sigiit. 

The  silent  victor  stands: 
His  beaver  did  he  not  unclasp, 
A'farked  not  the  shouts,  felt  not  the  grasp 

Of  gratulating  hands. 
When,  lo!  strange  cries  of  wild  surprise. 
Mingled  with  seeming  terror,  rise 

Among  the  Scottish  bands; 
And  all,  amid  the  throng'd  array. 
In  panic  haste  gave  open  way 
To  a  half-naked  ghastly  man, 
Who  downward  from  the  castle  ran: 
He  crossed  the  barriers  at  a  bound. 

And  wild  and  haggard  looked  around. 
As  dizzy,  and  in  pain; 

And  all,  upon  the  armed  ground. 
Knew  William  of  Deloraini'I 
Each  ladyc  sprung  from  seat  with  speed; 
Vaulted  each  marshal  from  his  steed; 

"  And  who  art  thou,"  they  cried, 
"  Who  hast  tliis  battle  fought  and  won?" 
His  plumed  helm  was  soon  undone — 

"  Cranstoun  of  Teviot-side! 
For  this  fair  prize  I've  fought  and  won:" — 
And  to  the  Ladye  led  her  son. 

XXV. 

Full  oft  the  rescued  boy  she  kissed, 
And  often  pressed  him  to  her  breast; 
For,  under  all  her  dauntless  show. 
Her  heart  had  throbbed  at  every  blow; 
Yet  not  lord  Cranstoun  deigned  she  greet. 
Though  low  he  kneeled  at  her  feet. 
Me  list  not  tell  what  words  were  made. 
What  Douglas,  Home,  and  Howard  said — 

—For  Howard  was  a  generous  foe— 
And  how  the  clan  united  prayed. 

The  Ladye  would  tlie  feud  forego, 
And  deign  to  bless  the  nuptial  hour 
Ot  Cranstoun's  lord  and  Teviot's  P'lower. 

XXVI. 

She  looked  to  river,  looked  to  hill. 

Thought  on  the  spirit's  prophesy, 
Then  broke  her  silence  stern  and  still, — 

"  Not  vou,  but  Fate,  has  vanquished  me; 
Their  iiilluence  kindly  stars  may  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide  and  Branksome's  tower. 

For  pride  is  (juellcd,  and  love  is  free." 
She  took  fair  Margaret  by  the  hand. 
Who,  l)reathUss,  trembling,  scarce  might  stand; 

That  hand  to  Cranstoun's  lord  gave  she:-- 


"  As  I  am  true  to  thee  and  thine, 
Do  thou  be  true  to  me  and  mine ! 

This  clasp  of  love  our  bond  shall  be, 
For  this  is  your  betrothing  day. 
And  all  these  noble  lords  shall  stay. 

To  grace  it  with  their  company." 

XX  vn. 

All  as  they  left  the  listed  plain. 

Much  of  the  story  she  did  gain; 

How  Cranstoun  fought  with  Deloraine, 

And  of  his  page,  and  of  the  book 

Which  from  the  wounded  knight  he  took; 

And  how  he  sougiit  her  castle  high, 

That  morn,  by  lielp  of  gramai^e; 

How,  in  Sir  William's  armour  dight. 

Stolen  by  his  i)age,  while  slept  the  knight. 

He  took  on  him  the  single  fight. 

But  half  his  tale  he  left  unsaid, 

And  lingered  till   he  joined  the  maid. — 

Cared  not  the  Ladye  to  betray 

Her  mystic  arts  in  view  of  day; 

But  well  she  thought,  ere  midnight  came. 

Of  that  strange  page  the  pride  to  tame, 

From  his  foul  hands  the  book  to  save, 

And  send  it  back  to  Michael's  gi-ave. — 

Needs  not  to  tell  each  tender  word 

'Twixt  Margaret  and  'twixt  Cranstoun's  lord; 

Nor  how  she  told  of  former  woes. 

And  how  her  bosom  fell  and  rose, 

While  he  and  Musgrave  bandied  blows. — 

Needs  not  these  lovers' joys  to  tell; 

One  day,  fair  maids,  you'll  know  them  well. 

XXMII. 

William  of  Deloraine.  some  chance 
Had  wakened  from  his  deathlike  trance; 

And  taught  that,  in  the  listed  plain, 
Anotlier,  in  his  arms  and  shield. 
Against  fierce  Musgrave  axe  did  wield. 

Under  the  name  of  Deloraine. 
Hence,  to  the  field,  unarmed,  he  ran. 
And  hence  his  presence  scared  the  clan. 
Who  held  him  for  some  fleeting  wraith,* 
And  not  a  man  of  blood  and  breath. 

Not  much  this  new  ally  he  loved, 
Yet,  when  he  saw  what  hap  had  jiroved. 
He  greeted  him  right  heartilie: 

He  would  not  waken  old  debate, 

For  he  was  void  of  i-ancorous  hate, 
Tiiough  rude,  and  scant  of  courtesy. 
In  raids  he  spilt  but  seldom  blood, 
Unless  when  men  at  arms  witlistood. 
Or,  as  was  meet,  for  deadly  feud. 
He  ne'er  bore  grudge  for  stalwart  blow, 
Ta'en  in  fair  fight  from  gallant  foe: 

And  so  'twas  seen  of  him,  e'en  now, 

Wiien  on  dead  Musgrave  he  looked  down; 

Gi'ief  darkened  on  his  rugged  brow, 
Tliougli  half  disguised  witli  a  frown; 
And  thus,  while  sorrow  bent  liis  head, 
His  foeman's  epitaph  he  made. 

XXIX. 

"  Now,  Richard  Musgrave,  liest  thou  here! 

I  ween,  my  deadly  enemy; 
For,  if  1  slew  thy  brother  dear, 

Tiiou  slewest  a  sister's  son  to  me; 
And  when  I  lay  in  dungeon  dark. 

Of  Nawortii  Castle,  long  months  three, 
Till  ransomed  for  a  thousand  mark, 

Dark  Musgrave,  it  was  long  of  thee. 

•  The  spectral  apparition  of  a  Uvhig  peiduii, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  iUNSTREL. 


21 


And,  Musgrave,  could  our  fight  be  tried, 

And  thou  wert  now  alive,  as  1, 
No  mortal  man  should  us  divide. 

Till  one,  or  both  of  us,  did  die. 
Yet  rest  thee,  God !  for  well  1  know 
I  ne'er  shall  find  a  nobler  foe. 
In  all  the  northern  counties  here, 
'XMiose  word  is  snafle,  spur,  and  spear,* 
Thou  wert  the  best  to  follow  gear. 
'Twas  pleasure,  as  we  looked  behind, 
To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  wind, 
Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound-  on  his  way, 
And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fi'ay ! 
I'd  give  the  lands  of  Deloraine, 
Dark  Musgrave  were  alive  again." — 

XXX. 

So  mourned  he,  till  lord  Dacre's  band 
Were  bowning  back  to  Cumberland. 
They  raised  brave  Musgrave  from  the  field. 
And  laid  him  on  liis  bloody  shield; 
On  levelled  lances,  four  and  four. 
By  turns,  the  noble  burden  bore. 
Before,  at  limes,  upon  the  gale, 
Was  heard  the  Minstrel's  plaintive  wail; 
Behind,  four  priests,  in  sable  stole. 
Sung  requiem  for  the  warrior's  soul: 
Around,  the  horsemen  slowly  rode; 
With  trailing  pikes  the  spearmen  trode; 
And  thus  the  gallant  knight  they  bore. 
Through  Liddesdale,  to  Leven's  shore; 
Thence  to  Holme  Coltrame's  lofty  nave. 
And  laid  him  in  his  father's  grave. 

The  harp's  wild  notes,  though  hushed  the  song, 

The  mimic  march  of  death  prolong; 

Xow  seems  it  far,  and  now  a-near. 

Now  meets,  and  now  eludes  the  ear; 

Now  seems  some  mountain  side  to  sweep. 

Now  faintly  dies  in  valley  deep; 

Seems  now  as  if  the  Minstrel's  wail, 

Now  the  sad  requiem  loads  the  gale: 

Last,  o'er  the  warrior's  closing  grave. 

Rung  the  full  choir  in  choral  stave. 

After  due  pause,  they  bade  him  tell, 

"XMiy  he,  who  touched  the  harp  so  well, 

Should  thus,  with  ill-rewarded  toil, 

Wander  a  poor  and  thankless  soil, 

\Mien  the  more  generous  southern  land 

Would  well  requite  his  skilful  hand. 

The  aged  harper,  howsoe'er 
His  only  friend,  his  harp,  was  dear, 
Liked  not  to  hear  it  ranked  so  high 
Above  his  flowing  poesy; 
Less  liked  he  still,  that  scornful  jeer 
Misprized  the  land  he  loved  so  dear; 
High  M'as  the  sound,  as  thus  again 
The  bard  resumed  his  Minstrel  strain. 


I. 
Beathzs  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead,' 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burned. 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  halh  turned, 
From  wandering;  on  a  foreiarn  strand' 


•  The  lands  that  over  Ouse  to  Berwick  forth  do  bear. 
Have  for  their  blazon  had,  the  snafle,  spur,  and  spear. 
Pohj-Albion,  Song  xiii. 


If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well; 
For  him  no  Minstrel  raptures  swell; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wTetch,  concentred  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung. 
Unwept,  unhonoured,  and  unsung. 

II. 

O  Caledonia!  stem  and  wild, 

^leet  nurse  for  a  poetic  child ! 

Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood. 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood. 

Land  of  ray  sires !  what  mortal  hand 

Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band. 

That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand .' 

Still,  as  I  view  each" well-known  scene. 

Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been, 

Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft. 

Sole  friends  thy  woods  and  streams  are  left: 

And  thus  I  love  them  better  still. 

Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 

By  Yarrow's  stream  still  let  me  stray. 

Though  none  should  guide  my  feeble  way; 

Still  teel  the  breeze  down  Ettrick  break. 

Although  it  chill  my  withered  cheek; 

Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot's  stone. 

Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone. 

The  bard  may  draw  his  parting  groan. 

ni. 

Not  scorned  like  me!  to  Branksome  Hall 
The  minstrels  came,  at  festive  call: 
Trooping  they  came,  from  near  and  far. 
The  jovial  priests  of  mirth  and  war; 
Alike  for  feast  and  fight  prepared. 
Battle  and  banquet  both  they  shared. 
Of  late,  before  each  martial  clan. 
They  blew  their  death-note  in  llie  van. 
But  now,  for  eveiy  merry  mate. 
Rose  the  portcullis'  iron  grate; 
They  sound  the  pipe,  they  strike  the  string, 
They  dance,  they  revel,  and  they  sing, 
Till'lhe  rude  turrets  shake  and  ring. 

IV. 

Me  lists  not  at  this  tide  declare 

The  splendour  of  the  spousal  rite, 
How  mustered  in  the  chapel  fair 

Both  maid  and  matron,  squire  and  kuight; 
Me  lists  not  tell  of  owches  rare, 
Of  mantles  green,  and  braided  hair. 
And  kirtles  furred  with  miniver; 
What  plumage  waved  the  altar  round. 
How  spurs,  and  ringing  chainlets,  sound: 
And  hard  it  were  for  bard  to  speak 
The  changeful  hue  of  Margaret's  cheek; 
That  lovely  hue  which  comes  and  flies. 
As  awe  and  shame  alternate  rise. 

V. 

Some  bards  have  sung,  the  ladye  high 
Chapel  or  altar  came  not  nigh; 
Nor  durst  the  rites  of  spousal  grace. 
So  much  she  feared  each  holy  place. 
False  slanders  these;—!  trust  right  well. 
She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell;* 
For  mighty  words  and  signs  have  power 
O'er  sprites  in  planetary  hour: 
Yet  scarce  1  praise  their  venturous  part, 
Who  tamper  with  such  dangerous  art: 


22 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


But  this  for  fiiiihful  truth  I  say. 
The  Ijadye  by  the  altar  stood, 
Of  sable  vi'iv('t  iii-r  array, 

And  on  her  head  a  crimson  hood, 
With  pearls  embroidered  and  entwined, 
Guarded  m  ith  gold,  with  ermine  lined; 
A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist, ^ 
Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  twist. 

VI. 

The  spousal  rites  were  ended  soon: 

'Twas  now  the  merry  hour  of  noon, 

Anil  in  the  lofLy  arched  hall 

Was  spreail  the  s;orgcous  festival. 

Steward  and  s(|uir-e,  with  heeiiful  haste, 

Marshalled  the  rank  of  every  guest; 

Pages,  with  ready  blade,  were  there, 

The  mighty  meal  to  carve  and  share: 

O'er  capon,  heron-shew,  and  crane. 

And  |)rincely  peacock's  gilded  train,* 

And  o'er  the  boar-head,''  garnished  brave, 

And  cygnet'  from  St.  Mary's  wave;^ 

O'er  ptarmigan  and  venison, 

The  priest  had  spoke  his  benison; 

Then  rose  tlie  riot  and  the  din. 

Above,  beneath,  without,  within! 

For,  from  the  lofty  balcony, 

Rung  trumpet,  slialin,  and  psaltery; 

Tlieir  clanging  bowls  old  warriors  quaffed, 

Loudly  they  spoke,  and  loudly  laughed; 

Whispered  young  knights,  intone  more  mild, 

To  ladies  fair,  and  ladies  smiled. 

The  hooded  hawks,  high  perched  on  beam, 

The  clamour  joined  with  whistling  scream, 

And  fiai)ped  their  w  ings,  and  shook  their  bells, 

In  concert  with  the  stag-hounds'  yells. 

Round  go  the  flasks  of  ruddy  wine, 

From  Bordeaux,  Orleans,  or  the  Rhine; 

Their  tasks  the  busy  sewers  ply, 

And  all  is  mirth  and  revelr}'. 

.vn. 

The  goblin  page,  omitting  still 

No  opijortunity  of  ill. 

Strove  now,  while  blood  ran  hot  and  high. 

To  rouse  debate  and  jealousj'; 

Till  Conrad,  lord  of  Wolfenstein, 

By  nature  tierce,  and  warm  with  wine, 

And  now  in  humour  highly  crossed, 

About  some  steeds  his  baud  had  lost. 

High  words  to  words  succeeding  still. 

Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Hunthil;'' 

A  hot  and  hardy  Rutherford, 

Whom  men  call  Dickon  Draw-the-sword. 

He  took  it  on  the  page's  saye, 

Hunthil  had  driven  these  steeds  away. 

Then  Howard,  Home,  and  Douglas  rose, 

The  kindling  discord  to  compose: 

Stern  Rutherford  right  little  said. 

But  bit  his  glove  and  shook  his  head. — 8 

A  fortnight  thence,  in  Inglewood, 

Stout  Conrad,  cold,  and  drenched  in  blood, 

His  bosom  gored  with  many  a  wound. 

Was  by  a  woodman's  lyme-dog  found; 

Unknown  the  maimer  of  his  death. 

Gone  was  his  brand,  both  sw^ord  and  sheath; 

But  ever  from  that  time,  'twas  said, 

That  Dickon  wore  a  Cologne  blade. 

VIII. 

The  dwarf,  who  feared  his  master's  eye 
Might  his  foul  treachery,  espie. 
Now  sought  the  castle  buttery, 
Wher'j  many  a  yoeman,  bold  and  free, 


Revelled  as  merrily  and  well 

As  those  that  sat  in  lordly  selle. 

Watt  Tinlinn,  there,  did  frankly  raise 

The  pledge  to  Arthur  Fire-the-braes;' 

And  he,  as  by  his  breeding  bound, 

To  Howard's  mern-  men  sent  it  round. 

To  quit  them,  on  the  English  side. 

Red  Roland  Forster  loudly  cried, 

"  A  deep  carouse  to  yon  fair  bride!" 

At  every  ]dedge,  from  vat  and  pail. 

Foamed  forth,  in  floods,  the  nut-brown  ale; 

M  hile  shout  the  riders  every  one. 

Such  day  of  mirth  ne'er  cheered  their  clan, 

Since  old  Ruccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 

When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  ta'en.'o 

IX. 
The  wily  page,  with  vengeful  thought, 

Remembered  him  of  Tinlinn's  vew. 
And  swore,  it  should  be  dearly  bought. 

That  ever  he  the  arrow  drew. 
First,  he  the  yeoman  did  molest, 
With  bitter  gibe,  and  taunting  jest; 
Told,  how  he  fled  at  Solway  strife. 
And  how  Hob  Armstrong  cheered  his  wife: 
Then,  shunning  still  his  powerful  arm, 
At  unawares  he  wrought  him  harm; 
From  trencher  stole  his  choicest  cheer, 
Dashed  from  his  lips  his  can  of  beer; 
Then,  to  his  knee  sly  creeping  on, 
With  bodkin  pierced  him  to  the  bone: 
The  venomcd  wound,  and  festering  joint, 
Long  after  rued  tliat  bodkin's  ])oint. 
The  startled  yeoman  swore  and  spurned, 
And  board  and  flaggons  overturned, 
Riot  and  clamour  wild  began; 
Back  to  the  hall  the  urchin  ran; 
Took  in  a  darkling  nook  his  post, 
And  grinned,  and  muttered,  "Lost!  lost!  lost!' 

X. 
By  this,  the  Dame,  lest  farther  fray 
Should  mar  the  concord  of  the  day, 
Had  bid  the  Minstrels  tune  their  "lay. 
And  first  stept  forth  old  Albert  Grseme,'! 
The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name: 
Was  none  who  struck  the  harp  so  well, 
Within  the  Land  Debateable; 
Well  friended  too,  his  iiardy  kin, 
Whoever  lost,  were  sure  to  win; 
They  sought  the  beeves,  that  made  their  broth, 
In  Scotland  and  in  England  both. 
In  homely  guise,  as  nature  bade. 
His  simple  song  the  Borderer  said. 
XI. 

ALBEllT  Gn.'EME. 

It  was  an  English  l.idye  bright, 

(The  sun  shines  f.iir  on  Carlisle  wall,)'^ 

And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  knight. 
For  Love  will  still  be  lord  of  all. 

Blithly  they  saw  the  rising  sun, 

When  he  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 

But  they  were  sad  ere  day  was  done. 
Though  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Her  sire  gave  brooch  and  jewel  fine, 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall: 

Her  brother  gave  but  a  flask  of  wine, 
For  ire  that  Love  was  lord  of  all. 

For  she  had  lands,  both  meadow  and  lea. 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall. 

And  he  swore  her  death,  ere  he  would  see 
A  Scottish  knight  the  lord  of  all! 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  mNSTREL. 


23 


XII. 

That  wine  she  had  not  tasted  well, 

(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  ivall,) 

When  dead,  in  her  true  love's  arms,  she  fell, 
For  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

He  piei-ced  her  hrnther  to  the  heart. 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall; — 

So  perish  all,  would  true  love  part. 
That  Love  may  still  be  lord  of  all. 

And  then  he  took  the  cnss  divine, 

Where  tiie  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 

And  he  died  for  her  sake  in  Palestine, 
So  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Now  all  ve  lovers,  that  faithful  prove, 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Prav  for  their  souls  who  died  for  love. 
For  Love  shall  still  be  lord  of  all  I 

XIIl. 

As  ended  Albert's  simple  lay. 

Arose  a  bard  of  loftier  ]>ort; 
For  sonnet,  rhvnie,  and  roundelay, 

Renowned  in  haughty  Henry's  court: 
There  rung  thy  hr\rp,  unrivalled  long, 
Fitztraver  of  the  silver  song! 
■    The  gentle  Surrey  loved  his  lyre — 

Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame^'s 

His  was  the  hero's  soul  of  fire, 

And  his,  the  bard"s  immortal  name. 
And  his  was  love,  exalted  high 
By  all  the  glow  of  chivalry. 

xiy. 

They  sought,  together,  climes  afar. 

And  oft  within  some  olive  grove, 
When  evening  came,  with  twinkling  star. 

They  sung  of  Surrey's  absent  love. 
His  step  the  Italian  peasant  staid. 

And  deemed,  that  spirits  from  on  high. 
Round  where  some  hermit  saint  was  laid. 

Were  breathing  heavenly  melodv; 
So  sweet  did  harp  and  voice  combine, 
To  praise  the  name  of  Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver!  O  what  tongue  may  say 
The  pangs  thy  faithful  bosom  knew. 

When  Surrey,  of  the  deathless  l.iy, 
Ungi-ateful  Tudor's  sentence  slew  I 

Regardless  of  the  tvrant's  frown. 

His  htu'p  called  wrath  and  vengeance  down. 

He  left,  for  Naworth's  iron  towers, 

AVindsor's  green  glades,  and  courtly  bowers, 

And,  faithful  to  his  patron's  name. 

With  Howard  still  Fitztraver  came: 

Lord  William's  foremost  favourite  he, 

And  chief  of  all  his  raistrelsy. 

XVI. 

FITZTHATER. 

'Twas  All-soul's  eve,  and  Surrey's  heartbeat  liigh; 
He  heard  the  midnight  bell  w  ith  anxious  start. 
Which  told  the  mystic  hour,  approaching  nigh, 

WTien  wise  Cornelius  promised,  by  his  art. 
To  show  to  him  the  ladye  of  his  heart, 

Albeit  betwixt  them  roared  the  ocean  grim; 
Yet  so  the  sage  had  bight  to  plav  his  ^jart. 

That  he  should. see  her  form  in  life  and  limb. 
And  mark,  if  still  she  loved,  and  still  she  thought 
of  him. 

XVH. 
Dark  was  the  vaulted  room  of  gramarye. 
To  which  the  wizard  led  the  gallant  knight, 
4 


Save  that  before  a  mirror,  huge  and  high, 
A  hallowed  taper  shed  a  glimmering  light 

On  mystic  implements  of  magic  might; 
On  cross,  and  character,  and  talisman, 

And  almagest,  and  altar, — nothing  bright; 
For  fitful  was  the  lustre,  pale  and  wan, 

As  watch-light  by  the  bed  of  some  departing  man. 

XVIII. 

But  soon,  within  that  mirror  huge  and  high, 

Was  seen  a  self-emitted  liglit  to  gleam; 
And  forms  upon  its  breast  the  earl  'gan  spy, 

Cloudy  and  indistinct  as  feverish  dream; 
Till,  slow  arranging,  and  defined,  they  seem 

To  form  a  lordly  and  a  lofty  room. 
Part  lighted  by  a  lamp  with  silver  beam. 

Placed  by  a  couch  of  Agra's  silken  loom, 
And  part  by  moonshine  pale,  and  part  was  hid  in 
cloom. 

XIX. 
Fair  all  the  pageant — but  how  passing  fair 

The  slender  form,  which  lav  on  couch  of  Ind! 
O'er  her  white  bosom  strayed  her  hazel  hair, 

Vnle  her  dear  cheek,  as  if  for  love  she  pined; 
All  in  her  niglit-robe  loose  she  lay  reclined, 

And,  pensive,  read  from  tablet  eburnine 
Some  strain  that  seemed  lier  i  nmost  soul  to  find : — 

That  favour'd  strain  was  Surrey's  raptured  line, 
That  fair  and  lovely  form,  the  Ladye  Geraldine. 

XX. 

Slow  rolled  the  clouds  upon  the  lovely  form. 

And  swept  the  goodly  vision  all  away — 
So  royal  envy  rolled  the  murky  storm 

O'er  my  beloved  master's  glorious  day. 
Thou  jealous,  ruthless  tyrant!  Heaven  repay 

On  thee,  and  on  thy  cliildren's  latest  line, 
Tiie  wild  caprice  of  thy  despotic  sway. 

The  gory  bridal  bed,  the  plundered  shrine. 
The  murdered  Surrey's  blood,  tiie  tears  of  Geral- 
dine! 

XXI. 
Both  Scots,  and  Southern  chiefs  prolong 
Applauses  of  Fitztraver's  song: 
These  hated  Henry's  name  as  death. 
And  those  stilljield  the  ancient  faith. — 
Tlien,  from  his  seat,  with  loft}'  air, 
Rose  Harold,  bard  of  brave  St.  Clair; 
St.  Clair,  who,  feasting  high  at  Home 
Had  with  that  lord  to  battle  come. 
Harold  was  born  wl)ere  restless  seas 
Howl  round  the  storm-swept  Orcades; 
Where  erst  St.  Clairs'-i  held  princely  sway 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay; — • 
Still  nods  tlieir  palace  to  its  fall, 
Tliy  pride  anfl  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall! '5 
Thence  oft  he  marked  tierce  Penlland  rave, 
As  it  grim  Odin  rode  her  wave; 
And  watched,  the  whilst,  with  vifage  pale, 
And  throbbing  heart,  the  struggling  sail; 
For  all  of  wonderful  and  wild 
Had  rapture  for  the  lonely  ciiild. 

XXII. 

And  much  of  wild  and  wonderful 

In  these  rude  isles  mighty  Fancy  cull; 

For  thither  came,  in  limes  afar. 

Stern  Lochlin's  sons  of  roving  w  ar. 

The  Norsemen,  trained  to  spoil  and  blood, 

Skilled  to  prepare  the  raven's  food; 

Kings  of  the  main  their  leaders  brave. 

Their  barks  the  dragons  of  the  wave.'^ 

And  there,  in  many  a  stormy  vale, 

The  scald  had  told  his  wonderous  tale: 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  iiiHiiy  a  Kui\ic  column  high 

Had  witiicssL-d  p;fiiii  idolatry. 

And  liiiis  had  liarohl,  in  his  youth, 

Learned  many  a  saj^a's  rhyme  uncoutii, — 

Of  tliat  si'a-snaki','"  tremendous  curled, 

W  hose  monsti'OMs  circle  girds  the  world; 

Ot'tiiose  dread  Maids,  whose  hideous  yell 

Maddens  the  hatlle's  lilood)'  swell;"' 

Of  chiefs,  who,  i!;ui<led  thront;h  the  gloom 

Hy  the  i)ale  death-lights  of  the  tomb, 

Uansaeked  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

1  lieir  faiihionsi"  wi'encheil  from  corpses'  hold, 

Waked  tlie  deaf  tomb  with  war's  alarms, 

And  hade  the  dead  arise  to  arms! 

AVith  war  and  wonder  all  on  flame. 

To  Hoslin's  bowers  young  Harold  came, 

^^  iiere,  hy  sweet  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 

He  learned  a  milder  minstrelsy; 

Yet  something  of  the  northern  spell 

Mixed  with  the  softer  numbers  well. 

XXIII. 

HAROLD. 

O  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay! 

No  haughty  feat  of  arms  1  tell; 
Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay. 

That  mourns  the  lovely  Rosabelle.^o 

— "  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew! 

And,  gentle  ladye,  deign  to  stay ! 
Itcst  thee  in  castle  Ravensheuch,-' 

Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

"  The  bhickning  wave  is  edged  with  white; 

To  inch*  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly; 
The  fishers  have  heard  the  water  sprite, 

Whose  screams  forbode  that  wreck  is  nigh. 

"  Last  night  the  gifted  seer  did  view 
A  wet  shroud  swathe  a  ladye  gay; 

Then  stay  thee.  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch: 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day'" 

"  'Tis  not  because  lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To  night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball. 

But  that  my  ladye-mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall.      , 

"  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride. 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well. 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide. 
It  'tis  not  filled  by  llosabelle." 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  dreary  night 

A  wonderous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam: 

'Twas  broader  than  the  watch-fire  light. 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moon-beam. 

It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock, 
It  ruddied  all  tlie  copse-wood  glen; 

'Twas  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak. 
And  seen  from  caverned  Hawthornden. 

Seemed  all  on  fire  that  chape!  proud, 
^Vllere  Roslin's  chiefs  uncofiined  lie; 

Each  baron,  for  a  sable  shroud. 
Sheathed  in  his  iron  panopl).''^ 

Seemed  all  on  fire,  within,  around. 

Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale: 
Shone  every  pillar  foliage  bound. 

And  glimmered  all  the  dead-men's  mail. 
Blazed  battlement  and  ])innet  high, 

Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fair — 


•  Jnrh,  Isle. 


So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  line  of  high  St.  Clair. 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle: 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold — 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle! 

And  each  St.  Clair  was  buried  there, 
With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell; 

But  the  sea  caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  stuig 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle. 

XXIV. 

So  sweet  was  Harold's  piteous  lay, 

Scarce  marked  the  guests  the  darkened  hall. 
Though,  long  before  the  sinking  day, 

A  wonderous  shade  involved  them  all; 
It  was  not  eddying  mist  or  fog. 
Drained  by  the  sim  from  fen  or  bog; 

Of  no  eclipse  had  sages  told; 
And  yet,  as  it  came  on  apace, 
Each  one  could  scarce  his  neighbour's  face, 

Could  scarce  his  own  sU'elched  hand  behold. 
A  secret  horror  checked  the  feast. 
And  chilled  the  soul  of  every  guest; 
Even  tiie  high  dame  stood  half  aghast, 
She  knew  some  evil  on  the  blast; 
The  elvish  page  fell  to  the  ground. 
And,    shuddering,    muttered,    "  Found,    fouuii 
found!" 

xx^. 

Then  sudden,  through  liie  darkened  air 

A  flash  of  lightning  came; 
So  broad,  so  bright,  so  red  the  glare, 

The  castle  seemed  on  flame; 
Glanced  every  rafter  of  the  hall, 
Glanced  every  sliield  upon  the  wall; 
Each  trophied  beam,  each  sculptured  stone, 
Were  instant  seen,  and  instant  gone; 
Full  through  the  guests'  bedazzled  band 
Resistless  flashed  the  levin-brand, 
And  filled  the  iiall  w  ith  smouldering  smoke, 
As  on  the  elfish  page  it  broke. 

It  broke,  with  tliunder  long  and  loud. 

Dismayed  the  brave,  appalled  the  proud. 
From  sea  to  sea  the  larum  rung; 

On  Berwick  wall,  and  at  Carlisle  withal, 
To  arms  the  startled  warders  sprung. 
When  ended  was  the  dreadful  roar, 
The  elfish  dwarf  was  seen  no  more ! 

XXVL 

Some  heard  a  voice  in  Branksome  Hall, 
Some  saw  a  sight,  not  seen  by  all; 
That  dreadful  voice  was  heard  by  some. 
Cry,  with  loud  summons,  "  Gylbin,  come!"^ 

And  on  the  spot  where  burst  the  brand, 
Just  where  the  page  had  flung  him  down. 

Some  saw  an  arm,  and  some  a  hand. 
And  some  the  waving  of  a  gown. 
The  guests  in  silence  prayed  and  shook. 
And  terror  dimmed  each  lofty  look. 
But  none  of  all  the  astonished  train 
Was  so  dismayed  as  Deloraine; 
His  blood  did  freeze,  his  brain  did  burn, 
I'was  feared  his  mind  would  ne'er  return; 

For  lie  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan, 

Like  hini  of  whom  the  story  ran, 

Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  in  Man.^'* 

At  length,  by  fits,  ht  darkly  told. 

With  broken  hint,  and  shuddering  cold— » 

That  he  had  seen,  right  certainly, 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL, 


25 


Ji  shape  vdth  aviice  -wrapped  around. 
With  a  wrouq-ht  Spamsh  baldrick  hound. 

Like  pilgnm from  beyond  the  sea; 
And  knew — but  how  it  mattei-ed  not — 
It  was  the  wizard,  Michael  Scott! 

xxvii. 

The  anxious  crowd,  witlj  liorror  pale, 
All  trembling,  heard  the  wonderous  tale. 

No  sound  was  made,  no  word  was  spoke. 

Till  noble  Angus  silence  broke: 
And  he  a  solemn  sacred  plight 

Did  to  St.  Bride^s  of  Douglas  make, 

That  he  a  pilgrimage  ■would  take, 

To  Melrose  Abbej',  for  the  sake 
Of  Michael's  restless  sprite. 
Then  each,  to  ease  his  troubled  breast. 
To  some  blessed  saint  his  prayers  addressed; 
Some  to  St.  Modan  made  their  vows, 
Some  to  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes, 
Some  to  the  holy  Rood  of  Lisle, 
Some  to  our  ladye  of  the  Isle; 
Each  did  his  patron  witness  make. 
That  he  such  pilgrimage  would  take. 
And  monks  should  sing,  and  bells  should  toll. 
All  for  the  weal  of  Michael's  soul. 
While  vows  were  ta'en,  and  prayers  were  prayed, 
'Tis  said  the  noble  dame,  dismayed. 
Renounced,  for  aye,  dark  migic's  aid. 

xxvin. 

Nought  of  the  bridal  will  I  tell, 

Which  after  in  short  space  befell; 

Nor  how  brave  sons  and  daughters  fair 

Blessed  Teviot's  flower,  and  Cranstoun's  heir: 

After  such  dreadful  scene,  'twere  vain. 

To  wake  the  note  of  mirth  again. 

IMore  meet  it  were  to  mark  the  day 

Of  penitence  and  prayer  divine. 
When  ]>ilgrim-chiefs,  in  sad  array. 

Sought  Melrose'  holy  shrine. 

XXIX 

With  naked  fbot,  and  sackcloth  vest, 
And  arras  enfolded  on  his  breast, 

Did  every  pilgrim  go; 
The  standers-by  miglit  hear  uneatli, 
Footstep,  or  voice,  or  high-drawn  breath. 

Through  all  the  lengthened  row: 
No  lordly  look,  nor  martial  stride. 
Gone  was  their  glory,  sunk  their  pride. 

Forgotten  their  renown; 
Silent  and  slow,  like  ghosts,' tliey  glide 
To  the  high  altar's  hallowed  side. 

And  there  they  knelt  them  down; 
Above  the  suppliant  chieftains  wave 
The  banners  of  departed  brave; 
Beneath  the  lettered  stones  were  laid 
The  ashes  of  their  fathers  dead; 
From  many  a  garnished  niche  around. 
Stern  saints,  and  tortured  martyrs  frowned. 

XXX. 

And  slow  up  the  dim  aisle  afar. 

With  sable  cowl  and  scapular. 

And  snow  white-stoles,  in  order  due. 

The  holy  fathers,  two  and  two. 

In  long  procession  came; 

Taper,  and  host,  and  book  tliey  bare. 

And  holy  banner,  flourished  fair 

With  the  Redeemer's  name: 
Above  the  prostrate  pilgrim  band 
The  mitred  abbot  stretched  his  hand, 


And  blessed  them  as  they  kneeled; 
With  holy  cross  he  signed  them  all, 
And  prayed  they  might  be  sage  in  hall, 

And  fortunate  in  field. 
The  mass  was  sung,  and  prayers  were  said, 
And  solenni  requiem  for  the  dead; 
And  bells  tolled  out  their  mighty  peal 
For  the  departed  spirit's  weal; 
And  ever  in  the  office  close 
The  hymn  of  intercession  rose; 
And  far  the  echoing  aisles  prolong 
The  awful  burthen  of  the  song, — 
Dies  lu*;,  dies  illa, 

SOLVET  S.TECLUM  IN  FAVILLA: 

Wliile  the  pealing  organ  rung; 
Were  it  meet  with  saci-ed  strain 
To  close  my  l.iy,  so  light  and  vain, 

Tlius  the  holy  fathers  sung. 

XXXI. 

HTMJf  FOR  THE  DEAD. 

That  day  of  wralti,  that  dreadful  day, 
Wlien  liea\en  and  eartli  sliall  pass  away, 
Wliat  power  shall  be  tlie  sinner's  stay? 
How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day? 

When,  shrivelling'like  a  parched  scroll, 
The  flaming  heavens  togetficr  roll; 
Wlien  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread. 
Swells  the  high  trump  that  wakes  the  dead! 
Oh !  on  that  day,  tliat  wrathful  day. 
When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay. 
Be  Thou  tlie  trembling  sinner's  stay, 
Tliough  lieaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away ! 

Hushed  is  the  harp — the  minstrel  gone. 

And  did  he  wander  fortli  alone? 

Alone,  in  indigence  and  age. 

To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage' 

No: — close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower 

Arose  the  minstrel's  lowly  bower: 

A  simple  hut;  but  there  was  seen 

The  little  garden  liedged  with  green. 

The  cheerful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean. 

There  sheltered  wanderers,  by  the  blaze, 

Oft  heard  the  tale  of  other  days; 

For  much  lie  loved  to  ope  his  door. 

And  give  the  aid  he  l)egged  before. 

So  passed  the  winter's  day;  but  still, 

VVlien  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhill, 

And  July's  eve,  with  balmy  breath. 

Waved  tlie  blue  bells  on  Newark  heath; 

Wlien  throstles  sung  in  Hare-head  shaw. 

And  corn  was  green  on  Carterhaugh, 

And  flourislied,  broad,  Blackandro's  oak. 

The  aged  harper's  soul  awoke ! 

Then  would  he  sing  acliievements  high, 

And  circumstance  of  chivalry. 

Till  the  rapt  traveller  would  stav. 

Forgetful  of  llie  closing  day: 

And  noble  youths,  the  strain  to  heai-, 

Forsook  the  hunting  of  the  deer; 

And  Yarrow,  as  he  rolled  along. 

Bore  burden  to  the  Minstrel's  song. 


NOTES  TO  CANTO    I. 
1.  The  feast  was  over  in  Rianksome  tower.— P".  2. 
In  the  reign  of  James  1,  sir  William  Scott  of 
Buccleucli,  chief  of  the  clan  bearing  that  name,  ex- 
changed, with  sir  Thomas  Inglis  of  Manor,  the  es- 
tate of  Murdiestone,  in  Lanarkshire,  tbi'  one  half 


26 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOUKS. 


of  the  barony  ot  Braiiksonic,  or  Branxholm,*  lying 
iipon  the  Tcviot,  :il)oiil  Uirte  miles  above  Hawick. 
He  was  i)r()bably  induced  to  iliis  transaction  from 
the  vicinity  of  Branksomc  to  the  extensive  domain 
\vhich  lie  nossessed  in  Ettrick  Forest  and  in  Te- 
viotdale.  In  the  thrnun-  district  he  held  by  occu- 
pancy the  estate  of  Hucclcuch,t  and  much  of  the 
forest  land  on  the  river  Ettrick.  in  Teviotdale,  he 
enjoyed  the  barony  of  Eckford,  by  a  grant  from 
Robert  II,  ti>  his  ancestor,  Walter  Scott  of  Kirkurd, 
for  the  appr.'heiidinK  of  Gilbert  Iii(blerford,  con- 
firmed by  Kobert  111,  ;)d  May,  hV2k  Tradition 
imputes  the  exchange  bel\N  ixt  Scott  and  Inglis  to  a 
conversation,  in  vhich  the  latter,  a  man,  it  would 
appear,  of  a  mild  and  forbearing  nature,  complain- 
ed mucli  of  the  injuries  which  he  was  exposed  to 
from  the  English  Borderers,  who  frequently  plini- 
(lered  his  lands  of  Branksomc.  Sir  William  Scott 
instantly  ottered  him  the  estate  of  Murdiestone, 
in  exchange  for  that  whicli  was  subject  to  such 
egregious  inconvenience.  When  the  bargain  was 
completed,  he  drily  remarked,  that  the  cattle  in 
Cumberland  were  as  good  as  those  of  Te\iot(lale; 
and  proceeded  to  commence  a  systcMu  of  reprisals 
upon  the  English,  which  was  regularly  pursued  by 
his  successors.  In  the  next  rergn,  James  II  grant- 
ed to  sir  Walter  Scott  of  Braidisome,  and  to  sir 
David,  his  son,  the  remaining  halfof  the  barony  of 
Branksonie,  to  be  held  in  blanche  for  tlie  payment 
of  a  red  rose.  The  cause  assigned  for  the  grant  is, 
their  brave  and  faithful  exei-tions  in  favour  of  the 
king  against  tiie  house  of  Douglas,  with  whom 
.lames  bad  l)een  recently  tugging  for  the  throne  of 
Scotland.  This  charter  is  dated  tlie  2d  February, 
1443;  and,  in  the  same  month,  part  of  the  barony 
of  Langholm,  and  many  lands  in  Lanarkshire,  were 
conferred  upon  sir  Walter  and  his  son  by  the  same 
monarch. 

After  the  period  of  the  exchange  with  sir  Tho- 
mas Inglis,  Branksome  became  the  principal  seat 
of  the  Buccleuch  family.  The  castle  was  enlai-ged 
and  strengthened  by  sir  David  Scott,  the  grand- 
son of  sir  William,  its  first  possessor.  But  in 
1570-1,  the  vengeance  of  Elizabeth,  provoked  by 
the  inroads  of  Buccleuch,  and  his  attachment  to 
the  cause  of  Queen  Mary,  destroyed  the  castle, 
and  laid  waste  the  lands  of  Branksome.  In  the 
same  year  the  castle  was  repaired,  and  enlarged 
by  sir  Walter  Scott,  its  brave  possessor;  but 
the  work  was  not  completed  until  after  his  death, 
in  1574,  when  the  widow  finished  the  building. 
This  appears  from  the  following  inscription. 
Around  a  stone,  bearing  the  arms  of  Scott  of  Buc- 
cleuch, appears  the  following  legend: 

"  Sir  W.  Scott,  of  Branxhehn  Kiujt  Yoc  of  Sir 
William  Scott  of  Kirkurd  Knyt  began  ye  -work 
upon  ye  24  of  Murche  1571  zier  quha  departit  at 
God's  py sour  ye  17  Jpiil  1574." 


On  a  similar  compartment  are  sculptured  the  arms 
of  Douglas,  with  this  inscription,  "  Dame  Marga- 
ret Douglas  /lis  spoils  completit  the  forsaid  ivork  in 


*  Branxliobn  is  the  proper  name  of  the  l)arony;  but 
Branksome  has  been  adopted,  as  suitable  to  the  pronuncia- 
tion, and  more  proper  for  poetry. 

t  There  are  no  vestiges  of  any  building  at  Buccleuch, 
except  the  site  of  a  chapel,  where,  actordjiig  to  a  tradition 
current  in  the  time  of  Scott  of  Satehells,  many  of  the  an- 
cient  barons  of  Buccleueh  lii-  bmied.  There  is  also  said 
to  have  been  a  mill  near  this  solitary  spot;  an  extraordi- 
nary circumstance,  as  little  or  no  corn  grows  within  seve- 
ral nules  of  Buccleuch.  Satehells  says  it  was  used  to  irrind 
com  for  the  hounds  of  the  chieftain. 


October,  1576. "  Over  an  arched  door  is  inscribed 
the  following  moral  verse: — 

In  varld  is  noc/it  nature  hes  brought 
yat  sal  lest  ay. 

tharfore  serve  God  keip  veil  ye  rod  thy 
fame  sal  nocht  dekay. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Bramrholm  Kmght. 
jyiargaret  Douglas,  1571. 
Branksome  Castle  continued  to  be  the  principal 
seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family,  wliile  security  was 
any  object  in  their  choice  of  a  mansion.  It  has 
since  been  the  residence  of  the  commissioners,  or 
chaniberlains,  of  the  family.  From  the  various  al- 
terations which  the  building  has  undergone,  it  is 
not  only  greatly  restricted  "in  its  dimensions  but 
retains  little  of  the  castellated  form,  if  we  except 
one  sipuire  tower  of  massy  thickness,  the  only  part 
ol  tlie  oiiginal  building  which  now  remains.  I'he 
whole  forms  a  handsome  modern  residence,  lately 
inliabited  by  my  deceased  friend,  Adam  Oglivy,Es(i. 
of  Hartwoodmyres,  commissioner  of  hisgrace  the 
duke  of  Buccleuch. 

The  extentofthe  aucientedificecanstillbe traced 
by  some  vestiges  of  its  foundation;  and  its  strength 
is  obvious  from  the  situation  on  a  steep  bank  sur- 
rounded by  the  Teviot,  and  flanked  bv  a  deep  ra- 
vine, formed  by  a  precipitous  brook.'  It  was  an- 
ciently surrounded  by  wood,  as  appears  from  the 
survey  of  Roxburghshire,  made  for  Font's  Atlas, 
and  preserved  in  liie  advocates'  Libi-ary.  This 
wood  was  cut  aliout  fifty  years  ago,  but  is" now  re- 
placed by  the  thriving  plantations  which  have  been 
formed  by  the  late  noble  proprietor,  for  miles 
around  the  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers. 

2.   N'ine-aiid-twenty  knights  of  fame 

Hung  their  shields  in  Branksome  Hall.— P.  2. 
The  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch,  both  from  feu- 
dal splendour,  and  from  their  frontier  situation, 
retained  in  their  household,  at  Branksome,  a  num- 
ber of  gentlemen  of  their  own  name,  who  held 
lands  from  their  chief,  for  the  military  service  of 
watching  and  warding  his  castle.  Satehells  tells 
us  in  his  doggrel  poetry, 

No  baron  was  better  served  into  Britain; 

The  barons  of  Euckleugh  they  kej)t  their  call, 

Four-and-twenty  gentlemen  in  thiir  hall, 

All  being  of  his  name  and  kin; 

Each  two  had  a  servant  to  wait  upon  him; 

Before  supper  and  dinner,  most  renowned. 

The  bells  rung  and  the  trumpets  sowned. 

And  more  than  that,  1  do  confess. 

They  kept  four-andTtwenty  pensioners. 

Think  not  I  lie,  nor  do  me  blame. 

For  the  pensioners  I  can  all  name: 

There's  men  alive,  elder  than  I, 

They  know  if  I  speak  trutli,  or  lie; 

Every  pensioner  a  room*  did  gain. 

For  service  done  and  to  be  done; 

This  I"ll  let  the  reader  understand. 

The  name  both  of  the  men  ami  land, 

Which  they  possessed,  it  is  of  truth. 

Both  from  the  lairds  and  lords  of  Buckleugh. 

Accordingly,  dismounting  from  his  Pegasus,  Sat- 
ehells gives  us  in  prose,  the  names  of  twenty-four 
gentlemen,  younger  brothers  of  ancient  families, 
who  were  pensioners  to  the  house  of  Buccleuch, 
and  describes  the  lands  which  each  possessed  for 
his  Border  service.  In  time  of  war  with  England, 
the  garrison  was  doubtless  augmented.  Satehells 
adds,  "  These  twenty-three  pensioners,  all  of  his 
own  name  of  Scott,  and  Walter  Gladstanes,  of 
Whitelaw,  a  near  cousin  of  my  lord's,  as  aforesaid, 


•  Room,  portion  of  land. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


•were  ready  on  all  occasions,  when  his  honour  pleas- 
ed cause  to  advertise  them.  It  is  known  to  many 
of  the  country  better  than  it  is  to  me,  that  the  rent 
of  these  lands,  which  the  lairds  and  lords  of  Buc- 
cleucli  did  freely  bestow  upon  their  friends,  will 
amount  to  above  tttelve  or  fourteen  thousand  merks 
a  year." — History  of  the  JVame  of  Scott,  p.  45.  An 
immense  sum  in  those  times. 

3.  And  Avith  Jedwood-axe  at  saddle-bow.— P.  2. 
"  Of  a  truth,"  says  Froissart,  "  the  Scottish  can- 
not boast  great  skill  with  the  bow,  but  rather  bear 
a.xes,  with  which,  in  time  of  need,  they  give  heavy 
strokes."  Tlie  Jed  wood  axe  was  a  sort  oipartlzan, 
used  by  horsemen,  as  appears  from  tlie  ai-ms  of 
Jedburgh,  which  bear  a  cavalier  mounted,  and  arm- 
ed witii  this  weapon.  It  is  also  called  a  Jedwood 
or  Jeddart  staff. 


27 


4.  Tliey  watch  against  Southern  force  and  guile, 
Lest  Scroope,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  towers. 
From  Warkworth,  or  Naworth,  or  merry  Carlisle — P.  4. 
Branksome  Castle  was  continually  exposed  to  the 
attacks  of  the  English,  both  from  its  situation  and 
the  restless  militar)'  disposition  of  its  inhabitants, 
who  were  seldom  on  good  terms  with  their  neigh- 
bours. The  following  letter  from  the  earl  of  North- 
umberland to  Henry  Vlll,  in  1533,  gives  an  ac- 
count of  a  successful  inroad  of  the  English,  in  which 
the  country  was  plundered  up  to  the  gates  of  the 
castle,  although  the  invaders  failed  in  their  princi- 
pal object,  which  was,  to  kill,  or  make  prisoner, 
the  laird  of  Buccleuch.    It  occurs  in  the  Cotton 
MS.  Calig.  B.  Mil,  f.  '222. 

"  Pleaseth  yt  your  most  gracious  highnes  to  be 
aduertised   tliat   my   comptroller,    with   Raynald 
Carnaby,   desyred   licence   of  me   to  invade  the 
realme  of  Scotland,  for  the  annoysaunce  of  your 
highnes  enerays,  v/here  thej'  thought  best  exploit 
by  theyrae  raigiil  be  done,  aud  to  haue  to  concur 
withe  theyme  the  inbatitants  of  Nortliumberland, 
suche  as  was  toward  me  according  to  tlieyre  as- 
sembly, and,  as  by  theyre  discrecions  vpone  the 
same  they  shulde  thinke  most  convenient;  and  so 
thej-  dyde  mete  vpon  Monday,  before  nyglit,  being 
the  iii  day  of  this  instant  monethe,  .at  VVawhope, 
upon  northe  Tyne  water,  above  Tymlaill,  where 
they  were  to  tlie  number  of  xv  c  men,  and  soo  in- 
vadet  Scotland,  at  the  hour  of  viii  of  the  clock  at 
nyght,  at  a  place  called  Whele  Causav;  and  before 
xi  of  the  clock  dyd  ;;end  foilli  a  fom-y  of  Tyndaill 
and  Ryddisdaill  and  laide  all  llie  resyikie  in  a  bush- 
ment,  and   actyvei^'  dyd  set  vpon  a  town  called  | 
Branxholm,  where  the  lord  of  Bucio;i::!i  dwellythe, 
and  purposed  themselves  with  a  trayne  for   liym 
lyke  to  his  accustomed  manner,' in  rysynge  to  all 
frajxs;  albeit,  that  knyght  he  was  not  at  home,  and 
soo  they  brynt  tlie   said  Branxliolm,   and  other 
townes,  as  to  say  Whichestre,  Wiiichestrehelme, 
and  Whelley,  and  haid  ordered  theyraeselfs  soo 
that  surdry  of  the  said  lord  Buclough's  servants, 
who  dyd  issue  fourthe  of  his  gates,  was  takyn  pri- 
soners.    They  dyd  not  leve  one  house,  one  stak 
of  corne,  nor  one  shyef,  without  the   gate   of  llie 
said  lord  Buclough  vnbrynt;  and  thus  scrimaged 
and  frayed,  supposing  the  lord  of  Buclough  to  be 
within  iii  or  iiii  m3'les  to  have  trayned  him  to  th 
bushment;  and  soo  in  the  breyking  of  the  day  dyd 


bene  gyven  to  Ged  worth  and  the  countrey  of  Scot- 
land thejTeabout  of  theyre  invasion;  whiche  Ged- 
worth  is  from  the  Wh'eles  Causay  vi  myles,  that 
thereby  the  Scots  shuld  have  cumen  further'  vnto 
theyme,  and  more  owte  of  ordre;  and  soo  upon  sun- 
dry good  consideracions,  before  they  entered  Lyd- 
dersdaill,  as  well   accompting  the  inhabitants  of 
the  same  to  be  towards  your  highness,  and  to  en- 
force theyme  the  more  thereby,  as  alsoo  to  put  an 
occasion  of  suspect  to  the  kinge  of  Scotts  and  his 
counsaill,   to  be  taken  anens't  theyme,   amonp-es 
theymselves,   maid  proclamations,   commanding, 
vpon  payne  of  dethe,  assurance  to  be  for  the  said 
inhabitants  of  Lyddersdaill,  witliout  anv  prejudice 
or  Imrt  to  be  done  by  any  Inglysmau  vnto  theyme, 
and  soo  in  good  ordre  abowte  the  Iiowre  of  ten  of 
the  clok  before  none,  vpone  Tewisday,  dyd,  pas 
through  the  said  Lydders(htill,  when  dyd  come  di- 
verse of  the  said  inhabitants  tiiere  to  my  servauntes 
under  the  said  assurance,  offering  iheymselfes  with 
any  service  they  couthe  make;  and  thus,  thanks  be 
to  Godde,  your  higlmes'  subjects,  abowte  the  howre 
of  xii  of  the  clok  at  none  the  same  daye,  came  in- 
to this  youre  highnes'  realme,  bringing  wl  theyme 
above  xl  Scottsmen  prisoners,  one  of  tlieyme  named 
Scot,  of  the  surname  and  kyn  of  the  said  lord  of 
Buclough,  and.of  his  howsehold;  they  brought  al- 
soo ccc  nowte,  and  above  Ix  liorses  and  mares,  keep- 
ing in  savetie  frome  losse  or  hurte  all  your  said 
higlmes  subjects.    There  was  alsoo  a  towne  called 
Newbiggins,  by  divers  fotraen  of  Tyndaill  and  Ryd- 
desdaili,  takyn  -s  p  of  the  nyght  and  spovled,  when 
was  slayne  ii   Scottsmen    of  the   syid  towne,  and 
niany  Scotts  there  hurte;  your  highnes  subjects  was 
xiii  myles  within  the  ground  of  Scotlande,  and  is 
frome  my  house  at  Werkworth,above  Ix  miles  of  the 
most  evil  passage,  where  great  snawes  dothe  lye; 
heretofore  the  same  townes  now  brynt  hath  not  at 
any  time  in  the  mynd  of  man  in  any  warrs,  been 
enterprised  unto  nowe;  your  subjects  were  therto 
more  encouraged  for  tlie  better  advancement  of  your 
highnes  service,  the  said  lord  of  Buclough  beyng 
always  a  mortall  enemy  to  this  your  graces  realme, 
and  he  dyd  say,  withiii  xiii  day's  before,  he  would 
see  who  dui'st  lye  near  hym;  wt  many  other  cruell 
words,  the  knowledge  v herof  was  certainly  haid 
to  my  said  servaunts  before  theyre  enterprice  maid 
vppon  him;  most  humbly  beseeching  your  majesty, 
that  your  highnes  thankes  may  concur  vnto  theyme, 
whose  names  be  here  enclosed,  and  to  have  in'your 
most  gracious  memory,  tlie  paynfull  and  diligent 
service  of  my  pore  sei-vaunt  Wharton,  and  thus, 
as  I  am  most  bounden,  shall  dispose  wt  them  that 
bounder  me  f.  ..  .annoysaunce   of  your  highnes 
enenns."   In  resentment  of  tiiis  foray,  Buccleuch 
with  other  Border  chiefs,  assembled  an  army  of 
3000  riders,  with  which  they  penetrated  into  North- 
umberland, and  laid  waste  the  country  as  far  as  the 
banks  of  Bramish.    They  baffled,  or  defeated,  the 
English  forces  opposed  to  them,  and  returned  load- 
ed  with  prey. — Fiiilccrton's  History,  Vol.  II,  p. 
318. 


5.  Bards  long  shall  tell. 

How  lord  Walter  fell.— St.  VII.  p.  3. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Buccleuch  succeeded  to  his 
grandfather,  sir  David,  in  1492.    He  was  a  brave 
and  powerful  baron,  and  w  arden  of  the  west  marcli- 


the  forrey  and  the  bushment  mete,  and  reculed   es  of  Scotland.    His  death  was  the  consequence  of 
homeward,   making  theyre  way   westward   from   a  feud  betwixt  the  Scotts  and  Kerrs,  the  histoi-y  of 
theyre  invasion  to  be  over  Lyddersdaill,  as  intend-    which  is  necessary  to  explain  repeated  allusions 
ing  yf  the  fray  from  theyre  furst  entry  by  the  Scotts    in  the  romance, 
waiches,  or  otherwyse  by  warnyng,  shulde  haue  I      In  the  year  1526,   in  the  words  of  Pitscottie, 


28 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  The  f;irl  of  Aiiniis  and  llic  rest  of  ihe  Dous;lasios 
ruled  all  wliicli  tlicv  liked,  and  no  man  durst  say 
the  contrary;  wherefore  the  king  (James  V,  then 
a  minor)  was  heavily  displeased,  and  would  tain 
liaye  been  out  ut"  their  hands,  if  he  might  by  any 
way.  And,  to  that  ett'ect,  wrote  a  quiet  and  secret 
letter  with  his  own  hand,  and  sent  it  to  ttie  lairil 
of  Buccleufh,  besecehiug  him  that  he  woulil  come 
with  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  the  force  that  he 
might  be,  and  meet  him  at  Melross,  at  iiis  home- 
passing,  and  tlurc  to  take  iiim  out  of  the  Douglass- 
es hands,  and  to  put  him  at  liberty,  to  use  himself 
among  the  laye  {^rcst)  of  his  lords,  as  he  thinks  ex- 
[>etlient. 

"  This  letter  was  quietly  directed  and  sent  by 
one  of  the  king's  own  secret  servants,  which  was 
received  very  thankfully  by  the  laird  of  Buccleuch, 
who  «as  very  glad  thereof,  to  be  put  to  such  charges 
and  familiarity  with  his  prince,  and  did  great  di- 
ligence to  perform  the  king's  writing,  and  lo  bring 
the  matter  to  \)ass  as  the  king  desired:  And  to 
that  effect,  couveued  all  his  kin  and  friends,  and 
all  tliaf  would  do  for  him,  to  ride  with  him  to  .Mel- 
ross, ^vllen  he  knew  of  the  king's  home-coming. 
And  so  he  brought  with  him  six  hundred  spears, 
of  Liddesdale,  and  AnTiandale,  and  countrymen, 
and  clans  thereabout,  an<l  held  themselves  quiet 
while  that  the  king  returned  out  of  Jedburg,  and 
came  to  .Melross,  to  remain  there  all  that  niglit. 

"  IJut  when  the  lord  Hume,  Cessford,  and  Fer- 
nyhirst,  (tiie  chiefs  of  the  clan  of  Kerr,)  took  their 
leave  of  the  king,  and  returned  home,  then  appear- 
ed the  lord  of  Buccleucli  in  sight,  and  his  compa- 
ny with  him,  iu  an  arrayed  battle,  intending  to 
have  fulfdled  the  king's  petition,  and  therefore 
came  stoutly  forward  on  the  back  side  of  Haliden 
hill.  By  that  the  earl  of  Angus,  with  George  Dou- 
glas his  l)rolher,  and  sundry  other  of  his  friends, 
seeing  this  army  coming,  thej' marvelled  wbia  the 
matter  meant;  «  bile  at  tlie  last  they  knew  the  laird 
of  Buccleuch,  with  a  certain  company  of  the  thieves 
of  Annandale,  With  him  they  were  less  afl'eared, 
and  made  them  manfully  to  the  field  contraiy  them, 
and  said  to  the  king  in  this  manner,  '  Sir,  yon  is 
Buccleuch,  and  thieves  of  Annandale  with  him,  to 
unbcset  your  grace  from  the  gate  (/'.  e.  interrupt 
your  passage.)  I  vow  to  God  they  shall  either  fight 
or  llee;  and  ye  shall  uarry  here  on  this  know,  and 
my  brother  George  with  you,  with  any  other  com- 
pany you  please;  and  I  shall  pass,  and  put  yon 
thieves  oft' the  ground,  and  rid  the  gale  unto  your 
grace,  or  else  die  for  it.'  The  king  tanied  still, 
as  was  devised,  and  George  Douglas  with  him;  and 
sundry  other  lords,  such  as  the  earl  of  Leimox 
and  the  lord  Erskine,  and  some  of  the  king's  own 
servants;  but  all  the  lave  [vt'st)  passed  \nlb  the 
earl  of  Angus  to  the  field  against  the  laird  of  Buc- 
cleuch, whojoyned  and  countered  cruelly  both  the 
said  parties  in  the  field  of  Darneliuver,*  either 
against  other,  with  uncertain  victory.  But  at  the 
last,  the  lord  Hume  hearing  word  of  that  mailer 
how  it  stood,  returned  again  to  tlie  king  in  all  pos- 
sible haste,  with  him  the  lairds  of  Cessford  and 
Eairnyhirst,  to  liie  number  of  fourscore  spears, 
:ind  set  freslily  on  the  lap  and  w  ing  of  the  laird  of 
Buccleuch's  field,  anil  shortly  bare  them  backward 
to  the  ground:  wljich  cail.sed  the  laird  of  Buccleuch, 
and  the  rest  of  his  fi-iends,  to  go  back  and  flee, 
whom  they  followed  and  chased:  and  especially 


•  Damwii'k,  nezy  Melrose.  The  place  of  conflict  is  still 
called  Skinner's  Field,  from  a  corrOPtioii  of  Skh/nish 
field.  '^ 


the  lairds  of  Cessford  and  Eairnyhirst  followed  fu- 
riouslie,  till  at  the  foot  of  a  path  the  laird  of  Cess- 
ford was  slain  by  the  stroke  of  a  spear  by  an  Elli- 
ot, who  was  then  servant  to  the  laii'd  of  Buccleuch. 
But  when  the  laird  of  Cessford  was  slain,  the  chase 
ceased.  The  earl  of  Angus  retin'ne(|  again  with  great 
meiTincss  and  victory,  and  thanked  Go<l  that  he 
saved  him  from  that  ch.ance,  and  passed  with  the 
king  to  .Melross,  where  they  remained  all  that 
night.  On  the  morn  they  passed  to  Eilinburgh 
with  the  king,  who  was  very  sad  and  dolorous  of 
the  slaughter  of  the  laird  of  Cessford,  and  many 
other  gentlemen  and  yeomen  slain  by  the  laird  of 
Buccleuch,  containing  the  niunber  of  fourscore  and 
fifteen,  which  died  in  the  defence  of  the  king,  and 
at  the  command  of  his  writing." 

I  am  not  the  first  who  has  attempted  to  celebrate 
in  verse  the  renown  of  this  ancient  baron,  and  his 
hazardous  attemjjt  to  procure  his  sovereign's  free- 
dom, [n  a  Scottish  Latin  poet  we  find  the  following 
verses: — 

Valterhis  Scotus  Balcliichiiis. 
Egregio  suscepto  facinore  libertate  Kegis,  ac  aliis 
rebus  gestis  clarus,  sub  Jacobo  V.  A".  Christi,  1526. 
Intcntata  aliis,  nullique  audita  pi-iomm 

.\inlel,  iiec  pavidum  morsve,  iiietusvc,  quatit, 
I.ibf \tnii  ni  aliis  suliti  transenbere  Kegis: 
Siiliieptain  hanc  Regi  rtstituisse  paras. 
Si  viiicis,  qiuuitu  o  sntctdiiiit  pnenua  dcxtra». 

Sin  victiLS,  faisiis  spcs  jace,  pone  aiiiiiiam. 
Hosiica  vis  iiociiit:  .stain  alta'  roboia  mentis 

."Vtoue  (leciis.    Vineet,  Kcfje  probantCj  fides. 
I».t/ta  quels  aiiiinis  \iitus,  quosqiie  acnor  ardor 
Obsidet,  obscuris  nox  prtiuat  an  teni-bris? 

Heroes  ex  omni  Historia  Scotica  lccli3simi,.\uc- 
tore  Joban.    Jonstonio,  Abredoneuse  Scoto,  100.3. 

In  consequence  of  the  battle  of  Melrose,  there 
ensued  a  de;tdly  feud  betwixt  the  names  of  Scott 
and  Kerr,  which,  in  spite  of  .all  means  used  to 
bring  about  au  agreement,  raged  for  many  years 
upon  the  Borders.  Buccleuch  was  im])risoned,  and 
his  estates  forfeited,  in  the  year  153.'),  for  levying 
war  against  the  Kerrs,  and  restored  by  act  of  par- 
liament, dated  15th  March,  1542,  during  the  re- 
gency of  Mary  of  Lorraine.  But  the  most  signal 
act  of  violence,  to  which  this  quarrel  gave  rise, 
was  the  murder  of  sir  Waller  himself,  who  was 
slain  bv  the  Kerrs  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh,  in 
ISS'J.  This  is  the  event  alluded  to  in  stanza  VII; 
and  the  ^loem  is  supposed  lo  open  shortly  after  it 
had  taken  place. 

The  feud  between  tliese  two  families  was  not 
reconciled  in  1500,  when  both  chieftains  paraded 
the  streets  of  Edinburgh  with  their  followers,  anil 
it  w  as  expected  their  first  meeting  Avould  decide 
ibeir  quarrel.  But  on  July  1  ith  of  the  same  year. 
Colvil,  in  a  letter  lo  Mr  Bacon,  informs  him, 
"  that  there  was  great  trouble  upon  the  Borders, 
which  would  continue  till  order  should  be  taken 
bv  the  ([ueiMi  of  England  and  the  king,  by  reason 
of  tlie  two  young  Scots  chieftains,  Cessford  and 
Bacclugh,  :uid  of  the  present  necessity  and  scarcitj' 
of  corn  amongst  the  Scots  Bonlerers  and  riders. 
That  there  had  been  a  private  quarrel  betwixt  tliese 
two  lairds,  on  the  Borders,  which  was  like  to  have 
turned  to  blood;  but  the  fear  of  the  general  trouble 
liad  reconciled  them,  and  the  injuries  which  they 
tliougbt  to  have  committed  against  each  other,  were 
now  tran.sferred  upon  Englaiul:  not  unlike  that 
emulation  in  France  between  the  baron  de  Biron 
and  Moi)s.  Jeverie,  who,  being  both  ambitious  of 
honour,  undertook  more  hazardous  enterprises 
against  the  enemy,  than  they  would  have  done  if 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


29 


they  had  been  at  concord  together." — Birch's  Me- 
morials, vol.  ii,  p.  67. 

6.  No!  vainly  to  each  holy  shrine, 
In  mutual  pilgiimage  Uiey  drew.— P.  3. 
Among  other  expedients  resorted  to  for  stanch- 
ing the  feud  betwixt  the  Scotts  and  the  Kerrs,  there 
was  a  bond  executed,  in  1529,  between  the  heads 
of  each  clan,  binding  themselves  to  pei-form  re- 
ciprocally the  four  principal  pilgrimages  of  Scot- 
land, for  the  benefit  of  the  souls  of  those  of  the 
opposite  name  who  had  fallen  in  the  quarrel.  This 
indenture  is  printed  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scot- 
tish Border,  Vol.  I.  But  either  it  never  took  effect, 
or  else  the  fend  was  renewed  shortly  afterwards. 

Such  pactions  were  not  uncommon  in  feudal 
times;  and,  as  might  be  expected,  tliey  were  often, 
as  in  the  present  case,  void  of  the  effect  desired. 
When  sir  ^^'alter  Maunv,  the  renowned  follower 
of  Edward  LIT,  had  taken  the  town  of  Ryoll,  in 
Gascony,  lie  remembered  to  have  heard  that  bis 
father  lay  there  buried,  and  offered  a  hundred 
crowns  to  any  one  who  could  show  him  his  giave. 
A  verv  old  man  appeared  before  sir  Walter  and 
informed  him  of  the  manner  of  his  father's  death, 
and  the  place  of  his  sepulture.  It  seems  the  lord 
of  Mauny  had,  at  a  gi-eat  tournament,  unhorsed, 
and  wounded  to  the  death,  a  Gascon  knip;ht,  of  the 
house  of  Mirepoix,  whose  kinsman  was  bisliop  of 
Cambray.  For  this  deed  he  was  held  at  feud  by 
the  relations  of  the  knight,  until  he  as;reed  to  un- 
dertake a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  .St.  James  of 
Compostella,  for  the  benefit  of  the  soul  of  the  de- 
ceased. But  as  he  returned  through  the  town  ot 
Ryoll,  after  the  accomplishment  of  his  vow,  Ik- 
was  beset,  and  treacherously  slain,  by  the  kindred 
of  the  knight  whom  he  had  killed."  Sir  AValter, 
guided  by  the  old  man,  visited  the  lowly  tomb  of 
his  father;  and,  having  read  the  inscription,  wliich 
was  in  Latin,  he  caused  the  body  to  be  raised,  and 
transported  to  his  native  city  of  Valenciennes, 
where  masses  were,  in  the  days  of  Froissart,  duly 
said  for  the  soul  of  the  unfortunate  pilgrim.— Cro- 
?il/cle  of  Froissart,  \o\.  I,  p.  123. 

7.  While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Car.— P.  3. 
The  family  of  Ker,  Kerr,  or  Car,*  .was  very 
powerful  on  the  Border.  Fynes  Morrison  remarks, 
in  his  Travels,  that  their  influence  extended  from 
the  village  of  Preston-Grange,  in  Lothian,  to  the 
limits  of  England.  Cessford  Castle,  the  ancient 
baronial  residence  of  the  family,  is  situated  near 
the  village  of  Morebattle,  within  two  or  three 
miles  of  the  Cheviot  hills.^It  has  been  a  place  of 
great  strength  and  conseiiuence,  but  is  uowruinous. 
Tradition  affirms,  that  it  was  founded  by  Malbert, 
or  Habby  Kerr,  a  gigantic  warrior,  concerning 
whom,  many  stoi-ies  are  current  in  Roxburgshire. 
Tiie  duke  of  Roxburghe  represents  Kerr  of  Cess- 
ford. A  distinct  and  powerful  branch  of  the  same 
name  own  the  marquis  of  Lothian  as  their  chief. 
Hence  the  distinction  betwixt  Kers  of  Cessford  and 
Fairnihirst. 
S.  Before  lord  Crastoiin  she  should  wed.— P.  3. 
The  Cranstouns,  lord  Cranstoun,  are  an  ancient 
Border  family,  whose  chief  seat  was  at  Crailling, 
in  Teviotdale.  They  were  at  this  time  at  feud  with 
the  clan  of  Scott;  for  it  appears  that  tiie  lady  of 
Buccleuch,  in  1557,  beset  the  laird  of  Cranstoun, 
seeking  his  life.  !Neverlheless,tlie  same  Cranstoun, 


*  The  name  is  spelt  differently  by  the  various  families 
who  bear  it.  Car  i>  selected,  not  as  the  most  correct,  but 
as  thi  most  poetical  reading. 


or  pei-haps,  his  son,  was  married  to  a  daughter  of 
the  same  lady. 

9.  Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie.— P.  3. 
The  Bethunes  were  of  French  origiii,  and  de- 
rived their  name  from  a  small  town  in  Artois. 
There  were  several  distinguished  families  of  tlie 
Bethunes  in  the  neighbouring  province  of  Picardy: 
thev  numbered  among  their  descendants  the  cele- 
brated Due  de  Sully;  and  the  name  was  accounted 
among  the  most  noble  in  France,  while  aught  no- 
ble remained  in  that  country.    The  femily  of  Be- 
thune,  or  Beatoun,  in  Fife,  produced  three  learned 
and  dignified  prelates;  namely.  Cardinal  Beaton, 
and  tw-o  successive  archbishops  of  Glasgow,  all  of 
whom  flourished  about  t1ie  date  of  the  romance. 
Of  this  familv  was  descended  Dame  .lanet  Beaton, 
ladv  Buccleuch,  widow  of  sir  Walter  Scott  of 
Branksome.  She  was  a  woman  of  masculine  spirit, 
as  appeared  from  her  riding  at  the  head  of  her  son's 
clan,  after  her  husband's  murder.    She  also  pos- 
sessed the  hereditary  abilities  of  her  family  in  such 
a  degree,  that  the  sui)erstition  of  the  vulgar  im- 
puted them  to  supernatural  knowledge.    W  ith  this 
was  mincjled,  by  faction,  the  foul  accusation,  of  her 
having  influenced  queen  Maty  to  the  murder  of 
her  husband.    One  of  tlie  placards,  preserved  in 
Buchanan's  Detection,  accuses  of  Darnley's  mur- 
der "  the  earl  Bothwell,  Mr.  James  Balfour,  the 
persoun  of  Fliske,  Mr.  David  Chalmers,  black  Mr. 
John  Spens,  who  was  principal  deviser  of  the  mur- 
der; and  the  queue,  assenting  thairto,  throw  the 
persuasion  of  the  erle  Bothwell,  and  the  -witchcraft 
of  lady  Buckleiich." 

10.  He  learn'd  the  art,  that  none  may  name, 
In  Padua  far  beyond  the  sea.— P.  3. 
Padau  was  long  supposed,  by  the  Scottish  pea- 
sants, to  be  the  principal  school  of  necromancy, 
The  earl  of  Gowrie,  slain  at  Perth,  in  1600,  pre- 
tended, during  his  studies  in  Italy,  to  have  acquir- 
ed some  knowledge  of  the  cabala:  by  which,  he 
said,  he  could  charm  snakes,  and  work  other 
miracles;  and,  in  particular,  could  produce  chil- 
dren without  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes. — See 
the  examination  of  Wemyss  of  Bogie,  before  the 
Privy  Council,  concerning  Gowrie's  conspiracy. 

11.  His  form  no  darketiinfj  shadow  traced 
Upon  the  sunny  wall.— P.  3. 
Tlie  shadow  of  a  necromancer  is  independent  of 
^^^.  sun. — Glycas  informs  us  that  Simon  Magus 
caused  his  shadow  to  go  before  him,  making  peo- 
ple believe  it  was  an  attendant  spirit.  Heyxuood'i 
IJierarclue,  p.  475.  The  vulgar  conceive,  tiiat 
when  a  class  of  students  have  made  a  certain  pro- 
gress in  their  mystic  studies,  they  are  obliged  to 
ran  through  a  subterraneous  hall,  where  the  devil 
literallv  catches  the  hindmost  in  the  race,  unless 
he  cios'ses  the  hall  so  speedily,  that  the  arch-ene- 
my, can  only  apprehend  his  shadow.  In  the  latter 
ca"se,  the  person  of  the  sage  never  after  throws  any 
shade;  and  those  wlio  have  thus  lost  their  shadow, 
;dways  prove  the  best  magicians. 

12.  The  ^-iewles.s  forms  of  air.— P.  3. 
Tiie  Scottish  vulgar,  without  having  any  very 
defined  notion  of  their  attributes,  believe  in  the 
existence  of  an  intermediate  class  of  spirits  resid- 
ing in  the  air,  or  in  the  waters:  to  whose  agency 
tiiey  ascribe  floods,  storms,  and  all  such  pheno- 
mena as  their  own  philosopiiy  cannot  readily  ex- 
plain. They  are  supposed  to  interfere  in  the  affairs 
of  mortals, 'sometimes  with  a  malevolent  purpose, 
and  sometimes  with  milder  view  s.    It  is  said,  for 


30 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


example,  that  a  gallant  baron,  having  returned 
from  the  Holy  Land  to  his  castle  nf  Urummelziar, 
foiin;!  his  fair  lady  nursing  a  healthy  child,  whose 
birtli  did  not  hy  any  means  corresjiond  to  the  dale 
of  his  di'i)artme.  Such  an  occurrence,  to  tiie  cre- 
dit of  the  dames  of  the  crusaders,  be  it  spoken, 
was  so  rare,  that  it  required  a  miracidous  solution. 
The  lady,  therefore,  was  believed,  \vl)eM  slie  aver- 
red confidently,  tiiat  iRe  Spirit  of  the  Twied  liad 
issued  from  the  river  while  she  Mas  walking  upon 
its  bank,  and  compelled  her  to  submit  to  his  em- 
braces; and  the  name  of  Tweedie  was  bestowed 
upon  the  child,  who  al'terwartls  became  baron  of 
Drummelziar,  and  chief  of  a  powei'ful  clan.  To 
those  spirits  were  also  ascrii)ed,  in  Scotland,  the 
— "  Airy  tonfjues,  that  .syllable  men's  names, 
On  sands,  anil  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses." 
When  the  workmen  were  engaged  in  erecting 
the  ancietit  church  of  Old  Deer,  in  Aberdeenshire, 
ui)0n  a  small  hill  called  Bissau,  they  were  surjiris- 
sd  to  find  that  the  work  was  impelled  l)y  super- 
natural obstacles.  At  length  the  spirit  of  the  Itiver 
was  heard  to  say. 

It  is  not  here,  it  is  not  here, 

That  ye  shall  build  the  church  of  Deer; 

But  on  Taptillery, 

Where  many  a  corpse  shall  lie. 

The  site  of  the  edifice  was  accordingly  transfeired 
to  Taptillery,  an  eminence  at  some  diKlatice  from 
the  place  where  the  building  had  been  com- 
menced.— J)Iacfavlaifj:\'i  JSISS.  1  mention  these 
popular  fables,  because  the  introduction  of  the  Ri- 
ver and  Mountain  spirits  may  not,  at  first  sight, 
seem  to  accord  with  the  general  tone  of  the  ro- 
mance, and  the  superstitions  of  the  country  where 
the  scene  is  laid. 

13.  A  fancied  moss-trooper.  Sec.  P.  -1. 
This  was  the  usual  appellation  of  the  marauders 
upon  the  Borders;  a  profession  diligenllj'  pursued 
bj'  the  inhabitants  on  both  sides,  and  by  none  more 
actively  and  successfully  than  by  Buccleueh's  clan. 
Long  after  the  union  of  the  crowns,  the  moss- 
troopers, although  sunk  in  reputation,  and  no  long- 
er enjoying  the  pretext  of  national  hostility,  con- 
tinued to  pursue  their  calling. 

Fuller  includes  among  the  wonders  of  Cumber- 
land, "  The  Moss-troopers;  so  strange  in  the  con- 
dition of  their  living,  if  considered  in  their  Origi- 
nal, hicrense.  Height,  Decay,  and  Riiine. 

First.  "  Original,  I  conceive  them  the  same 
called  Borderers  in  Mr.  Cambden;  and  character- 
ized by  him  to  be  a  tvildand-warlike  people.  They 
are  called  JMoss-troopers,  because  dwelling  in  the 
mosses,  and  riding  in  troops  together.  They  dwell 
in  the  bounds,  or  meeting  of  the  two  kingdoms, 
but  obey  the  laws  of  neither.  They  come  to  church 
as  seldom  as  the  29th  of  February  comes  into,  the 
kalendar. 

Second.  "  Increane.  WHien  England  and  Scot- 
land were  united  in  (ireat  Britain,  they  that  form- 
erly lived  by  hostile  incursions,  betook  themselves 
to  the  robbing  of  their  neighbours.  Their  snns  are 
free  of  the  trade  by  their  father's  copy.  They  are 
like  to  Job,  not  in  piety  and  patience,  but  in  sud- 
den plenty  and  poverty;  sometimes  having  flocks 
and  herds  in  the  morning,  none  at  night,  and  per- 
chance many  again  next  day.  They  may  give  for 
their  mottoe,  vivitur  ex  rapto,  stealing  from  their 
honest  neighbours  what  they  sometimes  require. 
Tliey  are  a  ne.st  of  hornets;  strike  one,  and  stir  all 
of  them  about  your  ears.  Indeed,  if  they  promise 
safely  to  conduct  a  traveller,  they  will  perform  it 


with  the  fidelity  of  a  Turkish  janizary;  otherwise, 
wo  be  to  him  that  falleth  into  their  quarters! 

Third.  '■^Height.  Amounting,  forty  years  since, 
to  some  thousands.  These  compelled  the  vicinage 
to  purchase  their  security,  by  paying  a  constant 
rent  to  them.  When  in  their  greatest  height,  they 
had  two  great  enemies — the  Idivs  uf  the  Land,  and 
the  Lord  William  Jloiuard  of  JWiworth.  He  sent 
many  of  them  to  Carlisle,  to  that  |)lace  w  here  the 
officer  doth  ahvai/s  hia  ivork  by  daiilig/it.  Yet  these 
moss-troopers,  if  possibly  they  could  procure  a 
pardon  for  a  condemned  person  of  their  company, 
would  advance  great  sums  out  of  their  common 
stock,  who,  in  such  a  case.  Cant  in  their  lots  among 
themselves,  and  all  have  one  purse. 

Fourth.  '■'■Decay.  Caused  ijy  the  wisdom,  valour, 
and  diligence,  of  the  right  honoiu-able  Ciiarles 
lord  Howard,  earl  of  Carlisle  who  routed  these 
English  tories  with  his  regiment.  His  severi- 
ty unto  them  w-ill  not  only  be  excused,  but  com- 
mended, by  the  judicious,  who  consider  how  our 
great  la  wyer  doth  describe  such  persons  who  are  sol- 
emnly outlawed.  Bracton,  lib.  8.  trac.  '2.  cap.  ii-.Ex 
tunc  genint  ca[nttlupinum,ila  quod  sine Jiidicialiin- 
quisilione  rite  pei'eant,  et  seciiin  suum  judicium  por- 
tent, et  mento  sine  lege  pereunt,  qui  secundum  le- 
gem vivere  reaisannit. — '  Thenceforward,  fafter 
that  they  are  outlawed)  they  wear  a  wolf's  head, 
so  that  they  lawfully  may  be  destroyed,  without 
any  judicial  inquisition,  as  who  carry  their  own 
condemnation  about  them,  and  deservedly  die 
without  law,  because  they  refuse  to  live  according 
to  law.' 

Fifth.  "  Ruine.  Such  was  the  success  of  this 
worthy  lord's  severity,  that  he  made  a  thorough 
reformation  among  them;  and  the  ringleaders  be- 
ing destroyed,  the  rest  are  reduced  to  legal  obedi- 
ence, and  so,  I  trust,  will  continue." — Fuller's 
JForthies  of  England,  ]■>.  216. 

The  last  public  mention  of  moss-troopers  occurs 
during  the  civil  wars  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
when  many  ordinances  of  parliament  were  direct- 
ed against  them. 

14.  How  the  brave  boy,  in  future  war. 
Should  tame  the  Uniuoni"s  pride. 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star.— P.  4. 
The  arms  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford  were.  Vert 
on  a  cheveron, betwixt  three  unicorns'  heads  erased 
argent,  three  mullets  sable;  crest,  a  unicorn's  head 
ei"<ised p7'oper.  The  Scotts  of  Buccletich  bore.  Or, 
on  a  bend  azure;  a  star  of  six  points  betwixt  two 
crescents  of  the  first. 

15.  William  of  Deloraine.-  P.  1. 
The  lands  of  Deloraine  are  joined  to  tliose  of 
Buccleuch  in  Ettrick  Forest.  They  were  imme- 
morially  possessed  by  the  Buccleuch  family,  under 
the  strong  title  of  occupancy,  although  no  charter 
was  obtained  from  tiie  crown  until  1;)4:). — Like 
other  possessions,  the  lands  of  Deloraine  were  oc- 
casionally granted  by  them  to  vassal.s,  or  kinsmen, 
for  Border-service.  Satchells  mentions,  among  the 
twenty-four  gentlemen  pensioners  of  the  famil)-, 
"  William  Scott,  commonly  called  Cut-at-the- 
black,  who  had  the  lands  of  Nether  Deloraine  for 
his  service."  And  again,  "  This  William  of  De- 
loraine, commonly  called  Cut-at-the-Black,  was  a 
brother  of  the  ancient  house  of  Haining,  MJiich 
house  of  Haining  is  descended  from  the  ancient 
house  of  Hassenilean."  The  lands  of  Deloraine 
now  give  an  earl's  title  to  the  descendant  of  Henry, 
the  second  surviving  son  of  the  duchess  of  Buc- 
cleuch and   Monmouth.    I  have  endeavoured  to 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


31 


give  William  of  Deloraine  the  attributes  which 
cnaracterized  the  Borderers  of  his  day;  for  which  I 
can  only  plead  Froissart's  apology,  that  "  it  be- 
hoveth,  in  a  lynage,  some  to  be  folysiie  and  out- 
rageous, to  niaynlene  and  sustayne  the  peasable." 
As  a  contrast  to  my  Marchniao,  I  beg  leave  to 
transcribe,  from  the  same  author,  the  speech  of 
Araergot  Marcell,  a  captain  of  the  Adventurous 
Companions,  a  robber,  and  a  pilliiger  of  the  coun 


Till  at  the  last  that  John  of  Lorn, 
Peisuvit  the  hund  the  sleuth  had  lorae. 

Tlie  Bruce,  Book  vii. 
A  sure  way  of  stopping  the  dog  was  to  spill  blood 
upon  the  track,  which  destroyed  llie  dihcrimiual- 
ing  fineness  of  his  scent.  A  captive  was  sumelinies 
sacrificed  on  such  occasions.  Henry  the  minstrel 
tells  a  romantic  story  of  Wallace,  founded  on  this 
circumstance: — The  hero's  little  band  liad   been 


',.  ,         -  u     u    1   u   '     1  "  1     1  »        11  1    „  '  lomed  bv  an  Irisiiman,  named  Fa«don,  or  iad- 

try  ot  Auver?ne,  who  had  been  bribed  to  sell  his  J"'""-  '  ".'  "  '  .  .         ,      '  .  ,, 

•'.11°;.  1  ui        •!•     zean,  adark,  savage,  and  susnicious  character.  Ai- 

strong  holds,  and  to  assume  a  more  honorable  mill-    ■^>='»")  <•  v"' "■'  ^"    'o  '       ..       i'  _. 

tary  life  under  the  banners  of  the  earl  of  Armag- 
nac.  But  "  when  he  remembered  alle  this,  lie  was 
sorrowful;  his  tresour  he  thought  he  wolde  not 
mynysshe:  he  was  wonte  daylay  to  serche  for  new 
pyllages,  wherebye  encresed  his  profyte,  and  then 
he  sawe  that  alle  was  closed  fro'  him.  Then  he 
sayde  and  immagined,  that  to  pyll  and  to  robbe 
(all  thynge  considered)  was  a  good  lyfe,  and  so  re- 
pented hym  of  his  good  doing.  On  a  tyme,he  said 
to  his  old  companyons,  '  Sirs,  tiiere  is  no  sporte 
nor  glory  in  this  worlde  amonge  men  of  waiTe, 
but  to  use  such  lyfe  as  we  have  done  in  time  past. 
What  a  joy  was  it  to  us  when  we  rode  forth  at  ad- 
venture, and  sometyme  found  by  the  way  a  riche 
priour  or  raerchaunt,  or  a  route  of  mulettes  of 
Alountpellyer,  of  Xarbonne,  of  Lymens,  of  Fon- 
gans,  of  Besyers,  of  Tholous,  or  of  Carcassone, 
laden  with  cloth  of  Brussels,  or  peltre  ware  com- 
yngefro  the  fayres,  or  laden  with  spycery,fro  Bru- 
ges, fro  Damas,  or  fro  Alysaundre;  whatsoever  we 
met,  all  was  ours,  or  elsransoumed  at  our  pleasures; 
daylv  we  gate  new  monev,  and  the  vyllaynes  of 
Auvergne  and  of  Lymosyn  dayly  provyded  and 
brought  to  our  castell  whete  mele,  good  wynes, 
beftes,  and  fat  motions,  pullayne,  and  wylde  foule. 
We  were  ever  furnyshed  as  tho  we  had  been  kings. 
When  we  rode  forthe,  all  the  countrey  trymbled 
for  feare;  all  was  ours  goyng  and  corny ng.  Howe 
tok  we  Carlast,  I  and  the  Bourge  of  Compayne,  and 
I  and  Perot  of  Bernoys  took  Caluset;  how  did  we 
scale,  with  lytell  ayde  the  strong  castell  of  Marquell, 
pertayning  to  the  erl  Dolphyn;  I  kept  it  not  past 
five  days,  but  I  receyved  for  it,  on  a  feyre  table, 
fiye  thousande  frankes,  and  forgave  one  thousande 
for  the  love  of  the  erl  Uolphyn's  children.  By  my 
fayth,  this  was  a  fayre  and  a  good  lyfe:  wherefore 
I  repute  myself  sore  deceyved,  in  tbat  I  have  ren- 
dered up  the  fortress  of  Aloys;  for  it  wolde  have 
kept  fro  alle  the  worlde,  and  tiie  daye,  that  I  gave 
it  up  it  was  fournyshed  with  vjtaylles,  to  have  been 
kept  seven  yere  without  any  re-vy  taylynge.  This 
erl  of  Arinynake  hath  deceyved  me.  Olvve  Barbe, 
and  Perot  le  Bernoys,  showed  to  me  how  I  shuide 
repente  myselfe;  certayne  I  sore  repente  myself  of 
what  I  have  done." — Froiasart,  vol.  ii,  p.  195. 

16.  By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 

Had  baffled  Percy's  best  blood-hoiuids.— P.  4. 

The  kings  and  heroes  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  the 
Border-riders,  were  sometimes  obliged  to  study 
how  to  evade  the  pursuit  of  blood-hounds.  Bar- 
boar  informs  us,  that  Robert  Bruce  was  repeated- 
ly tracked  by  sleuth-dogs.  On  one  occasion,  he 
escaped  by  wading  a  bow-shot  down  a  brook,  and 
ascending  into  a  tree  by  a  branch  wiiich  overhung 
the  water:  thus  leaving  no  trace  on  land  of  his  foot- 
steps, he  baffled  the  scent.  The  pursuers  came  up: 

Rycht  to  the  bum  thai  passyt  ware. 
But  tlie  sleuth  -hund  made  stinting  thar, 
And  waneryt  lanij  tyme  ta  and  fra, 
That  he  na  certain  gate  couth  ga; 


ter  a  sharp  skirmisli  at  Black-Erne  Side,  Wallace 
was  forced  to  retreat  with  only  si.xleen  followers. 
The  English  pursued  with  a  hovder  sleuih-bvutch, 
or  blood-hound: 

In  Gelderland  there  was  that  brateh.t  brtd, 

Siker  of  scent,  to  follow  them  that  tied; 

So  was  he  used  iu  Eske  and  Liddesdail, 

While  (i.  e.  tiii)  she  gat  blood  no  liecing  r.ujht  avail. 

In  the  retreat,  Fawdon,  tired,  or  affecting  to  be 
so,  would  go  no  farther:  Wallace,  having  in  vain 
argued  with  him,  in  hasty  anger,  struck  off  his 
head,  and  continued  the  retreat.  When  the  En- 
glish came  up^  their  hound  stayed  upon  the  dead 
body : — 

The  sleuth  stopped  at  Fawdon,  still  she  stood. 
Nor  father  wouid  frae  time  she  fand  the  blood. 

The  Story  concludes  with  a  fine  gothic  scene  of 
terror.  Wallace  took  refuge  in  the  solitary  tower 
of  Gask.  Here  he  was  disturbed  at  midnight  by 
the  blast  of  a  horn;  he  sent  out  his  attendants  by 
two  and  two,  but  no  one  returned  with  tidings.  At 
length,  when  he  was  left  alone,  the  sound  was 
heard  still  louder.  The  champion  descended, 
sword  in  hand;  and  at  the  gate  of  the  tower  was 
encountered  by  the  headless  spectre  of  Fawdon, 
whom  he  had  slain  so  rashly.  Wallace,  in  great 
terror,  fled  up  into  the  tower,  tore  open  the  boards 
of  a  window,  leapt  down  fifteen  feel  in  height,  and 
continued  his  flight  up  the  l■i^e^.  Looking  back 
to  Gask,  he  discovered  the  tower  on  fire,  and  the 
form  of  Fawdou  upon  the  battlem  nts,  dilated  to 
an  immense  size,  and  liolding  in  liis  hand  a  blaz- 
ing rafter.    The  minstrel  concludes, 

Trust  ri^ht  wele,  that  all  this  be  sooth,  indeed. 
Supposing  it  be  no  point  of  the  creed. 

TJte  IValiace,  Book  v. 

Mr.  Ellis  has  extracted  this  tale  as  a  sample  of 
Henry's  poetry. — Specimens  of  English  Poetry, 
vol.  i,  p.  351. 

17.  Dimly  he  view'd  the  Moat-hill's  mound.— P.  4. 

This  is  a  round  artificial  mound  near  Hawick 
which  from  its  name,  (Mot.  Jlng.  Sax.  ConciUrun,, 
Conveiitu-s,)  was  probably  anciently  used  as  a  place 
for  assembling  a  national  council  of  the  adjacent 
tribes.  There  are  many  such  mounds  in  Scotland, 
and  they  are  sometimes,  but  rarely,  of  a  square 
form. 

18.  Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazeldean.— P.  4. 

The  estate  of  Hazeldean,  corru[itly  Hassendean, 
belonged  formerly  to  a  family  of  Seotts,  thus  com- 
memorated by  Salchells: — 

Hassendean  came  without  a  call. 
The  ancienttst  house  among  them  all. 

19.  On  Minto-ei-ags  the  moon-beams  glint. — P.  4. 

A  romantic  assemblage  of  clifl's,  wliich  rise  sud- 
denly above  the  vale  of  Teviot,  in  tlie  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  family-seat  from  which  lord  Minto 
lakes  his  title.  A  small  platform,  on  a  projecting 
crag,  commanding  a  most  beautiful  prospect,  is 
termed  Hani/alls'  Bed.  This  Barnhills  is  said  to 
have  been  a  robber,  or  outlaw.  There  are  remains 


32 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


of  a  stronj;  tower  beneath  the  rocks,  wliere  lie  is 
supposed  to  liave  <Iwcl(,  and  from  wliicli  he  deriv 
ed  his  name.  On  the  summit  of  the  crags  ai'e  the 
fragments  of  another  ancient  tower,  in  a  pictur- 
esque sitnalion.  Amonp;  the  houses  cast  do\m  by 
the  enrl  of  Ilnrtford,  in  154.'),  occur  the  towers  of 
Easter  Harnhills,  and  of  Minto  crag,  with  Minto 
town  and  place.  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  father  to  the 
present  lord  .Minto,  was  the  author  of  a  beautiful 
])astoral  song,  of  which  the  following  is  a  more 
correct  copy  than  is  usually  published.  The  poet- 
ical mantle  of  sir  Gilbert  Elliot  has  descended  to 
his  family. 

My  slii-cp  I  iioj^lpcfcd,  I  l)roke  my  sliccp-lioolc. 
Ami  all  tlic  K:>y  haunts  of  my  youth  I  forsook: 
No  iMoiv  for  .Vuipila  frcsli  f^'arlanils  I  wove; 
AinhilioM,  1  said,  would  soon  curi-  me  of  love. 
Hut  what  had  my  youth  with  and>ition  to  doi" 
Why  Ufi  I  Amynla:'  Why  l)roke  I  my  vow.' 
Thi-ouefh  ren'ions  remote,  in  vain  do  I  rove, 
And  hid  the  wide  world  seoiiro  me  from  love. 
Ah,  fool!  to  iniac;ine,  thai  auijlK  could  suhduc 
A  love  so  well  founded,  a  i)assi(in  so  true! 
Ah,  Bri^'e  me  my  sheep,  and  my  sliei  p-hook  restore, 
And  I'll  wander  from  love  and  Amynia  no  more! 
Alas!  'tis  too  late  at  thy  fate  to  repine! 
Poor  shepherd,  Amyiita  no  more  can  be  thine! 
Thy  tears  are  all  fruitless,  thy  wishes  are  vain. 
The  moments  neeflected  return  not  ac:ain. 
Ah!  what  kad  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do? 
Why  left  I  AmjTita?  Why  broke  I  my  vow? 
20.  Ancient  Riddel's  fair  domain. — P.  5. 
The  family  of  Riddel  have  been  very  long  in  pos- 
session of  the  barony  called  Riddell,  or  Rydale.part 
ot  which  still  bears  the  latter  name.  Tradition  car- 
ries their  antiquity  to  a  point  extremely  remote; 
and  is,  in  some  degree,  sanctioned  by  the  discovery 
of  two  stone  coffins,  one  containing  an  earthen  pot 
filled  with  ashes  and  arms,  bearing  a  legible  date, 
A.  D.  727;  the  other  dated  9.36,  aiid  filled  with  tlic 
hones  of  a  man  of  gigantic  size.     These  coffins 
were  discovered  in  tlie  foundations  of  wliat  was, 
but  has  long  ceased  to  be,  the  clrtpel  of  lliddel; 
and  as  it  was  .argued  with  plausibility,  tliat  they 
contained  the  remains  of  some  ancestors  of  tlie 
family,  they  were  deposited  in  the  modern  place 
of  sepulture,   comparatively   so   termed,   though 
built  in  1110.     But  the  following  ctu-ious  and  ati- 
thentic  documents  warrant  more  conclusively  the 
epithet  of  "  ancient  Riddell:"  1st,  A  charter  by 
David  I,  to  Walter  Rydale,  sheriii'  of  Roxburgh, 
confirming  all  the  estates  of  Liliesclive,  Jcc.   of 
which  his  father,  Gervasius  de  Rydale,  died  pos- 
sessed— 2dly,  A  bull  of  pope  Adrian  IV,  confirm- 
ing the  will  of  Walter  de  Ridale,  knight,  in  favour 
of.his  brother  Anschitlil  de  Ridale,  dated  Sth  April, 
1155.  .3dly,  A  bull  of  pope  Alexander  ni,  confirm- 
ing the  said  will  of  Waller  de  Ridale,  bequeathing 
to  his  brother  Anschittil  the  lands  of  Liliesclive, 
Whettunes,  &c.  and  ratifying  the  bargain  betwixt 
Anschittil  and  Huctredus,  concerning  the  church  of 
Liliesclive,   in  consequence  of  the  mediation   of 
Malcolm  II,  and  confii-med  by  a  charter  from  that 
monarch.  This  bull  is  dated  17th  June,  llfiO.  4thly, 
A  bull  of  the  same  pope,  confirming  the  will  of  sir 
Anschittil  de  Ridale,  in  favour  of  his  son  Walter, 
conveying  the  said  lands  of  Liliesclive  and  others, 
datecflOth  Marcii,  1120.    It  is  remarkable,   that 
Liliesclive,  otherwise  Rydale,  or  Riddel,  and  the 
Whittunes,  have  descended,  through  a  long  train 
of  ancestors,  without  ever  passing  into  a  collateral 
line,  to  the  ])erson  of  sir  .lohn  Buchanan  Riddell, 
Bart,  f)f  Riddell,  the  lineal  descendant  and  repre- 
sentative of  sir  .Xnschittil. — These  circumstances 
appeared  worthy  of  notice  in  a  Border  work. 


21.  As  plnnced  his  eye  o'er  Ilalidon.— I'.  5. 

Halidon  was  an  ancient  seat  of  the  KeiTS  of  Cess- 
ford,  now  demolished.  Al)out  a  qu.arter  of  a  mile 
to  the  northward  lay  the  field  of  i)attle  betwixt  Buo- 
cleuch  and  Angus,  which  is  called  to  this  day  the 
Skirmish  Field — See  the  fouilh  note  on  this  Canto. 
22.  Old  Metros'  rose,  and  fair  Tw(  ed  ran.— P.  5. 

The  ancient  and  be.autiful  monastery  of  Melrose 
was  founded  by  king  David  I.  Its  ruins  aft'ord  the 
finest  specimen  of  Ciothic  architecture,  and  (iothic 
sculpture  which  Scotland  can  boast.  The  stone  of 
which  it  is  built,  though  it  has  resisted  the  weather 
for  so  many  ages,  retains  perfect  sharpness,  so  that 
even  tlu;  most  minute  ornaments  .seem  as  entire  as 
Mhen  newly  wrought.  In  some  of  the  cloisters,  as 
is  hinted  in  the  next  Canto,  there  are  representa- 
tions of  flowers,  vegetables,  c^c.  carved  in  stone, 
with  accuracy  and  precision  so  delicate  that  we  al- 
most distrust  our  senses,  when  we  consider  the  dif- 
liculty  of  subjecting  so  hard  a  substance  to  such 
intricate  and  exquisite  modulation.  This  superb 
convent  was  dedicated  to  St.  Mary,  and  the  monks 
were  of  the  Cistertiau  order.  At  the  time  of  the 
Reformation,  they  shared  in  the  gener.al  reproach 
of  sensuality  and  irregularity  thrown  upon  the  Ro- 
man cliurchmen.  The  old  words  of  Galashiels,  a 
favoiu'ite  Scottish  air,  ran  thus; 

O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  ende  kale* 

On  Fridays,  \\I)en  they  fasted; 
They  wanted  neither  bet  f  not  ale. 

As  long;  as  their  neig;hbours'  lasted. 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  II. 

1.  Wlien  silver  edges  the  imajjery, 
And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die.— P.  J. 

The  buttresses,  ranged  along  the  sides  of  the  ru- 
ins of  Melrose  abbey,  are,  according  to  the  Gothic 
.style,  richly  carved  and  fretted,  containing  niches 
for  st.atues  of  saints,  and  labelled  with  scroll  s,  bear- 
ing apY)ropriate  texts  of  Scripture.  Most  of  these 
statues  have  been  demolished. 

2.  St  David's  mined  pile.— P.  5. 

David  I,  of  Scotl.and  purchased  the  reputation 
of  sanctity,  b}' founding,  and  liberally  endowing, 
not  only  the  monastery  of  Melrose,  but  tlinsc  of 
Kelso,  .Jedburgh,  and  many  others,  which  led  to 
the  well  known  observation  of  his  successor,  that 
he  was  a  sore  saint  for  tlie  crown. 

3.  Lands  and  livincfs,  many  a  rood. 

Had  gifted  the  shrine  for  their  souls'  repose.— P.  5. 

The  Buccleuch  family  were  great  benefactors  to 
the  abbey  of  Melrose.  As  early  as  the  reign  of 
Robert  II,  Robert  Scott,  baron  of  Murdieston  and 
Rankelburn,  (iu)w  Buccleuch,)  gave  to  the  uKuiks 
the  lands  of  Hinkery,  in  Ettrick  Forest, /;!y;  salute 
nnimx  sux.-  —  Cliartulary  of  JMelivse,  2Sth  May, 
1415. 

4.  Prayer  know  I  hardly  one; 

Save  to  patter  an  Ave  IVIai-y, 
When  I  ride  on  a  Rorder  foray.— P.  C. 
The  Borderers  were,  as  may  be  supposed,  very 
ignorant  about  religious  matters.  Colville,  in  his 
Paranesis  or  admonition,  states  that  the  reformed 
divines  Avere  so  tar  from  undertaking  distant  jour- 
neys to  convert  the  heathen,  "  as  I  wold  wis  at  God 
that  ye  would  only  go  hot  to  the  Ifilands  and  bor- 
ders of  our  own  realme,  to  gain  our  awin  cnuntrey- 
men,  who,  for  lack  of  preching  and  ministration  of 
the  sacraments,  must,  witli  tyme,  becum  either 


*  7».'a/r,  Broth. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  RHNSTREL. 


infidells  or  atheists."  But  we  learn,  from  Leslie, 
that  however  deficient  in  real  i-eligion,  they  regu- 
larly told  their  beads,  and  never  with  more  zeal 
than  when  going  on  a  plundering  expedition. 

5.  Beneath  theii-  feet  wei-e  the  bones  of  the  dead.— P.  6. 

The  cloisters  were  frequently  used  as  places  of 
sepulture.  An  instance  occurs  in  Dryburgli  abbey, 
where  the  cloister  has  an  inscription,  bearing.  Hie 
jacetfrater  Archibaldus. 

6.  So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  gflitterin^  squadrons  start; 
Sudden  the  fljinfj  jennet  wheel. 
And  hull  the  vmexpected  dart.— P.  6. 

"By  my  faith,"  said  the  duke  of  Lancaster,  (to 
a  Portuguese  squire,)  "of  all  the  tVates  of  amies 
that  the  Castellyans,  and  they  of  yovir  countrey 
doth  use,  the  castynge  of  their  dartes  best  pleaseth 
me,  and  gladly  I  wolde  see  it;  for,  as  I  hear  say, 
if  they  strike  one  aryghte,  without  he  be  well 
armed,  the  dart  will  pierce  him  thrughe." — "By 
my  faith  sir,"  said  the  squyer,  "  ye  say  troutli;  for 
I  have  seen  many  a  grete  stroke  given  with  them, 
which  at  one  time  cost  us  derely,  and  was  to  us 
great  displeasure;  for  at  the  said  skyrairshe,  sir 
John  Laurence  of  Coygne  was  striken  with  a  dart 
in  such  wise,  that  the  head  pierced  all  the  plates 
of  his  cote  of  mayle,  and  a  sacke  stopped  with 
sylke,  and  passed  thruglie  his  body,  so  that  he  fell 
down  dead." — Fvoissart,  vol.  ii,  ch.  44. — This 
mode  of  fighting  with  darts  was  imitated  in  the 
militaiy  game  called  Jxiego  de  les  ccuuir,  which 
the  S[)auiards  borrowed  from  their  Moorish  inva- 
ders. A  Saracen  champion  is  t'nus  described  by 
Froissarl:  "Among  the  Sarazyns,  there  was  "a 
yonge  knight  called  Agadinger  Dolyferne;  lie  was 
always  wel  mounted  on  a  redy  and  a  lyglit  horse; 
it  seemed,  when  the  horse  ranne,  tliat  he  did  flj' 
in  the  ayre.  The  knighte  seemed  to  be  a  good  man 
of  arms  by  liis  dedes;  he  bare  always  of  usage  three 
fethered  darts,  and  rjxhte  well  he  could  liandle 
them;  and  according  to  their  custome,l»e  was  clene 
armed,  with  a  long  white  tovrell  about  his  heed. 
His  apparell  was  blacke,  and  his  own  colour 
browne,  and  a  good  horseman.  I'he  crvsten  men 
say,  they  thoughte  he  dyd  such  deeds  of  armes  for 
the  love  of  some  young  lady  of  his  countrey.  And 
true  it  was,  that  he  loved  entirely  the  king  of 
Thixne's  daughter  named  the  Lady  Azala;  she'was 
inherytour  to  the  realme  of  Thune,  after  the  de- 
cease of  the  kyng,  her  father.  This  Agadinger  was 
sone  to  the  duke  of  Olyferne.  I  cannat  telle  i  f  thev 
were  married  together  after  or  nat;  but  it  was 
showed  me,  that  this  knyght,  for  love  of  the  sayd 
ladye,  during  tlie  siege,  did  many  feats  of  armes. 
The  knyghtes  of  Fraunce  would  fayue  have  taken 
hym;  but  tliey  colde  never  attrape  nor  inclose 
him,  his  horse  was  so  swyft,  and  so  redy  to  his 
hand  that  always  ho  escaped." — vol.  ii,  ch.  71. 

7.  Thy  low  and  lonely  ui-n, 

O  gallant  chief  of  Otteibuvne.— P.  6. 

The  famous  and  desperate  battle  of  Otterburne 
was  fought  15th  August,  1388,  betwixt  Henry  Per- 
cy, called  Hotspur,  and  .lames,  earl  of  Douglas. 
Both  these  renowned  champions  were  at  the  head 
of  a  chosen  body  of  troops,  and  tliey  were  rivals 
in  military'  fame;  so  that  Froissart  affirms,  "  Of 
all  the  battaylles  and  encounteryngs  that  1  have 
made  mencion  of  here  before  in  all  this  hystoiy, 
great  or  smalle,  this  battayle  that  1  treat  of  nowe 
was  one  of  the  sorest  and  best  fonghten,  without 
cowardes  or  favnte  liertes;  for  there  was  neyther 


knyght  nor  squyer  but  that  dyde  his  devoyre,  and 
fought  hande  to  hande.  This  bataj'lewas  lyke  the 
batayleof  Becherell,the  which  was  valiantly  fouglit 
and  endured."  The  issue  of  the  conflict  is  well 
known:  Percy  was  made  prisoner,  and  the  Scots 
won  the  day,  dearly  purchased  by  the  death  of 
their  gallant  general,  tlie  earl  of  Douglas,  who  was 
slain  in  the  action.  He  was  buried  at  Melrose, 
beneath  the  higli  altar.  "His  obsequye  was  done 
reverently,  and  on  his  bodye  layde  a  tombe  of 
stone,  anil  his  baner  hangyng  over  him." — Frois- 
sart, vol.  ii,  p.  IGl. 

8.  Dark  knight  of  Liddesdale.— P.  (3. 

"William  Douglas,  called  the  knight  of  Liddes- 
dale, flourished  during  the  reign  of  David  II;  and 
was  so  distinguished  by  his  valour,  that  he  was 
called  the  flower  of  chivalry.  Nevertheless,  he 
tarnished  his  renown  by  the  cruel  murder  of  sir 
Alexander  Rams.a)"  of  Dalliousie,  originally  his 
friend  and  brotlier  in  arms.  The  king  had  con- 
ferred upon  Ramsay  the  sheriffdom  of  Tevioldale, 
to  which  Douglas  pretended  some  claim.  In  re- 
venge of  this  preference,  the  knight  of  Liddesdale 
came  down  upon  Ramsay,  while  i»e  was  adminis- 
tering justice  at  Hawiek,  seized  and  carried  hirti 
off  to  his  remote  and  inaccessible  castle  of  Hermi- 
tage, where  he  threw  his  untiirtunate  prisoner, 
horse  and  man,  into  a  dungeon,  and  left  him  to 
perish  of  Imnger.  It  is  said,  the  miserable  captive 
prolonged  his  existence  for  several  days  by  the 
corn  which  fell  from  a  granary  above  the  vault  in 
which  he  was  confined. *"  So  weak  was  the  royal 
authority,  that  David,  although  higUy  incensed  at 
this  atrocious  murder,  found  himself  obliged  to 
appoint  the  kniglit  of  Liddesdale  successor  to  his 
victim,  as  sheriff  of  Teviotdale.  But  lie  was  soon 
after  slain,  while  iiunting  in  Ettrick  forest,  by  his 
own  godson  and  chieftain,  William  earl  of  Douglas, 
in  revenge,  according  to  some  authors,  of  Ramsay's 
murder:  although  a  popular  tradition,  preserved 
in  a  ballad  quoted  by  Godscroft,  and  some  parts  of 
wliich  are  still  preserved,  ascribes  the  resentment 
of  the  earl  to  jealousy.  The  place  whei-e  the  knight 
of  Liddesdale  was  killed  is  called,  from  his  name, 
\A'iHiam-Cross,  upon  the  ridge  of  a  hill  called 
Willam-Hope,  betwixt  Tweed  and  Yarrow.  His 
body,  according  to  Godscroft,  was  carried  to  Lin- 
dean  church  tlie  first  night  after  his  death,  and 
thence  to  Melrose,  where  he  was  interred  with 
great  |)onip,  and  where  his  tomb  is  still  shown. 
9.  Tlie  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone.— P.  0. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  beautiful 
specimen  of  the  lightness  and  elegance  of  gothic 

*  There  is  something  aftVetinc;-  in  ihe  manner  in  which 
the  old  prior  of  l.oeiik  vin  turns  IVoin  dL-sirbini;  tile  dialh 
of  the  gallant  Kamsay,  to  the  general  sorrow  w  huh  it  ex- 
cited: 

To  tell  yon  thtiv  of  tlie  maiiere. 

It  is  bot  sorrow  for  til  heiv; 

He  wes  the  grittast  m<-iiyd  man 

That  ony  cowtli  liav<-  thowcht  of  than, 

Of  his  state,  or  of  mare  be  fare; 

All  menn  him,  bath  bettyr  and  war; 

The  ryche  and  pure  him  im  nyde  bath. 

For  of  his  dede  was  mckil  skalh. 
Some  years  ago,  a  person  digging  for  stones,  about  the 
old  castle  of  Hermitage,  broke  into  a  vault,  containing  a 
qu-intity  of  chaff,  some  boiifs,  and  pieces  of  iron;  amongst 
others,  the  curb  of  an  aiuiiiit  bridle,  which  the  author 
has  since  given  to  the  earl  of  Dailiousi.-,  under  the  im- 
pression, that  it  possibly  may  b>-  a  ivliiiiie  of  his  brave 
ancestor.  The  worthy  clergyman  of  the  parish  has  men- 
tioned this  discovery  in  his  -^lalistical  account  of  Castle- 
town. 


34 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  A\  ORKS. 


architecture,  when  in  its  purity,  than  the  eastern 
window  of  Meh-ose  ahhey.  Sir  James  Hall  of  Dun- 
glass,  hart,  has  with  ;j;reat  ingenuity  and  i)laiisibili- 
ly,  traced  the  gothic  order  throui;h  its  various 
lorins,  and  seemingly  eccentric  ornanieuts,  to  an 
architectural  imitation  of  wicker  work;  of  which, 
as  we  learn  from  some  of  tlie  lesrends,  the  earliest 
Christian  churches  were  constructed.  In  such  an 
edifice,  the  original  of  the  clustered  pillars  istrac 
ed  to  a  Set  of  round  posts,  begirt  with  slender  rods 
of  willow,  whose  loose  summits  were  brought  to 
meet  from  all  quarters,  and  bound  together  arti- 
ficially, so  as  to  produce  the  frame-work  of  the 
roof:  and  the  tracery  of  our  gothic  windows  is  dis- 
played in  the  meeting  and  interlacing  of  rods  and 
lioo[>s,  aftbnling  an  inexhaustible  variety  of  beau- 
tiful lorms  of  open  work.  This  ingenious  system 
is  alluded  to  in  the  romance.  Sir  James  Hall's 
Essay  on  Colhic  ArchitectiU'e  is  published  in  llic 
Eilinbvrg-h  Philosophical  Transactions. 

10.  Tluy  sate  the m  down  on  a  mavble  stone, 
A  Scottisli  inoiiareh  skiit  btlow.— P.  6. 
A  lai-ge  marble  stone,  in  the  chancel  of  Melrose, 
is  pointed  out  as  the  monument  of  Alexander  II, 
one  of  the  greatest  of  our  early  kings;  others  say, 
it  is  the  resting  place  of  Waldeve,  one  of  the  early 
abbots,  who  died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity. 

1 1.  The  wonderous  Micliael  Scott.— P.  6. 
Sir  Michael  Scott  of  Balvvearie  flourished  dur- 
ing the  13th  century,  and  was  one  of  the  embas.sa- 
dors  sent  to  bring  the  maid  of  Norway  to  Scotland 
upon  the  death  of  Alexander  HI.  By  a  poetical 
anachronism,  he  is  here  placed  in  alateriera.  He 
was  a  man  of  much  learning,  chielly  acquired  in 
foreign  countries.  He  wrote  a  commentary  upon 
Aristotle,  printed  at  Venice  in  1496;  and  several 
treatises  upon  natural  philosophy,  from  wliich  he 
appears  to  have  been  addicted  to  the  abstruse  stu- 
dies of  judicial  astrology,  alchymy,  physiognomy, 
and  chiromancy.  Hence  he  passed  amonghis  co- 
temporaries  for  a  skilful  magician.  Dempster  in- 
forms us,  tliat  he  remembers  to  have  heard  in  his 
youth,  tha*.  the  magic  books  of  Michael  Scott  were 
still  in  existence,  but  could  not  be  opened  without 
danger,  on  account  of  the  milignant  fiends  who 
were  thereby  invoked.  Dem/jste'ri  Historia  Eccle- 
siastica,  1627,  lib.  xii,p.  495.  Lesly  characterizes 
Michael  Scott,  as  singu/an  philosopliix,  astrono- 
inix,  ac  medicinx  laiide  prestans;  dicebatur  pmi- 
tissimos  mag-ise  recessiis  indagasse."  Dante  also 
mentions  him  as  a  renowned  "wizard: 

Quell  allio  die  ne'  fiaiichi  e  cosi  poco 
Miehele  Scotto  fu,  die  vtnunente 
Delle  magiclif  froile  seppe  il  gUioco. 

Divina  Comedia  Canto,  xxmo. 
A  personage,  thus  spoken  of  by  biographers  and 
historians,  loses  little  of  his  mystical  fame  in  vul- 
gar tradition.  Accordingly  the  memory  of  sir  Mi- 
chael Scott  survives  in  many  a  legend;  and  in  the 
soutli  of  Scotland,  any  work  of  great  labour  and 
antiquity,  is  ascribed,  either  to  the  agency  of  .^;//J 
JUtchae'l,  of  sir  William  Wallace,  or  of  the  devil. 
Ti-adition  varies  concerning  the  place  of  his  buri- 
:'.l:  some  contend  for  Holme  Coltrame,  in  Cumber- 
laud;  others  for  Melrose  abbey.  But  all  agree, 
that  his  books  of  magic  were  interred  in  his  grave, 
or  preserved  in  the  convent  where  he  died.  Satch- 
ells,  wishing  to  give  some  authorityfor  his  account 
of  the  origin  of  the  name  of  Scott,  pretends  that 
in  16'29,  he  chanced  to  be  at  Burgh  under  Bow- 
ness,  in  Cumberland,  where  a  person  named  Lan- 


celot Scott,  showed  him  an  extract  from  Michael 
Scott's  works,  containing  that  story. 

"  He  sa'i<l  the  hook  which  he  g^ave  nie, 

M'as  of  sir  jMichacI  Scott's  historic; 

Which  liistory  was  never  yet  read  through, 

Nor  never  will,  for  no  man  dare  it  do. 

Yoiinc;  scholars  have  picked  out  something 

From  the  contents,  that  dare  not  ivad  witliin. 

He  carried  me  alonjj  the  cattle  tlien. 

And  showed  his  wntten  book  hanging  on  a  iron  pin. 

His  writing  pen  did  seem  to  me  to  be 

Of  hanliiied  metal,  like  steel,  or  accnmic; 

The  volume  of  it  did  si  em  so  largo  to  me, 

As  the  book  of  Martyr's  and  Turk's  historie, 

Then  in  the  cliiirch'he  let  me  see 

A  stone  where  Mr.  Michael  Scott  did  lie; 

I  asked  at  him  how  that  could  appear, 

Mr.  Miehael  had  been  dead  alwve  five  hundred  year? 

He  show  "d  me  none  durst  bury  under  that  stone, 

More  than  he  had  been  dead  a  few  )i  ars  agone: 

Kor  Mr.  Michael's  name  doth  terrifi'e  each  one.'' 

Iliiiori/  of  the  right  honourahlc  name  uf  Scott. 
12.  Salamanca's  cave. — P.  6. 
Spain,  from  the  relics,  doubtless,  of  Arahian 
learning  and  superstition, was  accounteil  a  fevourite 
residence  of  magicians.  Pope  Sylvester,  who  ac- 
tually imported  from  Spain  the  use  of  the  Arabian 
numerals,  was  supposed  to  have  learned  there  the 
magic,  for  which  he  was  stigmatized  by  the  igno- 
rance of  his  age. —  Jf'illiam  of  ATalmsbtirii,  lib.  ii, 
cap.  10.  There  were  public  schools,  where  magic, 
or  rather  the  sci(>nces  supposed  to  involve  its  mys- 
teries, wiivvt  regularly  taught,  at  Toledo,  Seville, 
and  Salamanca.  In  the  latter  city,  they  were  held 
in  a  deep  cavern^  the  mouth  of  which  was  walled 
up  by  queen  Isaliella,  wife  of  king  Ferdinand. — 
I)\iutun  on  Learned  Incrediditif,  p.  4.5.  These 
Spanish  schools  of  magic  are  celebrated  also  bj  the 
Italian  poets  of  romance:. 

f(Uts;a  citta  di  Tolleto  solea 
'J  enere  studio  di  Xegromanzia: 
(■iiii\i  di  magiea  arte  si  leggea 
Pubbiieaiueiite,  e  di  Firomanzia; 
E  molti  Geoiuanti  sempre  avea, 
E  sperimenti  assai  d'  l<lromaiizia 
E  d'  altre  false  ojiinioii  di  sciocehi 
Coiue  e  fatture,  o  spesso  batter  gli  occhi. 

//  Morgaiitc  MngL'ioi-e,  Canto  xxv,  st.  2^9. 
The  celebrated  magician  ^Maugis,  cousin  to  Ri- 
iialdo  of  ^lontalban,  called  by  Arioslo,  Malagigi, 
studied  the  black  ail  at  Toledo,  as  we  learn  iVoni 
IJIIistoire  de  .Maugis  T)\  iygremont.  I  le  even  held 
a  professor's  chair  in  the  necromantic  tmiversitv; 
for  I  so  interpret  the  passage,  "  qn''en  tons  les  sept 
arts  d''enchantemi;nt,  des  churmes  et  conjurations, 
il  ii'ij  avoit  meilh'iir  maistre  que  lui;  et  en  tel  renom 
r/ii'on  le  laissoil  en  chaise,  et  Pappelloit  on  maistre 
Jlfaugis."  This  Salamancan  Domdauiel  is  said 
to  have  been  founded  by  Hercules.  If  the  classic 
reader  inquires  where  Hercules  himself  learned 
magic,  he  may  consult  "  Les  faiects  et  proesses  dit 
noble  et  vai'lant  Hercules,''  where  he  will  leant, 
that  the  fable  of  his  aiding  Atlas  to  support  the 
heavens,  arose  from  the  said  Atlas  having  taught 
Hercules,  the  noble  knight  errant,  the  seven  liberal 
sciences,  and  in  particular,  that  of  judicial  astro- 
log}'.  Such,  according  to  the  idea  of  the  middle 
ages,  were  the  studies,  tnajcimiis  c/itx  doaiit  villas." 
— In  a  romantic  history  of  lioderic,  the  last  Gothic 
king  of  Spain,  he  is  s.iid  to  have  entered  one  ot 
those  enchanted  caverns.  It  was  situated  beneath 
an  ancient  tower  near  Toledo:  and,  when  the  iron 
gates,  whicli  secured  the  entrance,  were  unfolded, 
there  rushed  forth  so  dreadful  a  whirlwind,  that 
hitherto  no  one  had  dared  to  penetrate  into  its  re- 
cesses. But  Roderic,  threatened  with  an  invasion 
of  the  Moors,  resolved  to  enter  the  cavern,  where 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


35 


he  expected  to  find  some  prophetic  intimation  of 
the  event  of  the  war.  Accordingly,  his  train  being 
furnished  with  torches,   so  artificially  composed, 
that  the  tempest  could  not  extinguish  them,  the 
king,  with  great  difficulty,  penetrated  into  a  square 
hall,  inscribed  all  over  with  Arabian  characters. 
In  the  midst  stood  a  collossal  statue  of  brass,  rep- 
resenting a  Saracen  wielding  a  Moorish  mace,  with 
which  it  discharged  furious  blows  on  all  sides,  and 
seemed  thus  to  excite  the  tempest  which  raged 
around.    Being  conjured  by  Roderick,  it  ceased 
from  striking  until  he  read,  inscribed  on  the  right 
hand,  "  IVretched  monarch,  for  thy  evil  hast  thou 
come  lather;''''  on  the  left  hand,  "  Thou  shall  be 
dispossessed  by  a  strange  people;"  on  one  shoulder, 
"  /  invoke  the  sons  of  Hagar;"  on  the  other,  "  / 
do  mine  office."   When  the  king  had  decyphered 
these  ominous  inscriptions,  the  statue  returned  to 
its  exercise,  the  tempest  commenced  anew,  and 
Roderic  retired,  to  mourn  over  the  predicted  evils 
which  approached  iiis  throne.  He  caused  the  gates 
of  the  cavern  to  be  locked  and  barricaded;  but,  in 
the  course  of  the  night,  the  tower  fell  witli  a  tre- 
mendous noise,  and  under  its  ruins  concealed  for 
ever  the  entrance  to  the  mystic  cavern.   I'he  con- 
quest of  Spain  by  the  Saracens,  and  the  death  of 
the  unfortunate  Uon  Roderic,  fulfilled  the  prophe- 
cy of  the  brazen  statue.    Histovia  verdadera  del 
Rey  Don  Rodrigo  por  elsabio  Alcayde  Mtdcacim, 
traduzeda  de  la  leng^ia  Arabiga  por  jMiquel  de  Lu- 
na, 1654,  cap.  vi. 

'l3.  The  bells  would  ring  lit  Notre  Dame.— P.  6. 
"  Tantamne  rem  tarn  negligenter?"  says  Tyr- 
■whitt,  of  his  predecessor  Speight;  who,  in  his  com- 
mentary on  Ch.iucer,  had  omitted,  as  trivial  and 
fabulous,  the  story  of  Wade  and  his  boat  Guinge- 
lot,  to  the  great  prejudice  of  posterity,  the  memory 
of  the  hero  and  the  boat  being  now  entirely  lost. 
That  future  antiquaries  may  lay  no  sucli  omission 
to  my  charge,  1  have  noted  one  or  two  of  the  most 
current  traditions  concerning  Michael  Scott.  He 
was  chosen,  it  is  said,  to  go  upon  an  embassy,  to 
obtain  from  the  king  of  France  satistaction  for 
certain  piracies  committed  by  his  subjects  upon 
those  of  Scotland.  Instead  of  preparing  a  new 
equipage  and  splendid  retinue,  the  ambassador  re- 
treated to  his  study,  opened  his  book,  and  evoked 
a  fiend  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  black  horse,  mounted 
upon  his  back,  and  forced  him  to  fly  through  tlie 
air  towards  France.  As  they  crossed  the  sea,  tlm 
devil  insidiously  asked  liis  rider,  what  it  was  that 
the  old  women  of  Scotland  muttered  at  bed  time? 
A  less  experienced  wizard  might  have  answered, 
that  it  was  the  Pater  Xoster,  which  would  have 
licensed  the  devil  to  precipitate  him  from  liis  back. 
But  Micliael  sternly  replied,  "What  is  that  to 
thee?  Mount,  Diabolus,  and  fly !"  When  he  ar- 
rived at  Paris,  he  tied  his  horse  to  the  gate  of  the 
palace,  entered  and  boldly  delivered  his  message. 
An  ambassador,  witli  so  little  of  the  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance of  diplomacy,  was  not  received  with 
much  respect,  and  tlie  king  was  about  to  return  a 
contemptuous  refusal  to  his  demand,  when  Michael 
besought  iiim  to  suspend  his  resolution  till  he  had 
seen  his  horse  stamp  three  times.  The  first  stamp 
shook  every  steeple  in  Paris,  and  caused  all  the 
bells  to  ring;  the  second  threw  down  three  of  the 
towers  of  the  palace;  and  the  infernal  steed  had 
lifted  his  hoof  to  give  the  third  stamp,  when  the 
king  rather  chose  to  dismiss  Michael,  with  the 
most  ample  concessions,  than  to  stand  to  the  pro- 
bable consequences.  Another  time,  it  is  said,  that, 


when  residing  at  the  tower  of  Oakwood,  upon  the 
Ettrick,  about  three  miles  above  Selkirk,  he  heard 
of  the  fame  of  a  sorceress,  called  the  witch  of  False- 
hope,  who  lived  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river, 
^lichael  went  one  morning  to  put  her  skill  to  the 
test,  but  was  disappointed  b)'  her  denying  positive- 
ly any  knowledge  of  the  necromantic  art. 

In  his  discourse  witii  her,  he  laid  his  wand  in- 
advertently on  the  table,  which  the  hag  observing, 
suddenly  snatched  it  up,  and   struck  him  with   it. 
Feeling  the  force  of  the  cliarra,  he  rushed  out  of  the 
house;  but,  as  it  had  conferred  on  him  the  external 
appearance  of  a  hare,  his  servant,  who  waited  with- 
out, haloo'd  upon  the  discomfited  wizard  his  own 
greyhounds,  and  pursued  him  so  close,  that  in 
order  to  obtain  a  moment's  breathing  to  reverse 
the  charm,  Alichael,  after  a  ver)'  fatiguing  course, 
was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  his  own  ja~iV-hole\anglice, 
common  sewer).    In  order  to  revenge   himself  of 
the  witcii  of  Falsehope,  Michael,  one  morning  in 
the  ensuing  harvest,  went  to  the  liill  above  tlie 
house  with  his  dogs,  and  sent  down  his  servant  to 
ask  a  bit  of  bread  from  the  good-wife  for  his  grey- 
hounds, with  instructions  what  to  do  if  ho  met  with 
a  denial.  Accordingly,  when  the  witch  liad  refused 
the  boon  with  contumely,  the  servant,  as  his  mas- 
ter had  directed,  laid  above  the  door  a  paper, 
which  he  had  given  him,  containing  amongst  ma- 
ny cabiilistical  words,  the  well-known  rhyme, — 
Maister  Michael  Scot's  man 
Sought  meat,  and  gat  nane. 
Immediately  the  good  old  woman,  instead  of 
piu'suing  her  domestic  occupation,  which  was  ba- 
king bread  for  the  reapers,  began  to  dance  round 
the  fire,  repealing  the  rhyme,  and  continued  this 
exercise  till  her  husband  sent  the  reapers  to  the 
house,  one  after  another,  to  see  what  had  delayed 
their  provision;  hut  the  charm  caught  each  as  they 
entered,  and,  losing,    all   idea  of  returning,  they 
joined  in  the  dance  and  chorus.  At  length  the  old 
man  himself  went  to  the   house;  but  as  liis  wife's 
frolic  with  -ilr.    Michael,  whom  he  had   seen  on 
the  hill,  made  him  a  little  cautious,  lie  contented 
himself  with  looking  in  at  the  window,  and  saw  the 
reapers  at  their  involuntary  exercise,  dragging  his 
wife,  now  completely  exhausted,  sometimes  round 
and  sometimes  through  the  fire,  which  w  as,  as  usual, 
in  the  midst  of  the  house.   Instead  of  entering,  he 
saddled  a  horse,  rode  up  the  hill,  to  humble  him- 
self before  ^[iciiuel,  and  beg  a  cessation  of  tjie  ■ 
siiell;  which  the  good  natured  warlock  immediately 
granted,  direct!  ng  iiim  to  enter  the  house  backwards, 
and,  with  his  left  iiand,  take  the  spell  from  above 
the  door;  which  accordingly  ended  the  supei-natural 
dance. — This  tale  was  told  less  particularly  in  for- 
mer editions,  and  I  have  been  censured  for  inaccii- 
racv  in  doing  so. — ^A  similar  charm  occurs  in  Huon 
da  Bowdeatix,  and  in  the  ingenious  Oriental  tale, 
called  the  Caliph  Vathek. 

Notwithstanding  his  victory  over  the  witch  of 
Falsehojie,  Michael  Scott,  like  his  predecessor 
xMerlin,  fell  at  last  a  victim  to  female  ait.  His  wife, 
or  concubine,  elicited  from  him  the  secret,  that  his 
art  could  ward  oft"  any  danger  except  the  poison- 
ous qualities  of  broth,  made  of  the  flesh  ofa6r««e 
sow.  Such  a  mess  she  accordingly  administered  to 
the  wizard,  who  died  in  consequence  of  eating  it; 
surviving,  however,  long  enough  to  put  to  death 
his  treacherous  confidante. 

1-1.  ']"he  words,  that  cleft  Eildon  Hills  in  three. 

And  bridled  the  Tweed  with  a  curb  of  stone.— P.  6. 
Michael  Scott  was,  once  upon  a  time,  much  em» 


36 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


barrasscd  by  a  spirit,  for  whom  he  was  umler  the 
necessity  oFfinding  constant  employment.  He  com- 
manik'd'him  to  build  a  cavld,  or  dam-head,  across 
the  Tweed  at  Kelso;  it  was  accomplished  in  one 
night,  and  still  docs  honour  to  the  infernal  archi- 
tect. Micliael  next  ordered, that  Eildon  hills,  which 
was  then  a  uniform  cone,  should  be  divided  into 
ihree.  Another  night  was  sufficient  to  part  its  sum- 
mit into  the  three  picturesque  peaks  which  it  now 
bears.  At  length  the  enchanter  coii<mered  this  in- 
•<lefatigable  demon,  by  employing  him  in  the  hope- 
less and  endless  task  of  making  ropes  out  of  sea- 
sand. 

15.  That  l.imp  shall  burn  unquenchably.— P.  7. 

Baptista  Porta,  and  otlier  authors  who  treat  of 
natural  magic,  talk  much  of  eternal  lamps,  pre- 
tended to  have  been  found  burning  in  ancient  se- 
pulchres. Fortunius  Licctus  investigates  the  sub- 
ject in  a  treatise,  De  Luceniis  antiquorum  recon- 
ditis,  ptiblished  at  Venice,  1621.  One  of  these  per- 
petual lamps  is  said  to  liave  been  discovered  in 
tlie  tomb  of  Tulliola,  the  daughter  of  Cicero.  The 
wick  was  supposed  to  be  composed  of  asbestos. 
Kircher  emmierates  three  different  receipts  for 
constructing  such  lamps;  and  wisely  concludes, 
that  the  thing  is  nevertheless  impossible. — SSlun- 
(lus  Subterr aliens,  p.  72.  Delrio  imputes  the  fab- 
rication of  such  lights  to  magical  skill. — Disquisi- 
Jioiwfi  ^llagics',  p.  58.  In  a  very  rare  romance, 
wliich  "  ti-calcth  of  the  lyfe  of  Vir^ilius,  and  of 
liis  death,  and  raanj-  marvayles  tliat  he  dyd  in  his 
lyfe-time,  by  wyche-crafte  and  nygramancye, 
tliroughe  the  help  of  the  devils  of  hell,"  mention 
is  made  of  a  very  exti-aordinary  process,  in  which 
one  of  these  mystical  lamps  was  employed.  It 
seems  that  A'irgil,  as  he  advanced  in  years,  became 
desirous  of  renovating  his  youth  by  liis  magical 
art.  For  this  pui-pose  he  constructed  a  solitary  tow- 
er, having  only  one  narrow  portal,  in  which  he 
placed  twenty-four  copper  figures,  armed  with  iron 
flails,  twelve  on  each  side  of  tlie  porch.  These  en- 
chanted statues  struck  with  their  flails  incessantly, 
and  rendered  all  entrance  impossible,  unless  when 
Virgil  touched  the  spring  which  slopped  their  mo- 
tion. To  this  tower  he  repaired  privately,  attended 
by  one  trustv  servant,  to  whom  he  communicated 
the  secret  of  the  entrance,  and  hither  they  convey- 
ed all  the  magician's  treasure.  "  Then  sayde  Vii- 
gilius,  my  dere  beloved  friende,  and  he  that  1  above 
alle  men  truste  and  knowe  mooste  of  my  secret;" 
and  tlien  he  led  the  man  into  a  cellar,  where 
he  made  a  fayer  lamp  at  all  seasons  burnynffe. 
And  then  say  d  A'irgilius  to  the  man,  "  See  you  the 
baiTel  tliat  standelh  here^"  and  he  sayd.  Yea: 
"Therein  must  you  put  me:  fyrst  ye  must  slee 
me  and  hew  me  smalle  to  pieces,  and  cut  my  hed 
in  iiii  pieces,  and  salte  the  heed  under  in  the  bot- 
tom, and  then  tiie  pieces  tliere  after,  and  my  herte 
in  the  myddcl,  and  then  set  the  barrel  under  the 
lampe,  ihat  nyghte  and  day  the  fat  therein  may 
drojjpe  and  kak;  and  ye  sliall  ix  dayes  long,  ones 
in  tiie  day,  fvllihe  lampe,  and  fayle  nat.  And  when 
tliis  is  all'  done,  then  shall  I  be  renued,  and  made 
younge  agen. "  At  this  extraordinary  proposal,  the 
confidant  was  sore  abashed,  and  made  some  scru- 
ple of  obeying  liis  master's  commands.  At  length, 
however,  he  complied,  and  A'irgil  was  slain,  pick- 
led, and  barri-Uc'd  up,  in  all  respects  according  to 
hi"*  own  direction.  The  servant  tlien  left  the  lower, 
takin;^  care  to  put  the  copper  ihiasUers  in  motion 
at  hi:-  departure.   He  continued  i!:iih  to  visit  llie 


tower,  with  the  same  precaution.  Meanwhile,  the 
emperor,  with  whom  Airgil  was  a  great  favourite, 
missed  him  from  tiie  court,  and  demanded  of  his 
servant  where  he  was.  The  domestic  pretended 
ignorance,  till  the  emperor  threatened  him  with 
death,  when  at  length  he  conveyed  him  to  the  en- 
chanted lower.  The  same  threat  extorted  a  disco- 
veiT  of  the  mode  of  stopping  the  statues  from 
wielding  their  Hails.  "  And  then  the  emperor  en- 
tered into  the  castle  with  all  his  folke,  and  sought 
all  aboute  in  every  corner  after  Virgilius;  and  at 
the  last  they  soughte  so  longc,  that  they  came  into 
the  seller,  where  they  sawe  the  lampe  hang  over 
the  barrel  where  Virgilius  lay  in  deed.  Tiien 
asked  the  emperor  tlie  man,  who  had  made  hym 
so  herdy  to  put  his  myaster  Virgilius  so  to  dethe; 
and  the  man  answered  no  word  to  the  emperour. 
And  then  the  emperour,  with  gi-cat  anger,  drewe 
out  his  sworde,  and  slewe  he  there  A'irgilius' man. 
And  when  all  lliis  was  done,  then  sawe  the  empe- 
rour, and  all  his  folke,  a  naked  childe  iii  tymes 
rennynge  about  the  barrell,  saying  lliese  wordes, 
'  Cursed  be  the  tyme  that  ye  ever  came  here!' 
And  with  these  wordes  vanyslied  the  chv  Ide  awaye, 
and  was  never  sene  ageyne;  and  thus  abyd  Virgil- 
ius in  the  barrell  deed."  Virgilius,  1)1.  let.  printed 
at  Antwerpe  by  John  Does^borcke.  This  curious 
volume  is  in  the  valuable  library  of  Mr.  Douce; 
and  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation  from  the  French, 
printed  in  Flanders  for  the  English  market.  See 
Goiijift  Biblioth.  Franc,  ix,  225.  Catalogue  tie  la 
Bibliotheque  JK'ationale,  lom.  ii,  p.  5.  I)c  Bure, 
No.  3S57. 
16.  He  thought,  as  lie  took  it,  the  dead  man  f ro wu 'd— P.  7. 

William  of  Deloraine  might  be  strengthened  in 
this  belief  by  the  well-known  story  of  the  Cid  Ruy 
Uiaz.  When  the  body  of  that  famous  Christian 
champion  was  silting  in  slate  by  the  high  altar  of 
the  cathedral  church  of  Toledo,  where  ili-emained 
for  ten  years,  a  certain  malicious  Jew  attempted  to 
pull  him  by  the  beard;  but  he  had  no  sooner  touch- 
ed the  formidable  whiskers,  than  tiie  corpse  start- 
ed uj),  and  lialf  unsheathed  his  sword.  The  Israe- 
lite tied;  and  so  permanent  was  the  efl^ect  of  his 
terror,  that  he  became  a  Christian.  Heyivood''s 
Hierarchie,  p.  480,  quoted  from  Sebastian  Cobar- 
riivius  Crozee. 

17.  The  baron's  dwarf  his  courser  held.— P.  8. 

The  idea  of  lord  Cranstoun's  goblin  page,  is 
taken  from  a  being  called  Gilpin  Hornei-,  wlio  ap- 
peared, and  made  some  stay,  at  a  farm-house  among 
the  Border-mountains.  A  gentleman  of  that  coun- 
try has  noted  down  the  following  particulars  con- 
cerning his  appearance. 

"  Tiie  only  certain,  at  least  most  probable  ac- 
count, thai  ever  I  heard  of  Gilpin  Horner,  was 
from  an  old  man,  of  the  name  of  Anderson,  who 
was  born,  and  lived  all  his  life,  at  Todshawhill, 
in  Eskdale  muir,  the  place  where  Gilpin  appear- 
ed and  staid  for  some  time.  He  said  there  were 
two  men,  late  in  the  evening,  when  it  was  grow- 
ing dark,  employed  in  fastening  the  horses  upon 
the  ullermost  part  of  their  ground,  (that  is,  tying 
their  forefeet  together,  to  hinder  them  from  tra- 
velling far  in  the  night,)  when  they  heard  a  voice, 
at  some  distance,  crying,  '  tint!  tint!  tint!'*  One 
of  the  men,  named  Moflat,  called  out,  '  What  de'il 
has  tint  vou?  Come  here. '  Immediately  a  crea- 
ture, of  something  like  a  human  form,  appeared. 
It  was  surprisingly  little,  disorted  in  features,  and 

•  Tint  figiufiLS  lost. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MNSTREL. 


37 


misshapen  in  limbs.  As  soon  as  the  two  men  could 
see  it  plainly,  they  ran  home  in  a  fright,  imagin- 
ing they  had  met  with  some  goblin.  By  the  -i\ay, 
Moffat  fell,  and  it  ran  over  him,  and  was  home  at 
the  house  as  soon  as  either  of  them,  and  staid  there 
a  long  time;  but  I  cannot  say  how  long.  It  was 
real  flesh  and  blood,  and  ate  and  drank,  was  fond 
of  cream,  and,  when  it  could  get  at  it,  would  de- 
stroy a  great  deal.  It  seemed  a  mischievous  crea- 
ture; and  any  of  the  children  whom  it  could  mas- 
ter, it  would  beat  and  scratch  without  mercj'.  It 
■was  once  abusing  a  child  belonging  to  the  same 
Moftat,  Mho  had  been  so  frightened  by  its  first  ap- 
pearance; and  he,  in  a  passion,  struck  it  so  siolenl 
a  blow  upon  the  side  of  the  head,  that  it  tumbled 
upon  the  ground:  but  it  was  not  stunned;  for  it  set 
up  its  head  directly,  and  exclaimed,  '  Ah,  hah, 
VVill  o'  Moftat,  you  strike  sair!'  (viz.  sore.)  After 
it  had  staid  there  long,  one  evening,  when  the 
women  were  milking  the  cows  in  the  loan,  it  was 
playing  among  the  children  near  by  them,  when 
sudden!)-  they  heard  a  loud  shrill  voice  evy,  three 
times,  'Gilpin  Horner."  It  started,  and  said, '  That 
is  me,  1  must  a-^aifP  and  instantl)-  disappeared, 
and  was  never  heard  of  more.  Old  Anderson  did 
not  remember  it,  but  said  he  had  often  heard  his 
father,  and  other  old  men  in  tlie  place,  who  were 
there  at  the  time,  speak  about  it;  and  in  ray  young- 
er j'ears  I  have  often  heard  it  mentioned,  and  never 
met  with  any  who  had  the  remotest  doubt  as  to 
the  truth  of  the  story;  although,  I  must  own,  I 
cannot  help  thinking  there  must  be  some  misre- 
pi*esentation  in  it." — To  this  account,  I  have  to 
add  the  following  paiticulars  from  the  most  re- 
spectable authority.  Besides  constantly  repeating 
the  word  tint!  tint!  Gilpin  Horner  was  often  heard 
to  call  upon  Peter  Bertram,  or  Be-teram,  as  lie 
pronounced  the  word;  and  when  the  shrill  voice 
called  Gilpin  Horner,he  immediately  acknowledg- 
ed it  was  the  summons  of  the  said  Peter  Bertram; 
■who  seems,  therefore  to  have  been  the  devil,  who 
had  tint,  or  lost  the'  little  imp.  As  much  has  been 
objected  to  Gilpin  Homer  on  account  of  his  being 
supposed  rather  a  device  of  the  author  than  a  po- 
pular superstition,  I  can  only  say,  tliat  no  legend 
which  I  ever  heard  seemed  to  be  more  universal- 
ly credited,  and  that  many  persons  of  vei'y  good 
rank  and  considerable  information  are  well  known 
to  repose  absolute  faith  in  the  ti-aJition. 

18.  But  the  Ladye  of  Branksoine  gather'd  a  band, 
Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command.— P.  8. 

"  Upon  25th  June,  1557,  dame  Janet  Beatoune, 
lady  Buccleuch,  and  a  great  number  of  the  name 
of  Scott,  delatit  (accused)  for  coming  to  the  kirk  I 
of  St.  Mar\"  of  the  Lowes,  to  the  number  of  two 
hundred  persons  bodin  in  feire  of  weire,  (arrayed! 
m  armour,)  and  breaking  open  the  doors  of  the 
said  kirk,  in  order  to  apprehend  the  laird  of  Crans- 
toune  for  his  destruction."  On  the  20th  July,  a| 
warrant  from  the  queen  is  presented,  discharging! 
the  justice  to  proceed  against  the  lady  Buccleuch  i 
while  new  calling.  Abridgement  of  Books  of  Ad-\ 
journal  in  Advocates'  Librari/.— The  following 
proceedings  upon  this  case  appear  on  the  record 
of  the  Court  of  Justiciary.  On  the  25th  of  June, 
1557,  Robert  Scott,  of  Bowhill  parish,  priest  of 
the  kirk  of  St.  Mary's,  accused  of  the  convocation 
of  the  queen's  lieges,  to  the  number  of  two  h^un- 
dred  persons,  in  warlike  array,  with  jacks,  helmets 
and  other  weapons,  and  marching  to  the  chapel  of; 
St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  for  the  slaughter  of  sir' 
Peter  Cranstoun,  out  of  ancient  feud  and  malice 


prepense,  and  of  breaking  the  doors  of  the  said 
kirk,  is  repledged  by  the  archbishop  of  Glasgow. 
The  bail  given  by  Robert  Scott  of  AUenhaugh, 
Adam  Scott  of  Burnefute,  Robert  Scott  in  How- 
furde,  Walter  Scott  in  Todshawhaugb,  Walter 
Scott  younger  of  Sj'nton,  Thomas  Scott  of  Hay- 
ning,  Robert  Scott,  William  Scott  and  James  Scott, 
brothers  of  the  said  Walter  Scott,  Walter  Scott 
in  tlie  Woll,  and  Walter  Scott,  son  of  William 
Scott  of  Harden,  and  James  Wemyss  in  Eckford, 
all  accused  of  the  same  crime,  is  declared  to  be 
forfeited.  On  the  same  day,  Walter  Scott  of  Syn- 
ton,  and  Walter  Chisholme  of  Chisholme,  and 
William  Scott  of  Harden,  became  bound,  jointly 
and  severally,  that  sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  and  his 
kindred  and  servants,  should  receive  no  injuiy 
from  them  in  future.  At  the  same  time,  Patrick. 
Mun-ay  of  Fallohill,  Alexander  Stuart,  uncle  to 
the  laird  of  Trakwhare,  John  MuiTay  of  Xewhall, 
John  Fairlye,  residing  in  Selkirk,  George  Tait, 
younger  of  Pirn,  John  Penny  cuke,  of  Penny  cuke, 
jaraes  Ramsay  of  Cokpen,  the  laird  of  Fassyde, 
and  the  laird  of  Henderstoune,  were  all  severally 
fined  for  not  attending  as  jurors;  being  probably 
either  in  alliance  with  the  accused  parties,  or 
dreading  their  vengeance.  Upon  the  20tli  of  July 
following,  Scott  of  Synton,  Chisholme  of  Chis- 
holme, Scott  of  Harden,  Scott  of  How paslie,  Scott 
of  Burnfute,  with  many  others,  are  ordered  to  ap- 
pear at  next  calling,  under  the  pains  of  treason. 
But  no  farther  procedure  seems  to  have  taken 
place.  It  is  said,  that,  upon  this  rising,  the  kirk 
of  St.  Maiy's  was  buraed  by  the  Scotts. 

SOTES  TO  CAXTO  III. 

1.  When,  dancing  in  the  sunny  beam, 

He  mark'd  the  crane  on  die  baron's  crest. — P.  9. 
The  crest  of  the  Cranstouns,  in  allusion  to  their 
name,  is  a  crane  doi-mant,  holding  a  stone  in  his 
foot,  with  an  emphatic  Border  ■motto,  Thou  s/ialt 
xvant  ere  I  -want. 

2.  Much  he  mai-vell'd  a  knight  of  pride. 

Like  a  book-bosom'd  priest  should  ride.— P.  9. 

"  At  Unthank,  two  miles  N.  E.  from  the  church, 
(of  Ewes)  there  are  the  ruins  of  a  chapel  for  di- 
vine service,  in  time  of  popery.  There  is  a  tradi- 
tion, tliat  friars  were  wont  to  come  from  Melrose, 
or  Jedburgh,  to  baptize  and  marry  in  tliis  parish; 
and  from  being  in  use  to  cany  the  mass-book  in 
their  bosoms,  they  were  called,  by  the  inhabitants, 
Book-a-bosoines.  There  is  a  man  yet  alive,  who 
knew  old  men  who  had  been  baptized  by  tliese 
book-a^bosomes,  and  who  says  one  of  them,  cal- 
led Hair,  used  this  parish  for  a  verj'  long  time." — 
Account  of  Parish  of  Ewes,  apud  JMacfarla7ie''a 
MSS. 

3.  It  had  much  of  glamour  might.— P.  9. 

Glamour,  in  the  legends  of  Scottish  superstition, 
means  the  magic  power  of  imposing  on  the  eye- 
sight of  the  spectators,  so  that  the  appearance  of 
an  object  sliall  be  totally  ditterent  from  the  reality. 
The  transformation  of  Michael  Scott  by  the  witch 
of  Falsehope,  already  mentioned,  was  a  genuine 
operation  of  glamour.  To  a  similar  charm  the 
ballad  of  Johnny  Fa'  imputes  the  fascination  of  tlie 
lovely  countess,  who  eloped  with  that  gipsy  leader: 

Sae  soon  as  they  saw  her  weel  far'd  face, 

They  cast  the  glamour  o'er  her. 

It  was  formerly  used  even  in  war.  In  1381,  when 

the  duke  of  Anjou  lay  before  a  strong  castle,  upon 

the  coast  of  Naples,    a  necromancer  ottered   to 

"make  the  ay  re  so  thycke,  that  they  within  shal 


38 


SCOTT'S  POETICAI-  WORKS. 


thynke  that  there  is  a  f^reat  bridge  on  the  see,  (by 
■which  tlie  castle  was  surrounded,)  for  ten  men  to 
go  a  front;  and  whan  they  within  tiie  castle  se  this 
bridge,  they  will  he  so  afrayde,  that  they  shall 
yekle  theni  to  your  mercy.  The  duke  demanded — 
Fayre  Master,  on  this  bridge  that  ye  speke  of, 
may  our  people  assuredly  go  thereon  to  the  castell  i 
to  assayle  it'  Syr,  quod  the  encliantour,  1  dare  ^ 
not  assure  you  that;  for  if  any  that  passelii  on  the: 
bridge  make  the  signe  of  the  crosseon  liym,  all  shall 
go  to  noughte,  and  they  that  be  on  the  bridge  shall  j 
fall  into  the  see.  Then  the  duke  began  to  laugh;  and 
a  certain  of  young  knighles,  that  were  there  pre- 
sent, said,  syr,  for  Godsake,  let  the  master  essaye } 
his  cunning;  we  sal  leve  making  of  any  signe  of 
the  crosst  on  us  for  that  time. "  The  earl  of  Savoy, 
shortly  after,  entered  the  tent,  and  recognised  in  the 
enchanter  the  same  ])erson  who  had  put  the  castle 
into  the  power  of  sir  Charles  de  la  Payx,  who  then 
held  it,  by  persuading  the  garrison  of  the  queen  of 
Naples,  through  magical  deception,  that  the  sea  was 
coming  over  the  walls.  The  sage  avowed  the  feat, 
and  added,  that  he  was  the  man  in  the  world  most 
dreaded  by  sir  Charles  de  la  Payx.  "  By  my  faytl), 
quod  the  crl  of  Savoy,  ye  say  well,  and  1  will  that 
sir  Charles  de  la  Payx  shall  know  that  he  hath 
gret  wronge  to  fear  you.  But  I  shall  assure  him 
of  you:  for  ye  shall  never  do  enchantment  to  de- 
ceyve  him,  nor  yet  none  other.  I  wolde  nat  that 
in  tyme  to  come  we  shulde  be  reproached  that  in 
so  high  an  enterprise  as  we  be  in,  wherein  there 
be  so  many  noble  knyghtes  and  squyers  assembled, 
that  we  shulde  do  any  thyng  be  enchauntment,  nor 
tliat  we  shulde  wyn  our  enemy s  by  such  crafte. 
Then  he  called  to  hym  a  servauiit,  and  sayd,  go 
and  get  a  hangman,  and  let  hym  stryke  of  this  may- 
ster's  heed  without  delay:  and  as  sorie  as  the  erle 
had  commanded  it,  incontynent  it  was  done,  for 
Lis  heed  was  stryken  of  before  tlie  erle's  tent." 
Froissart,  vol.  i,"ch.  391,  392. 

The  art  of  glamour,  or  other  fascination,  was 
anciently  a  principal  part  of  the  skill  of  ihe:  jong- 
leur, or  juggler,  whose  tricks  formed  much  of  the 
amusement  of  a  gotliic  castle.  Some  instances  of 
this  art  may  be  found  in  the  Miiistrelsy  of  the  Scot- 
tish Border,  vol.  iii,  p.  119.  In  a  strange  allego- 
rical poem,  called  the  Houlat,  written  by  a  de- 
pendant of  the  bouse  of  Douglas,  about  1452-3,  the 
jay,  in  an  assembly  of  birds,  plays  the  part  of  the 
juggler.  His  feats  of  glamour  are  thus  described: 
He  gait  thcra  see,  as  it  semyt,  in  samyn  houre, 

Hunting  at  herdis  in  holtis  so  hair; 
Some  sailand  on  the  see  schippis  of  toure,       . 
Bernis  batlaland  on  bui-d  brim  as  a  bare; 
He  coude  caryt-  the  coup  of  the  kingis  des, 
Syne  kve  in  the  stede, 
Bot  a  black  bunwede; 
He  coiikU-  of  a  henis  hede, 
Make  a  man  iiies. 
He  part  the  emprour  trow,  and  trewyle  behald, 

That  the  covucraik,  the  pundare  at  hand. 
Had  pojTidit  all  bis  mis  hois  in  a  poynd  fald. 

Because  thai  ite  of  the  coin  in  the  kirkland. 
He  could  wiik  windaris,  quhat  way  that  he  wald; 

Mak  a  gray  gus  a  gokl  garlaiid, 
A  laii^  spei-e  of  a  bittik-  for  a  heme  bald, 
Nobilis  of  nutschelles,  and  silver  of  sand. 
Thusjoukit  with  juxters  the  jaglane  ja, 
Fair  ladyes  in  ringis, 
Kny^htis  in  caralyngis, 
Baytli  dansis  and  singis, 
It  semyt  as  sa. 

4.  Now,  if  yon  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 
I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  thrive; 
It  was  not  given  by  man  alive.— P.  9. 
Dr.  Henry  More,  in  a  letter  prefixed  to  Glan- 


ville's  Saducigmits  Triumphatut,  mentions  a  simi- 
lar phenomenon. 

"I  remember  an  old  gentleman  of  the  country,  of 
my  acquaintance,  an  excellent  justice  of  peace,  and 
a  piece  of  a  mathematician;  but  Mhat  kind  of  a  phi- 
losopher he  was  you  may  understand  from  a 
rhyme  of  his  own  making,  which  he  commended 
to  me  at  my  taking  horse  in  his  yard,  which  rhyme 
is  this: 

Ens  19  nothing  till  sense  find  out; 
Sense  ends  in  nothing,  so  naught  goes  about. 
Which  rhyme  of  his  was  so  rapturous  to  himself, 
that  on  the  reciting  of  the  second  verse,  the  old 
man  turned  himself  about  upon  his  toe  as  nimbly 
as  one  may  observe  a  dry  leaf  whisked  round  in 
the  corner  of  an  orchard-walk  by  some  little  whirl- 
wind. With  this  jihilosopher  I  have  had  many  dis- 
courses concerning  the  immortality  of  the  soul  and 
its  distinction;  when  I  have  run  him  quite  down 
by  reason,  he  would  but  laugh  at  me  and  say,  this 
is  logic,  H.  (calling  me  by  my  christian  name;) 
to  which  I  replied,  this  is  reason,  father  L.  (for  so 
1  used  and  some  others  to  call  him;)  but  it  seems 
you  are  for  the  new  lights,  and  immediate  inspira- 
tion, which  I  confess  he  was  4is  little  for  as  for  the 
other;  but  I  said  so  only  in  way  of  drollery  to 
him  in  those  times:  but  truth  is,  nothing  but  pal- 
pable experience  would  move  him;  and  being  a 
bold  man,  and  fearing  nothing,  he  told  me  he  had 
used  all  the  magical  ceremonies  of  conjuration  he 
could,  to  raise  the  devil  or  a  spirit,  and  had  a  most 
earnest  desire  to  meet  with  one,  but  could  not  do 
it.  But  this  he  told  me,  when  he  did  not  so  much 
as  think  of  it,  while  his  servant  was  pulling  off  his 
boots  in  the  hall,  some  invisible  hand  gave  him 
such  a  clap  upon  the  back,  that  it  made  all  ring 
again;  so  thought  he  now,  I  am  invited  to  the  con- 
verse of  my  spirit,  and  therefore,  so  soon  as  his 
boots  were  off,  and  his  shoes  on,  out  he  goes  into 
the  yard  and  next  field,  to  find  out  the  spirit  that 
had  given  him  this  familiar  clap  on  the  back,  but 
found  none  neither  in  the  yard  nor  field  next  to  it. 

"  But  though  he  did  feel  this  stroke,  albeit  he 
thought  it  afterwards  (finding  nothing  came  of  it) 
a  mere  delusion;  yet,  not  long  before  his  death,  it 
had  more  force  with  him  than  all  the  philosophi- 
cal arguments  1  could  use  with  him,  though  1  could 
wind  him  and  non-plus  him  as  I  pleased;  but  yet 
all  my  arguments,  how  solid  soever,  made  no  im- 
pression upon  him;  wherefore,  after  several  rea- 
sonings of  this  nature,  whereby  1  could  prove  to 
him  the  soul's  distinction  from  the  body,  and  its 
immortality,  when  nothing  of  such  suliile  consi- 
derations did  any  more  execution  on  his  mind  tiian 
some  lightning  is  said  to  do,  thougli  it  melts  the 
sword,  on  the  fuzzy  consistency  of  tlie  scabbard. — ■ 
Well,  said  I,  father  L.,  thougli  none  of  these  things 
move  you,  I  have  something  still  behind,  and  what 
yourself  has  acknowledged  to  nie  to  be  true,  that 
may  do  the  business: — Do  you  remember  the  clap- 
on  your  back  when  your  servant  was  pulling  off' 
your  boots  in  the  hall?  Assure  yourself,  said  I, 
father  L.,  that  goblin  will  be  the  first  that  will 
bid  3'ou  welcome  into  the  other  world.  Upon  ;his 
his  countenance  changed  most  sensibly,  and  he 
was  more  confounded  with  this  rubbing  up  his 
memory,  than  with  all  the  rational  or  philosophi' 
cal  argumentations  that  I  could  produce." 

5.  'I'lie  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell. — P.  10. 

It  is  a  firm  article  of  popular  faith,  that  no  en- 
chantment can  subsist  in  a  living  stream.  Nay,  if 
you  can  interpose  a  brook  betwixt  youand  witches. 


THE   LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


39 


I  Sir  Kenelni  Digby,  in  a  discourse  upon  the  cure 
[by  sympathy,  pi-onounced  at  Montpelier,  before 
[an  assembly  of  nobles  and  learned  men,  translated 
into  English,  by  R.  White,  gentleman,  and  pub- 
lished in  1658,  givL-s  us  the  following  curious  sur- 
gical case: 

[  "  -Mr.  James  Howel  (well  known  in  France  for 
his  public  works,  and  particularly  for  his  Dendro- 
log-ie,  translated  into  French  by  Mons.  Baudouin) 
coming  by  chance,  as  two  of  his  best  friends  were 
fighting  in  duel,  he  did  his  endeavour  to  part  them; 
and,  ])utting  himselfe  between  them,  siezed  with 
his  left  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  the  sword  of  one  of 
the  combatants,  while,  with  his  right  hand,  he  laid 
hold  of  the  blade  of  the  otiier.  They,  being  trans- 
])orted  with  fury  one  against  the  other,  struggled 
to  rid  themselves  of  the  hindrance  their  fi-iend 
made  that  tliey  shonUl  not  kill  one  another;  and 
one  of  them  roughl\  drawing  the  blade  of  his 
sword  cnts  to  the  very  bone  the  nerves  and  mus- 
cles of  .Mr.  How  el's  liand;  and  then  the  other  dis- 
engaged his  liilt,  and  gave  a  cross  blow  on  his  ad- 
versarie's  head,  which  glanced  towards  his  friend, 
who  heaving  up  his  sore  hand  to  save  the  blow,  he 
was  wounded  on  tl»e  back  of  his  han<l,  as  he  had 
been  before  within.  It  seems  some  strange  con- 
stellation reigned  tlien  against  him,  that  he  should 
lose  so  much  bloodby  parting  two  srcii  dear  friends, 
•who,  had  they  been  themselves,  would  have  ha- 
zarded both  their  lives  to  have  preserved  his;  but 
this  involuntary  eftVision  of  bloud  by  them,  prevent- 
ed that  which  they  sholde  have  drawn  one  fi-om 
the  other.  For  they,  seeing  Mr.  Howel's  face  be- 
smeared with  bloud,  by  heaving  up  his  wounded 
hand,  they  both  ran  to  embrace  him;  and  having 
searched  his  hurts,  they  bound  up  his  liand  with 
one  of  his  garters,  to  close  the  veins  which  were 
cut  and  hied  abundantly.  They  brouglit  him  home, 
and  sent  for  a  surgeon,  liut  this  being  heard  at 
court,  the  king  sent  one  of  Wis  own  surgeons;  for 
his  majesty  much  affected  the  said  Mr.  Howel. 

"  It  was  my  chance  to  be  lodged  hard  by  liim; 
and  four  or  five  days  after,  as  I  was  making  myself 
ready,  he  came  to  my  house,  and  prayed  me  to 
view  his  wounds;  '  for  I  understand,' said  he,  'that 
you  have  extraordinary  remedies  on  such  occasions, 
and  my  surgeons  apprehend  some  fear  that  it  mav 
grow  to  a  gangrene,  and  so  tiie  hand  must  be  cut 
off.'  In  effect  his  countenance  discovered  tiiat  he 
was  iii  much  pain,  which  he  said  was  insupporta- 
ble, in  regard  of  the  extreme  inflammation.  1  told 
him  I  would  willingly  serve  him.  But  if  ha])ly 
he  knew  tfie  manner  liow  I  would  cure  him,  with- 
out touciiing  or  seeing  him,  it  may  be  lie  would 
not  expose  himself  to  ray  manner  of  curing,  be- 
cause lie  would  think  it,  peradventure,  eiilierinef- 
L-ctual  or  superstitious.  He  replied,  '  I'he  won- 
derful tilings  which  many  have  related  unt.)  me  of 
your  way  of  raedicinement,  makes  me  nothing 
doubt  at  all  of  its  efficacy,  and  all  that  1  have  to 
say  unto  you  is  comprehended  in  the  Spanish  pro- 
berb,  Hagase  el  milagro  y  hagalo  JMahoma — Let 
the  miracle  be  done,  though  Mahomet  do  it.' 

"  I  asked  him  then  for  any  thing  that  had  the 
bloud  upon  it;  so  he  presently  sent  for  his  garter, 
wherewith  his  hand  was  first  bound:  and  as  I  call- 
ed for  a  basin  of  water,  as  if  1  would  wasli  my 
hands,  I  took  a  handful  of  powder  of  vitriol,  w  liich 
I  had  in  my  study,  and  presently  dissolved  it.  As 
soon  as  the  bloudy  garter  was  brought  me,  I  put 
it  within  the  basin,  observing  in  the  interim,  what 
Mr.  Howel  did,  who  stood  talking  with  a  gentle- 


gpectres,  or  even  fiends,  you  are  in  perfect  safety. 
Burns's  inimitable  Tarn  o'  Shantev  turns  entirely 
upon  such  a  circumstance.    The  belief  seems  to 
be  of  antiquity.    Brompton  informs  us,  that  cer- 
tain Irisli  wizards  could,  by  spells,  convert  earthen 
clods,  or  stones,  into  fat  pigs,  which  they  sold  in 
the  market;  but  which  always  re-assumed  their 
proper  form,  when  driven  by  the  deceived  pur- 
chaser across  a  running  stream.  But  Brompton  is 
severe  on  the  Irish,  for  a  very  good  reason.  "  Gens 
ista  spurcissima  non  solvuntdecimas." — Chronicoii 
JoJia/inis  Brompton  a/ncd  decern  Sa'iptores,  p.  1076. 
6.  His  buckler  scarce  in  breadth  a  span. 
No  lone;er  fenue  had  lie; 
He  never  counted  him  a  man. 
Would  strike  below  the  knee.— P.  10. 
Imitated  from  Drayton's  account  of  Robin  Hood 
and  his  followers. 

A  hundred  valiant  men  had  this  bi-avc  Robin  Hood, 
Still  ready  at  his  call  that  bowmen  were  right  ^ood; 
All  clad  in  Lincoln  ereeii,  with  caps  of  red  and  blue. 
His  fellow's  winded  horn  not  one  of  them  but  knew. 
When  setting  to  their  lips  their  bugle  loud  and  shnll. 
The  warbling  echoes  waked  from  ever)-  dale  and  liill; 
Their  l»auldncs  set  with  studs  atliwait  their  shouldei-s  cast, 
To  which  under  their  arms  tlu  ir  sheafs  were  buckled  fast, 
A  short  sword  at  theii-  b.lt,  a  buckler  scarce  a  span, 
AVho  struck  below  the  knf-e  not  counted  then  a  man. 
All  made  of  Spanish  yew,  their  bows  were  wonderous 

strong. 
They  not  an  arrow  drew,  but  was  a  clothyard  long. 
Of  archery  they  had  the  very  perfect  craft, 
With  broad  arrow,  or  but,  or  prick,  or  ro^-ing  shaft. 

To  wound  an  antagonist  in  the  thigh,  or  leg,  was 
reckoned  contrary  to  tiie  law  of  arms.     In  a  tilt 
betwixt  Gawain  Michael,  an  English  squire,  and 
Joachim  Cathroe,  a  Frenchman,  "  they  met  at  the 
speare  poyutes  rudely;  the  French  squyer  justed 
right  pleasantly;  the  Englyshman  ran  too  lowe, 
for  he  strak  the  Frenchman  depe  in  the  thvgh. 
Wherewith  the  earl  of  Buckingham  was  right'sore 
displeased,  and  so  were  all  the  other  lordes,  and 
sayde  how  it  was  shamefully  done."    Froissart, 
vol.  i,  ch.  366. — Upon  a  similar  occasion  "  the  two 
knights  came  a  fote  eche  against  the  other  rudelv, 
with  their  speares  low  couched,  to  strike   eacli 
other  within  the  foure  quarters.  Johan  of  Castell- 
Morante  strake  the  Englysh  squyer,  on  the  brest 
in    such    wyse,    that    sir    Wyllyam    Fernietone 
stombled  and  bowed,  for  his'fote  a  lyttle  fayled 
him.   He  helde  his  spear  lowe  witli  both  his  liaudes, 
and  coulde  nat  amende  it,  and  strake  sir  Johan  of 
the    Castell-Morante   in  the  thighe,    so  that  the 
speare  went  clene  through  that  ttie  iieed  was  sene 
a  iiandful  on  the  other  s^de.   And  syre  Johan  with 
the  stroke  reled,  but  he  fell  nat.     Tlieii  the  En- 
glyshe  knigfits  and  squyers  were  righte  sore  dis- 
pleased, and  sayde  how  it  was  a  foul  stroke.    Svr 
Wyllyam  Fermetone  excused  himself,  and  sayde 
how  he  was  sorie  of  that  adventure,  and  howe  that 
yf  he  had  know  en  that  it  shulde  have  been  so,  he 
wolde  never  hare  begon  it:  sayenge  how  he  coude 
nat  amende  it,  by  cause  of  glaunsing  of  his  fote  by 
constraynt  of  the  great  stroke  tiiat  syr  Jolian  of  the 
Castell-Morante  had  given  him."  jbid.  ch.  373. 
7.  And  with  a  charm  she  staneh'd  the  blood.— P.  11. 
See  several  charms  for  this  purpose  in  Reginald 
Scott's  Discovery  of  H  'ilchcraft,  p.  ^"3. 
Tom  Potts  was  but  a  senin^  man, 
But  yet  he  was  a  doctor  good; 
He  bound  his  handkerchief  on  the  wound. 
And  with  some  kind  of  words  he  stanched  the  blood. 
Pieces  of  ancientpopnlar  Po-:try,l.oad.  1791,  p.  131. 
8.  But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance. 
And  washed  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 
And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er.— P.  11. 

5 


40 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


man  in  a  corner  of  my  chamber,  not  regarding  at 
all  what  I  was  doing;  but  he  started  suddenly,  as 
if  he  had  found  some  strange  alteration  in  himself. 
1  asked  him  what  lie  ailed?  '  I  know  not  what  ailes 
me;  but  1  findo  tliat  1  feel  no  more  pain.  Metliinks 
tliat  a  pltasin;;;  kindc  of  frcsheness,  as  it  were  a 
wet  col<l  napkin,  did  s|)reaii  over  my  hand,  which 
hiilli  taken  away  I  lie  inflammation  that  tormented 
me  before.'  I  replycd,  'Since  then  that  you  feel 
already  so  good  cflect  of  my  medicament,  1  advise 
you  to  cast  away  all  your  playsters;  only  keep  the 
wound  clean,  and  in  a  moderate  temper  betwixt 
heat  and  cold.'  I'his  was  presently  reported  to  the 
duke  of  Buckingham,  and  a  little  after  to  the  king, 
wlio  were  both  very  curious  to  know  the  circum- 
stance of  the  business,  which  was,  that  after  din- 
ner I  took  tlie  garter  out  of  the  water,  and  put  it 
to  dry  before  a  great  fire.  It  was  scarce  dry,  but 
Mr.  iiowcl's  servsuit  came  running,  that  his  mas- 
ter felt  as  much  burning  as  ever  he  had  done,  if 
not  more;  for  tlie  heat  was  such  as  if  his  hand  was 
twixt  coles  of  fire.  1  answ  ered,  although  that  hail 
happened  at  present,  yet  he  sliould  find  ease  in  a 
short  time;  for  I  knew  the  reason  of  this  new  acci- 
dent, anil  would  provide  accordingly;  for  his  mas- 
ter should  be  free  from  that  inflammation,  it  may  be 
before  he  could  possibly  return  to  him;  but  in  case 
he  found  no  ease,  I  wished  him  to  come  presently 
back  again;  if  not  he  might  forbear  coming.  There- 
<ipon  he  went;  and  at  the  instant  I  did  put  again 
the  garter  into  the  water,  wliereupon  he  found  his 
master  without  any  pain  at  all.  To  be  brief,  tliere 
was  no  sense  of  pain  afterward:  but  within  five  or 
six  dayes  the  wounds  were  cicatrized,  and  entire- 
ly healeil. "  p.  6. 

The  king  (James  V'l)  obtained  from  sir  Kenelm 
the  discovery  of  his  secret,  which  he  pretended 
had  been  taught  him  by  a  carmelite  friar,  who  had 
learned  it  in  Armenia,  or  Persia.  Let  not  the  age 
of  animal  magnetism  and  metallic  tractors  smile 
at  the  sympathetic  powder  of  sir  Kenelm  Digby. 
Reginald  Scott  mentions  tlie  same  mode  of  cure 
in  these  terms:  "  and  that  which  is  more  strange 
— They  can  remedie  anie  stranger  with  that  verie 
sword  wherewith  they  are  wounded.  Yea,  and 
that  which  is  beyond  all  admiration,  if  they  stroke 
the  sword  upward  with  their  fingers,  the  partie 
shall  feele  no  pain;  whereas,  if  they  draw  iheir  fin- 
gers downwards,  thereupon  the  partie  wounded 
shall  feele  intolerable  pain."  I  presume  that  the 
success  abscribed  to  the  sympatlietic  mode  of  treat- 
ment might  arise  from  the  pains  bestowed  in  wash- 
ing the  wound,  and  excluding  the  air,  thus  bringing 
on  a  cure  by  the  first  intention.  It  is  introduced 
by  Uryden  in  the  Enchanted  Island,  a  (very  un- 
necessary) alteration  of  the  Tempest: 

Ariel.  Anoint  tlie  sword  which  pierced  him  with  this 
Weapon-sahe,  and  wrap  it  close  from  ail-. 
Till  I  have  time  to  visit  him  again.— -ir^  v,  sc.  2. 

Again,  in  scene  4th,  Miranda  enters  with  Hip- 
polito's  sword  wrapt  up: 

Hip.  O  my  wound  pains  me.  \_She  unwraps  tlic  sivord. 

Mir.  I  am  come  to  ease  you. 

Hip.  Alas,  I  feel  the  cold  air  come  to  me: 
My  wound  shouts  worse  than  ever. 

Mir.  Does  it  still  grieve  you^ 

\Shc  nipes  and  anoints  th-  sword. 

Hip.  Now,  methinks,  there's  something  laid  just  upon  it. 

Mir.  Do  you  find  no  ease? 

Hip.  Yes,  yes;  upon  the  sudden  all  this  pain 
It  leaving  me.    Sweet  heaven,  huw  I  am  eased! 

9.  On  Penchryst  plows  a  bale  of  fii-e. 

And  three  are  kindling  ou  Priesthaughswire.— P.  11. 


The  Border  beacons,  from  their  number  and  po- 
sition, formed  a  sort  of  telegraphic  communication 
with  Edinburgh. — The  act  of  parliament,  1455,  c. 
48,  directs,  that  one  bale  or  faggot  shall  be  warn- 
ing of  the  approach  of  the  English  in  any  manner; 
two  bales,  that  they  are  coining  indeed:  four  bales 
blazing  beside  each  other,  that  the  enemy  are  iu 
great  iorce.  "  The  same  taikenings  to  be  watched 
and  made  at  Eggcrliope  (Eggerstane)  Castell,  fra 
they  se  the  fire  of  Hume,  that  they  fire  right  sw^a. 
And  in  like  manner  on  Sowtra  Edge,  sail  se  the 
fire  of  Eggerhope  Castell,  and  mak  taikening  ir 
like  manner.  And  then  may  all  Louthiane  be  warn., 
ed,  and  in  special  tlie  Castell  of  Edinburgh;  antl 
their  four  fires  to  be  made  in  like  manner  that  they 
in  Fife,  and  fra  Striveliug  east,  and  the  east  part 
of  Louthaine,  and  to  Dunbar,  all  may  se  them,  anil 
come  to  the  defence  of  the  realm. "  These  beacons 
(at  least  in  latter  times)  were  "  a  long  and  strong 
tree  set  up,  with  a  long  iron  pole  across  the  head 
of  it,  aud  an  iron  brander  fixed  on  a  stalk  in  the 
middle  of  it,  for  holding  a  tar  barrel." — Steven- 
sou's  History,  vol.  ii,  p.  "01. 

10.  Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends,  to  i-aisc— P.  11. 

The  speed  with  which  the  Borderers  collected 
great  bodies  of  horse,  may  be  judged  of  from  the 
following  extract,  when  the  subject  of  the  rising 
was  much  less  important  than  that  supposed  in  the 
romance.  It  is  taken  from  Carey's  J\Jemoirs: 
"  Upon  the  death  of  the  old  lord  Scroop,  tlie  queen 
gave  the  west  wardenry  to  his  son,  that  had  mar- 
ried my  sister.  He,  having  received  that  oftice, 
came  to  me  w  ith  great  earnestness,  and  desired  me 
to  be  his  deputy,  offering  me  that  I  should  live  with 
him  in  his  house;  that  he  w-ould  allow  me  half  a 
dozen  men,  and  as  many  horses,  to  be  kept  at  his 
charge;  and  his  fee  being  1000  merks  yearly,  he 
would  part  it  with  me,  and  1  should  have  the  half. 
This  his  noble  otter  1  accepted  of,  and  went  with 
him  to  Carlisle,  where  I  was  no  sooner  come,  but 
I  entered  into  my  office.  We  had  a  stirring  time 
of  it;  and  few  days  past  over  Tny  head  but  1  was  on 
horseback,  either  to  prevent  mischief,  or  take  ma- 
lefactors, and  to  bring  the  Border  in  better  quiet 
than  it  had  been  in  times  past.  One  memorable 
thing  of  God's  mercy  showed  unto  me,  was  such 
as  I  had  good  cause  still  to  remember  it. 

"  I  had  private  intelligence  gi-.en  me,  that  there 
were  two  Scottish  men,  w  ho  had  killed  a  church- 
man in  Scotland,  and  were  by  one  of  the  Graemes 
relieved.  This  Gi-ceme  dwelt  within  five  miles  of 
Carlisle.  He  had  a  pretty  house,  and  close  by  it  a 
strong  tower,  for  his  own  defence  in  time  of  need. 
— About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  1  took  horse 
in  Carlisle,  and  not  above  twenty-five  in  my  com- 
pany, thinking  to  surprise  the  house  on  a  sudden. 
Before  I  could  surround  the  house,  the  two  Scots 
were  gotten  in  the  strong  tower,  and  1  could  see  a 
boy  riding  from  the  house  as  fast  as  his  horse 
could  carry  him;  I  little  suspecting  what  it  meant. 
But  Thomas  Carleton  came  to  me  presently,  am', 
told  me,  that  if  I  did  not  presently  prevent  it,  both 
myself  and  all  my  company  would  be  either  slain 
or  taken  prisoners.  It  was  strange  to  me  to  hear 
this  language.  He  then  said  to  me,  "Do  you  see 
that  boy  that  rideth  away  so  fast?  He  will  be  in 
Scotland  w  ithin  this  half  hour;  and  he  is  gone  to 
let  them  know  that  you  are  here,  and  to  what  end 
you  are  come,  and  tlie  small  numJier  you  have  with 
you;  and  that  if  they  will  make  haste,  on  a  sudden 
they  may  surprise  us,  and  do  with  us  what  they 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


41 


please. "   Hereupon  we  took  advice  what  was  best 
to  be  done.     We  sent  notice  presently  to  all  parts 
to  raise  the  country,  and  to  come  to  us  witlj  all 
the  speed  they  could;  and  withall  we  sent  to  Car- 
lisle to  raise  the  townsmen;  for  without  foot  we 
could  do  no  good  against  the  tower.  There  we  staid 
some  hours,  expecting  more  company;  and  within 
short  time  after  the  countrj'  came  in  on  all  sides, 
so  that  we  were  quickly  between  three  and  four 
hundred  liorse;  and,  after  some  longer  stay,  the 
foot  of  Carlisle  came  to  us,  to  the  number  of  three 
or  four  hundred  men:  whom  we  presently  set  to 
work,  to  get  up  to  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  to  un- 
cover the  roof:  and  then  some  twenty  of  them  to 
fall  down  together,  and  by  tliat  means  to  win  the 
tower. — The  Scots,  seeing  their  present  danger, 
offered  to  parley,  and  yielded  themselves  to  my 
mercy.  They  liad  no  sooner  opened  the  iron  gate, 
and  yielded  themselves  my  prisoners,  but  we  might 
see  400  horse  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  coming  to 
their  rescue,  and  to  surprise  me  and  my  small 
company;  but  on  a  sudden  they  stayed,  and  stood 
at  gaze.   Then  had  I  more  to  do  than  ever;  for  all 
our  Borderers  came  crying,  with  full  mouths,  '  Sir, 
give  us  leave  to  set  upon  them,  for  these  are  they 
that  have  killed  our  fathers,  our  brothers,  and  un- 
cles, and  our  cousins;  they  are  coming,  thinking 
to  surprise  you,  upon  weak  grass  nags,  such  as 
they  could  get  on  a  sudden;  and  God  hath  put  them 
into  your  hands,  that  we  may  take  revenge  of  them 
for  much  blood  that  they  have  spilt  of  ours."    I 
desired  they  would  be  patient  a  while,  and  be- 
thought myself,  if  I  should  give  them  tiieir  will, 
there  would  be  few  ornoneof  tlie  Scots  that  would 
escape  unkilled  (there  were  so  many  deadly  feuds 
among  them;)  and  therefore  I  resolved  with  myself 
to  give  them  a  fair  answer,  but  not  to  give  them 
their  desire.    So  I  told  them,  that  if  1  were  not 
there  mvself,   they  might  then  do  what  pleased 
themselves;  but  being  present,  if  I   should   give 
them  leave,  the  blood  that  should  be  spilt  that  day 
would  lie  very  hard  upon  ray  conscience.    And 
therefore  I  desired  them,  for  my  sake,  to  forbear; 
and,  if  the  Scots  did  not  presently  make  away  with 
all  the  speed  they  could,  upon  my  sending  to  them, 
they  should  then  have  their  wills  to  do  what  they 
pleased.    Thev  were  ill  satisfied  with  m\'  answer, 
but  durst  no(  disobey.     I  sent  with   speed  to  the 


rently  being  inadequate  to  baking  the  v.ise,  when 
completely  finished.  The  contents  were  bones  and 
ashes,  and  a  quantity  of  beads  made  of  coal.  This 
seems  to  have  been  a  barbarous  imitation  of  the 
Roman  fashion  of  sepulture. 

NOTES  TO  CA5^T0  IV. 
1.  Groat  Dundee.— p.  12. 
The  viscount  of  Dundee,  slain  in  the  batJe  of 
Killicrankie. 

2.  For  patliless  marsh,  and  mountain  cell, 
The  peasant  left  his  lowly  sbed.— P.  12. 
The  morasses  were  the  usual  refuge  of  the  Bor- 
der herdsmen  on  the  approach  of  an  English  array. 
— [^llinslrehy  of  the  Scottish  Bonier,  vol.  i,  p.  49.) 
Caves,  hewed  in  the  raost  dangerous  and  inacces." 
sible  places,  also  afforded  an  occasional  retreat. 
Such  caverns  may  be  seen  in  the  precipitous  banks 
of  the  Te\i()t  at  Sunlaws,  upon  the  Ale  at  Ancram, 
upon  the  Jed  at  Hundalee,  and  in  many  other 
places  upon  the  Border.  The  banks  of  the  Esk, 
at  Gorton  and  Hawihornden,  are  hollowed  into 
similar  recesses.  But  even  these  dreary  dens  were 
not  always  secure  places  of  concealment.  "  In  the 
way  as  we  came,  not  far  fi-om  this  place  (Long  Nid- 
dry,)  George  Ferres,  a  gentleman  of  my  lord  pro- 
tector's— happened  upon  a  cave  in  the  grounde,  the 
mouth  w  hereof  \\  as  so  worne  w  ith  the  fresh  printe 
of  steps,  tlial.  he  seemed  to  be  certayne  ihear  were 
sum  folke  within;  and  gone  douiie  to  trie,  he  was 
redily  receyved  with  a'lmkebut  or  two.  He  left 
them  not  yet,  till  he  had  knowen  wheyther  thei 
wold  be  content  to  veld  and  come  out;  which  they 
fondly  refusing,  he  went  to  my  lorde's  grace,  and 
upon  utterance  of  the  thynge,  gat  lisense  to  deale 
with  them  as  lie  coulde;  and  so  returned  to  them, 
with  a  sk(>re  or  two  of  pioners.  Three  ventes  had 
their  cave,  that  we  wear  ware  of,  wliereof  he  first 
stopt  up  one;  another  he  fill'd  full  of  slrawe,  and 
set  it  a  fyer,  whereat  they  within  cast  water  apace; 
but  it  was  so  well  maynteyned  without,  that  the 
fyer  prevayled,  and  thei  within  fayn  to  get  thein 
belyke  into  another  parler.  Then  devysed  Me  (for 
I  liapt  to  be  with  him)  to  stop  the  same  iip,  v  hereby 
we  should  eyther  smoother  them,  or  fyncl  out  their 
vents,  if  thei  hadde  any  moe:  as  tiiis  was  done  at 
another  issue,  about  xii  scare  of,  -^e  mous-hte  see 


Scots,  and  bade  tliem  pack  away  with  all  tlie  speed!  the  tume  of  their  smoke  to  come  out;  the  which 
they  could:  for  if  they  stayed  the  messenger's  re- 1  continued  with  so  great  a  force,  and  so  long  a  while, 
turn,  they  should  few  of  them  return  to  their  own!  I'lat  "t-"  could  not  but  thiiike  they  must  needs  get 
home.  They  made  no  stay;  but  they  were  turned!  t'lem  out,  or  smoother  within;  and  forasmuch  as 
homewards  before  the  messenger  had  raa<le  an  end  !  we  found  not  that  they  dyd  the  tone,  we  thought 
of  his  message.  Thus,  by  God's  raercv,  I  escaped   it  for  certain  thei  wear  sure  of  the  toother. " — Pat- 


a  great  danger;  and  by  my  means,  tliere  were  a 
gi-eat  many  men's  lives  saved  that  day." 

11.  On  many  a  cairn's  gray  pyramid, 

AVhere  urns  of  mighty  thiels  lie  hid.— P.  12. 

The  cairns,  or  piles  of  loose  stones,  which  crown 
the  summit  of  most  of  our  Scottish  hills,  and  are 
found  in  other  remarkable  situations,  seem  usually, 
though  not  universally,  to  have  been  sepulchral 
monuments.  Six  flat  stones  are  commonly  found 
in  the  centre,  forming  a  cavity  of  greater  or  smaller 
dimensions,  in  which  an  urn  is  often  placed.  The 
author  is  possessed  of  one,  discovered  beneath  an 
immense  cairn  at  Roughlee,  in  Liddesdale.  It  is 
of  the  most  barbarous  construction;  the  middle  of 
the  substance  alone  having  been  subjected  to  the 
fire,  over  which,  when  hardened,  the  artist  had 
laid  an  inner  and  outer  coat  of  unbaked  clay,  etched 
with  some  very  rude  ornaments;  his  skill  appa- 


teii's  Accoiivt  of  Somersefs  Expedition  into  Scot' 
land,  apud  Da'lzelVs  Fragments. 

3.  Soulln.ni  ravage. — P.  12. 

From  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  fiom  the 
earl  of  Xorlhuraberland  to  king  Henry  "\TI1,  pre- 
served among  the  Cotton  MSS.  Calig.B.  vii,  179, 
the  reader  may  estimate  the  nature  of  the  dreadful 
war  which  was  occasionally  waged  upon  the  Bor- 
ders, sharpened  by  mutual  cruelties,  and  the  per- 
sonal hatred  of  the  wardens,  or  leaders. 

Some  Scottish  barons,  says  the  earl,  had  threat- 
ened to  come  within  "  three  miles  of  ni)'  pore 
house  of  Werkworth,  where  I  lye,  and  gif  me  light 
to  put  on  ray  clothes  at  mydnyght;  and  alsoo  the 
said  Marke  Carr  said  there  opynly,  that,  seying 
they  had  a  governor  on  the  marches  of  Scotland", 
as  well  as  they  had  in  Ingland,  he  shulde  keep 
your  highness  instructions,  gyffyn  unto  your  o;ary 


42 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


son,  for  ni:ikini;  of  any  <lay-forrey;  for  he  and  his 
friends  wolde  hurne  enough  on  the  nyg''t>  Icttyng 
your  coiinsaill  liere  ili  IS  iic  a  notable  acta  at  tlieyre 
pleasures.  Upon  whiihc,  in  your  liighues'  name,  I 
comaundet  dewe  walclie  to  be  kept  on  your  mar- 
chies,  for  comyng  in  of  any  Scotts. — Neutheless, 
upon  Thursday  at  niglit  hist,  came  tliyrty  light 
horsemen  into  a  litil  village  of  myne,  called  W'lii- 
tell,  having  not  past  sex  houses,  lying  towards 
Ryddisdaill,  upon  Shilliotell  more,  and  there  wold 
have  fyred  the  said  bowses,  but  ihcr  was  noo  tyre 
to  get  there,  and  ihey  forgate  to  brynge  any  withe 
they  me;  and  loke  a  wyf,  being  great  with  childe, 
in  the  sai<l  tow  iie,  and  said  to  Iiyr,  Wher  we  can 
not  gyve  the  laird  lyglit,  yet  we  shall  doo  this  in 
spyle  of  him ;  and  gyve  her  iii  morlall  wovnds  upon 
the  lieid,  and  another  in  the  right  side,  with  a 
dagger:  wberuppoii  the  said  wyf  is  deede,  and  the 
childe  in  her  bely  is  loste.  Beseeching  your  most 
gracious  higbnes  to  reduce  unto  your  gracious  me- 
mory this  wylful  and  shamefull  murder,  done  with- 
in this  your  liiglines'  realnie,  notwithstanding  all 
the  inhabitants  thereabout  rose  unto  the  said  tray, 
and  gave  warnynge  by  becons  into  the  couutrey 
afore  theyme,  and  yet  t!ie  Scottsmcn  dyde  escape. 
And  uppon  cerleyne  knowledge  to  my  brother 
Ciyftbrthe  and  me,  had  by  credable  persons  of 
Scotland,  this  abomynable  act  not  only  to  be  done 
by  dyverse  of  the  Mersbe,  but  also  the  afore  named 
persons  of  'I'yvidaill,  and  consented  to,  as  by  ap- 
[learance,  by  the  erle  of  Murey.  upon  Friday  at 
night  last,  let  slyp  C  of  the  best  horsemen  of  Glen- 
daill,  with  a  parte  of  yourhighnes'  subjects  of  Ber- 
wyke,  together  with  George  Uowglas,  whoo  came 
into  Ingland  agayne,  in  the  dawning  of  the  day; 
but  afore  tlieyre  retorne,  they  d)'d  mar  the  earl  of 
Murrei's  provisions  at  Coldingham:  for  they  did 
not  only  burne  the  said  town  of  Coldingham,  with 
all  the  corne  thereunto  belonging,  which  is  es- 
teemed wurthe  cii  marke  sterling:  but  also  burned 
twa  townes  n)'e  adjoining  thereunto,  called  Bra- 
nerdergest  and  Black  Hill,  andtokexxiii  persons, 
Ix  horse,  with  cc  hed  of  cataill,  which  nowe,  as  I 
am  informed,  halhe  not  oul}  been  a  stave  of  the 
said  erle  of  .Murrei's  not  coming  to  the  Bordure 
as  yet,  but  alsoo,  that  none  inlande  man  will  ad- 
venture theyr  selfs  upon  liie  marshes.  And  as  for 
the  tax  that  shuld  have  been  grauntyd  for  finding 
of  the  said  iii  hundred  men,  is  utterly  denyed. 
Upon  which  the  king  of  Scotland  departed  from 
Edynburgh  to  Stirling,  and  as  yet  there  doth  re- 
mayn.  And  also  I,  by  the  advice  of  my  brother 
Clyfforth,  have  devysed,  tliat  within  this  iii  nyghts, 
Godde  willing,  Kelsey,  in  lyke  case,  shall  be  brent, 
with  all  the  corne  in  the  said  town:  and  tlien  they 
shall  have  noo  place  to  lye  anv  garyson  in  nygh 
unto  the  Borders.  And  as  1  shall  atieigne  further 
knawledge,  I  shall  not  faill  to  satisfye  your  high- 
nes,  according  to  my  most  bounden  dutie.  And 
for  this  burnynge  of  Kelsey  is  devysed  to  be  done 
eecretly,  by  Tyndail  and  Ilyddysdale.  And  thus 
the  holy  Tnnite  and  *  *  '  your  most  royal  estate, 
with  long  lyf,  and  as  much  increase  of  honour  as 
your  most  noble  heart  can  desire,  ^it  Werkworth, 
the  wWd  day  of  October,  { 1 522. ) 

4.  Watt  Tinlinn.— P.  12. 
This  person  was,  in  my  younger  days,  the  theme 
of  many  a  fireside  tale.  He  was  a  retainer  of  the 
Buccleuch  family,  and  held,  for  his  Border  service, 
a  small  tower  on  the  ft-ontiers  of  Liddesdale.  Watt 
was,  by  profession,  a  sittor,  but,  by  inclination  and 
practice,  an  archer  and  warrior.    Upon  one  occa- 


sion, the  captain  of  Bewcastle,  military  governor  of 
that  wild  district  of  Cumberland,  is  said  to  have 
made  an  excursion  into  Scotland,  in  which  he  was 
defeated,  and  forced  to  fly.  Watt  Tinlinn  pursued 
him  closely  through  a  dangerous  morass;  the  cap- 
tain, however,  gained  the  firm  ground;  and  seeing 
Tinlinn  dismovmted,  and  floundering  in  the  bog, 
used  these  words  of  insult:  "  Sutor  Watt,  ye  can- 
not sew  your  boots;  the  heels  risp,  and  the  seams 
I'l've."* — "If  I  cannot  sew,"  retorted  Tinlinn,  dis- 
charging a  shaft,  which  nailed  the  captain's  thigh 
to  his  saddle, — "If  1  cannot  sew,  1  can  t/erk."i 
5.  Billiope  Stag.— P.  12. 
There  is  an  old  rhvme,  which  thus  celebrates 
the  places  in  Liddesdale  remarkable  for  game: 

Billiope  braes  for  butks  and  raes, 

Aiul  Cant  liaugti  for  swine, 
Aiifl  Tai-ras  for  the  good  bull-trout, 
1 1'  he  be  ta'eii  in  time. 
The  bucks  and  roes,  as  well  as  the  old  swmc, 
are  now  extinct;  but  the  good  bull-trout  are  still 
famous. 

6.  Of  silver  brooch  and  bracelet  proud.— P.  12. 
As  the  Borderers  were  indiflerent  about  the  fur- 
niture of  their  habitations,  so  much  exposed  to  be 
biu'nt  and  plundered,  they  were  proportionally 
anxious  to  display  splendour  in  decorating  and  or- 
namenting their  females. — See  Lf.sly,  de  JMoribus 
limtuneoniin. 

7.  Belted  Will  Howard.— P.  13. 

Lord  William  Howard,  third  son  of  Thomas, 
duke  of  Norfolk,  succeeded  to  Naworth  Castle  and 
a  large  domain  annexed  to  it,  in  right  of  his  w  ife 
Elizabeth,  sister  of  George  lord  Dacre,  who  died 
without  heirs  male,  in  the  1  lib  of  queen  Elizabeth. 
By  a  poetical  anacliroiusni,  he  is  introduced  into 
the  romance  a  fi;w  years  eailier  than  he  actually 
flourished.  He  was  warden  of  the  Western  March- 
es; and,  from  the  rigour  with  which  he  repressed 
the  border  excesses,  the  name  of  belted  Will  How- 
ard is  still  famous  in  our  traditions.  In  the  castle 
of  Naworth,  his  apartments,  containing  abed-room, 
oratory,  and  library,  are  still  shown.  They  impress 
us  with  an  unpleasing  idea  of  the  life  of  a  lord  war- 
den of  the  marches.  Three  or  four  strong  doors, 
sejiarating  these  rooms  from  the  rest  of  the  castle, 
indicate  apprehensions  of  treachery  from  his  gar- 
rison; and  the  secret  winding  passages,  through 
which  he  could  privately  descend  into  the  guard- 
room or  even  into  the  dungeons,  imply  the  neces- 
sity of  no  small  degree  of  secret  superintendence 
on'the  part  of  the  governor.  As  the  ancient  books 
and  furniture  have  remained  undisturbed,  the  ve- 
nerable appearance  of  these  apartments,  and  the 
armour  scattered  around  the  chamber,  almost  lead 
us  to  expect  the  arrival  of  the  warden  in  person. 
Naworth  Castle  is  situated  near  Brampton  in  Cum- 
berland. Lord  William  Howard  is  ancestor  of  the 
earls  of  ('arilsle. 

8.  Lord  Dacre.— P.  13. 

The  well-known  name  of  Dacre  is  derived  from 
the  exploits  of  one  of  their  ancestors  at  the  siege 
of  Acre,  or  Ptolemais,  under  Kichard  Coeur  de 
Lion.  There  were  two  powerful  branches  of  that 
name.  The  fii"st  family,  called  lord  Dacres  of  the 
South,  held  the  castle  of  the  same  name,  and  are 
ancestors  to  the  present  lord  Dacre.  The  other 
family,  descended  from  the  same  stock,  were  cal- 


•  Hisp,  creak.— JJroe,  tear. 

+  KcrA,  to  twitch;  as  shoemakers  do,  in  securing  the 
stitches  of  tlieir  work. 


THE  LAY   OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


43 


led  lord  Dacies  of  the  North,  and  were  barons  of 
Gilsland  and  Graystock.  A  chieftain  of  the  latter 
branch  was  warden  of  the  West  Marches  during 
the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  He  was  a  man  of  a  hot 
and  obstinate  character,  as  appears  from  some  par- 
ticulars of  lord  Surrey's  letter  to  Henry  Ylll, 
giving  an  account  of  his  behaviour  at  the  siege  and 
storm  of  Jedburgh.  It  is  printed  in  the  J\Enstrel- 
sy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  Appendix  to  the  Intro- 
duction. 

9.  The  German  Hackbut-men.— P.  13. 
In  the  wars  with  Scotland,  Henry  VIll  and  his 
successors  emploj'ed  numerous  bands  of  mercena- 
ry troops.  At  the  battle  of  Pinky,  there  were  in 
the  English  army  six  hundred  liackbutters  on  loot 
and  two  hundred  on  horseback,  composed  chieHy 
of  foreigners.  On  the  27th  September,  1549,  the 
duke  of  Somerset,  lord  protector,  writes  to  the 
lord  Dacre,  warden  of  the  West  Marclies:  "  The 
Almains,  in  number  two  thousand,  very  valiant 
soldiers,  shall  be  sent  to  you  shortly  from  New- 
castle, together  with  sir  Thomas  Holcroft,  and 
with  the  force  of  your  wardenry,  (which  we  woidd 
■uere  advanced  to  the  most  strength  of  horsemen 
that  miglit  be,)  shall  make  the  attempt  to  Lough- 
maben,  being  of  no  such  strength  but  that  it  may 
be  skailed  with  ladders,  whereof,  beforehand,  we 
would  you  caused  secretly  some  number  to  be  pro- 
vided; or  else  undermyned  with  tiie  pyke-axe,  and 
so  taken:  either  to  be  kept  for  tiie  king's  mnjesty, 
or  otherwise  to  be  defaced,  and  taken  from  tlie 
jirofils  of  tlie  enemy.  And  in  like  manner  tlie 
house  of  Cai-laverock  to  be  used."  Kepeated  men- 
tion occurs  of  llie  Almains,  in  the  subsequent  cor- 
respondence: and  the  enterprise  seems  finally  to 
have  been  abandoned,  from  the  difiiculty  of  pro^ 
viding  these  sti-angers  with  the  necessary  "  victu- 
als and  carriage  in  so  poor  a  country  as  Dunfries- 
shire."  History  of  Cumberland,  vol.  i,  Introd.  p. 
Ixi.  From  the  battle-pieces  of  the  ancient  Flemish 
painters,  we  learn,  that  the  Low  Country  and  Ger- 
man soldiers  marched  to  an  assault  with  their  right 
knees  bared.  And  we  may  also  observe,  in  such 
pictures,  the  extravagance  to  wliicli  tliey  carried 
the  fashion  of  ornamenting  ti'eir  dress  with  ki\ots 
of  ribband.  Tliis  custom  of  ilie  Germans  is  allud- 
ed to  in  the  .Mirrour  fur  ^Magistrates,  ]>.  121. 

Thi-ir  pli'ited  garments  therewi'Ji  weil  at'uonl. 
All  jagde  and  fromist,  with  divtis  colours  dtckt. 

10.  His  ready  lances  Thirltstanehrave 
Ai-ray'd  beneath  a  baniur  briglit.— P.  13. 

Sir  John  Scott  of  Thirlestane  flourished  in  the 
reign  of  James  V,  and  possessed  the  estates  of 
Tii'irlestane,  Gamescleuch,  &c.  lying  upon  the 
i-iver  Ettrick,  and  extending  to  St.  Mary's  Loch, 
at  the  head  of  Yarrow.  It  ai)pears,  that  when  .lames 
had  assembled  his  nobility,  and  tlieir  feudal  fol- 
lowers, at  Fala,  with  the  purpose  nf  invading  En- 
gland, and  was,  as  is  well  known,  disappointed  by 
the  obstinate  refusal  of  his  peers,  this  baron  alone 
declared  himself  ready  to  follow  the  king  wher- 
ever he  should  lead.  In  memory  of  his  fidelity, 
James  granted  to  his  family  a  ciiarler  of  arms,  en- 
titling them  to  bear  a  bo'rder  of  fleurs-de-luce, 
similar  to  the  treasure  in  the  royal  arms,  v\ith  a 
bundle  of  spears  for  the  crest;  motto.  Ready,  ay 
readti.  The  charter  itself  is  printed  by  Nisbet; 
but  his  work  being  scaice,  1  insert  the  following 
accurate  transcript  from  the  original,  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  right  honourable  lord  Napier,  the 
representative  of  John  of  Thirlestane. 


"JAMES  REX. 
"  We  James,  be  the  gi-ace  of  God,  king  of  Scot- 
tis,  considerand  the  ffaith  and  guid  servise  of  of 
of*  right  traist  friend  John  Scott  of  Thirlestane, 
quha  cummand  to  our  hoste  at  Soutraedge,  with 
three  score  and  ten  launciers  on  horseback  of  his 
friends  and  followers,  and  beand  willing  to  gang 
witli  ws  into  England,  when  all  our  nobles  and 
others  refused,  he  was  reddy  to  stake  all  at  our 
bidding;  ffor  the  quhilk  cause,  it  is  our  will,  and 
we  doe  straillie  command  and  cliarg  our  lion  he- 
rauld,  and  his  deputies  for  the  time  beand,  to  give 
and  to  graunt  to  the  said  John  Scott,  ane  Border 
of  fleure-de-lises  about  his  coatte  of  arms,  sik  as 
is  on  our  royal  banner,  and  alsua  ane  bundell  of 
launces  above  his  helmet,  with  thir  words,  Readdy, 
ay  Readdy,  that  he  and  all  his  after-cnnimers  may 
bruik  the  samine  as  a  jiledge  and  taiken  of  our  guid 
will  and  kyndnes  for  his  true  worthiness:  and  thir 
our  leitcrs  seen,  ye  nae  v  ayes  failze  to  doe.  Given 
at  Ffalla  Muire,  under  our  hand  and  privy  cashet, 
the  xxvii  day  of  July,  rac,  xxxii  zeires.  By  the 
king's  gr.ices  speciall  ordinance.  Jo.  Arshitie." 
(in  the  back  of  tlie  charter,  is  written, 
"Edin.  14.  January,  1713.  Registred,  con- 
torni  to  the  act  of  parliament  made  anent  probative 
writs,  per  M'Kaile,  pror.  and  productd  by  Alex- 
ander Borthwick,  servant  to  sir  Willi:'.m  Scott  of 
Thirlestane.  M.  L.  J." 

11.  An  aged  knight  to  danger  steel'd. 

With  many  a  moss-trooper  came  .j:.; 
And  aziu-t  in  a  golden  field. 
The  Etiirs  and  crescent  graci  d  his  shield, 
Wiihout  the  bend  of  Mui-dieston.— P.  13. 

The  family  of  Harden  are  descended  from  a 
younger  son  of  the  laird  of  Buccleuch,  who  flou- 
rished before  the  estate  of  Murdieston  was  acquir- 
ed by  the  marriage  of  one  of  those  chieftains  with 
the  heiress,  in  I'-Sfi.  Hence  they  bear  the  cogni- 
zance of  the  Scotts  upon  the  beld;  whereas  those 
of  the  Buccleuch  are  disposed  upon  a  bend  dex- 
ter, assumed  in  consequence  of  that  marriage. 
See  Gladstaine  of  fVhitehnv's  MSS.  and  Scott  of 
St okoe''s Pedigree,  Newcastle,  1783. 

Walter  Scott  of  Harden,  who  flourished  during 
the  reign  of  queen  Mary,  was  a  renowned  Border 
freebooter,  concerning  whom  tradition  has  pre- 
served a  variety  of  anecdotes,  some  of  which  have 
been  pulilished"  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border,  others  in  Leyden's  Scenes  of  Infancy,  and 
others  more  lately,  in  The  Mountain  Bard,  &  co\- 
lection  of  Border  ballads  by  Mr.  James  Hogg. 
The  bugle  horn,  said  to  have  been  used  by  this 
formidable  leader,  is  preserved  by  his  descendant, 
the  present  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden. — His  castle  was 
situated  upon  the  very  brink  of  a  dark  and  preci- 
pitous dell,  through  which  a  scanty  rivulet  steals 
to  meet  the  Borthwick.  In  the  recess  of  this  glen 
he  is  said  to  have  kept  his  spoil,  which  served  for 
the  daily  maintenance  of  his  retainers,  until  the 
production  of  a  pair  of  clean  spurs,  in  a  covered 
disii,  announced  to  the  hungry  band  that  they  must 
ride  for  a  supply  of  provisions.  He  was  married 
to  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of  Philip  Scott  of  Dry  hope, 
and  called  in  song" the  P'lower  of  Yarrow.  He  pos- 
sessed a  very  extensive  estate,  which  was  divided 
among  his  five  sons.  There  are  numerous  descend- 
ants of  this  old  marauding  baron.  The  following 
beautiful  passage  of  Lerjden's  Scenes  of  Infancy, 
is  founded  on  a  tradition  respecting  an  infant  cap- 
tive, w  horn  Walter  of  Harden  carried  oft'  in  a  pre- 


•  Sic  in  orig. 


u 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


<l:«torv  incursion,  and  who  is  said  to  liave  become 
ilie  author  of  some  of  om-  most  beautiful  pastoral 
songs. 

Where  Bortlia  hoarse,  that  loads  the  meads  with  sn>->d, 
RolU  lier  n-d  tide  to  Ti  viol's  wi.steni  strand, 
rhroupfh  slaty  hill-!, «  hose  sides  aiv  sliaiftT'd  with  thoni, 
rthi  re  sprini,'*,  in  scatt'-ird  tnfi-,  itii-  daik-pix-en  corn, 
Towi  rs  woo(l--^in  Harden,  far  aljuve  ilu  \uU; 
Anil  elouds  ofravciis  o'er  the  turrets  sail. 
A  hai-djr  race,  « lio  never  shrnnk  from  war, 
'I'he  Scott.  t(i  riv:il  realms  a  mighty  har, 
llerv  fixed  his  munntain  home; — a  wide  domain. 
And  rich  the  soil,  had  jiurple  heath  been  grain; 
liut,  what  tliL-  niiji,»ard  ground  of  wialth  denied, 
I'roiu  fields  more  blissed  his  fearless  arm  supplied. 

The  wauiiic:  harvest-moon  shone  cold  and  bright; 
The  warder's  honi  was  heard  at  dead  of  uight; 
And,  as  the  m;tssy  jioitals  wido  were  flung. 
With  stampiii';  hoot's  the  rcekv  pavement  rung. 
What  fair.  haif-veilM,  leans  from  her  latiiced-hall, 
AVhere  rul  the  waveiing  gkams  of  torch-light  fall:' 
'Tis  Yarrow "s  fairest  Flow. r,  who,  through  the  gloom, 
Looks,  wistful,  forh^r  lovir's  danciog  plume. 
Aiuid  the  piles  of  spoil,  that  str.  wed  the  ground, 
Her  ear,  all  anxious,  caught  a  wailing  sound; 
With  trembling  haste  the  youthful  uuUron  flew, 
And  from  tiie  hurried  heaps  an  infant  drew. 

Scared  at  the  light,  his  little  hands  he  flung 
Around  her  neek,  and  to  her  l;oso:n  clung; 
W[hile  beauteous  Mary  soothed,  in  accents  mild, 
His  fluttering  soul,  aii<!  clasjn  d  her  foster  child. 
Of  milder  mood  the  gentle  cajjtive  grew. 
Nor  loved  the  scnes  that  se.ired  his  infant  view; 
In  vales  remote,  f,om  camps  and  castks  far. 
He  shuiui'd  the  fearful  shiuUKring  jo^  of  war; 
Content  the  loves  of  simple  swains  to  sing. 
Or  wake  to  fame  the  harp's  liereic  string^ 

His  are  the  strains,  whose  wandering  echoes  thrill 
The  shephtr<l,  lingeriDg  on  the  tw ilight  hill. 
When  evening  brings  the  merry  folding  hours. 
And  sun-eyed  daisies  close  thtir  winking  flowers. 
He  lived,  o'er  Yarrow's   Flower  to  slit  d  the  tear; 
To  strew  the  liolly  leaves  o'er  Hardeirs  bier; 
Rut  none  wa';  found  above  the  minstivl's  tomb, 
Kmblem  of  pi  ace.  to  bid  the  daisy  bloom: 
He,  naim  hsi  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung. 
Saved  other  names,  and  left  his  own  unsung. 

12.  Scotts.ofEskdale,  a  stalwart  hand.— P.  13. 
In  this,  and  the  followins^  s.tanza,  some  account 
IS  given  of  the  mode  in  which  the  property  of  the 
valley  of  Esk  was  transfen-ed  from  the  'Beatti- 
sons,  its  ancient  possessors,  to  the  name  of  Scott. 
ll  is  needless  to  repeat  the  circimistances,  which 
are  given  in  tiie  poem,  literally  as  thev  have  been 
preserved  by  tradition.  Lord  ^laxwell,  in  the  lat- 
ter ])art  of  the  sixteenth  centm-v.  took  upon  himself 
the  title  of  earl  of  Moiton.  The  descendants  of 
Beattison  of  Woodkcrricke,  who  aided  ilie  earl  to  es- 
cape from  his  (lisol)eilient  vassals,  continued  to  hold 
these  lands  w  ithin  the  memory  of  man,  and  were  the 
only  Beattisnns  who  had  property  in  tlie  dale.  The 
old  people  give  locality  to  the  stoiy,  by  showing  the 
Galliard's  Haugh,  the  place  where'  Buccleuch's 
men  were  concealed,  &c. 

13.  Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden.— P.  14. 
Bellenden  is  situate  near  l!ie  head  of  Borlhw  ick 

water,  and,  being  in  the  centre  of  tlie  possessions 
of  the  Scotts,  was  frequently  used  as  their  [ilace  of 
rendezvous  and  gatliering  wortl. — Survey  of  Sel- 
kirkshire, in  JMacfiiilaiie's  J/.S'.S'.  Advocates'  Li- 
brary. Hence  Satchells  calls  one  part  of  his  geneal- 
ogical account  of  the  faniilies  of  that  clan,  his  Bel- 
lenden. 

14.  The  camp  their  home,  tinir  law  tlie  sword. 
They  kiK  w  no  eountry,  own'd  no  lord.— P.  14. 

The  mercenary  adventurers,  whom,  in  13S0,  the 
c.Tirl  of  Camliridge  carried  to  the  assistance  of  the 
king  of  Portugal  against  the  Spaniards,  mutinied 
for  want  of  regular  p.ay.    Al  an  assembly  of  their 


leaders,  sir  John  Soltier,  a  natural  son  of  F^dward 
the  Black  Prince,  thus  addressed  them:  "  1  coun- 
sayle,  let  us  be  alle  of  one  alliance,  and  of  one  ac- 
corde,  and  let  us  among  ourselves  reyse  up  the 
banner  of  St.  George,  and  let  us  be  frendes  to 
God,  anil  enemy es  to  alle  the  worlde;  for  without 
we  make  ourselfe  to  be  feared,  we  gette  nothing." 

"  By  my  favth,"  quod  sir  William  Helmon, 
"  ye  saye  right  well,  and  so  let  us  do."  They  all 
agreed  wiiji  one  voyce,  and  .so  regarded  among 
tliem  w  ho  sindde  be  their  capitayne.  Then  they 
advysed  in  the  case  how  they  coudenot  have  a  bet- 
ter capitayne  tlian  sir  Jolin  Soltier.  For  they  suldo 
than  have  good  leyserto  do  y veil,  and  ihey  thought 
he  was  more  metteyler  tliereto  tlian  any  otlier. 
Then  they  raised  up  the  peiitii  of  St.  (ieorge,  and 
cried  "  a  Soltier!  a  Soltier!  the  valyaunt  bastarde ! 
frends  to  God,  and  enemies  to  all  the  worlde!" 
Froissart,  vol.  i,  ch.  393. 

15.  A  gauntlet  on  a  spear.— P.  15. 

A  glove  upon  a  lance  was  the  emblem  of  faith 
among  the  ancient  Boi-derers,  who  w  ere  wont,  when 
any  one  broke  his  word,  to  expose  this  emblem, 
and  proclaim  him  a  faithless  villain  at  the  first 
Border  meeting.  Tiiis  ceremony  was  much  dread- 
etl.  See  Lesly. 

16.  AYe  claim  from  thee  W'illiam  of  Delor.line, 

That  he  may  suff'ir  march-ti-cason  pain. — P.  15. 

Several  species  of  offences,  ])eculiar  to  the  Bor- 
der,  constituted  what  was  called  march-treason. 
Among  others,  was  the  crime  of  riding  or  causing 
to  ride,  against  tlie  opposite  country  during  the 
time  of  truce.  Thus,  in  an  indenture  made  at  the 
water  of  Eske,  beside  Salom,  tlie  'ialh  day  of 
March,  1334-,  betwixt  noble  lords  and  mightv,  sirs 
Henry  Percy,  earl  of  Northumberlanti,  and  Archi- 
bald Douglas,  lord  of  Galloway,  a  truce  is  agreed 
upon  until  the  1st  d.ay  of  July;  and  it  is  expressly 
accorded,  "  Gif  ony  stellis,  authir  on  the  ta  pai-t, 
or  on  the  tolliM-,  that  he  shall  be  henget  or  heofdit; 
and  gif  0113'  cumpany  stellis  any  gudes  witliin  the 
trieux  beforesayd,  ane  of  tliat  comjiany  shall  be 
hanget  cr  iieofdit,  and  the  remnant  sail  restoi-e  the 
gudys  stolen  in  the  dubble." — History  of  JVestmore- 
land  and  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxx'ix. 

17. William  of  Delor-aine 

Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain.— P.15. 
In  (hibious  cases,  the  innocence  of  Border  crimi- 
nals was  occasionally  referred  to  their  own  oath. 
The  form  of  excusing  bills,  or  indictments,  by  Bor- 
der-oath, ran  thus:  "  You  shall  swear  by  heaven 
above  you,  hell  bene.ath  you,  by  your  part  of  Para- 
dise, by  all  that  God  made  in  six  days  and  seven 
nights,  and  by  God  himself,  you  are  whart  out 
sackless  of  art,  part,  way,  » itting,  ridd,  kenning, 
liaving,  or  recet'ing  of  any  of  the  goods  and  cattels 
named  in  this  liill.  So  help  you  God." — History  oj' 
Cnmbcrland,  Introd.  p.  xxv. 

IS.  Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas' sword.— P.  15. 

The  dignity  of  kuightliood,  according  to  the  ori- 
ginal inSititution,  had  this  peculiarity,  that  it  did 
not  flow  from  tiie  monarch,  biit  could  be  conferred 
by  one  who  himsell  jiossessed  it,  upon  any  squire 
w  iio,  after  due  probation,  w  as  founti  to  merit  tlie 
honour  of  chivalry.  Latterly,  tiiis  power  was  con- 
fined to  generals,  who  were  wont  to  create  knights 
bannerets  after  or  before  an  engagement.  Even  so 
late  as  tlie  reign  of  queen  Elizabeth,  Essex  highly 
offended  his  jealous  sovereign  by  the  indiscrimi- 
nate ex(  rcist-  of  this  privilege.  Amongst  others, 
he  knigiiled  the  v.itly  sir  John  IJ»iTington,  whose 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


45 


favour  at  court  was  by  no  means  enhanced  by  his 
new  honours. — See  the  S\'u^x  Antiqitx,  edited  by 
Mr.  Park.  But  probably  the  latest  instance  of 
knighthood,  conferred  by  a  subject,  was  in  the 
case  of  Thomas  Ker,  knighted  by  the  earl  of  Hunt- 
ley, after  the  defeat  of  the  earl  of  Argjle  in  the 
battle  of  Belrinnes.  The  fact  is  attested,  both  by  a 
poetical  and  prose  account  of  the  engagement,  con- 
tained in  an  ancient  MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Library, 
and  lately  edited  bv  Mr.  Dalyell,  in  Godly  Saiigs 
and  Ballets,  Edin.  '1802 

19.  When  English  blood  swcll'd  Ancvam  ford.— P.  IS. 

The  battle  of  Ancram  Moor,  or  Peniel-heuch, 
■was  fought  A.  D.  1545.  The  English,  commanded 
by  sir  Ralph  Evers,  and  sir  Br^an  Latoun,  were 
totally  routed,  and  both  their  leaders  slain  in  the 
action.  Tlie  Scottish  army  was  commanded  by 
Archibald  Douglas,  earl  of  Angus,  assisted  by  the 
laird  of  Buccleuch  and  Norman  Lesly. 

20.  The  blanche  lion.  —P.  16. 
This  was  the  cognizance  of  the  noble  house  of,  1602,  betwixt  nine  of  tlie  clock,  and  one  of  the 
Howard  in  all  its  branches.  The  crest,  or  bearing;  same  day,  to  light  on  foot,  to  be  armed  with  jack, 
of  a  warrior.  Was  often  used  as  a  ?J0»ime</e^;/6'rrf.  :  steel  cap,  plaite  sleeves,  plaite  breaches,  plaite 
ThusRichanl  iir,  acquired  his  well  known  epithet  i  sockes,  two  basleard  swords,  the  blades  to  be  one 
The  Boar  of  York.  In  the  violent  satire  on  Cardi-  j  yard  and  a  half  quarter  of  length,  two  Scotch  dag- 
nal  Wolsey,  written  by  Roy,  commonly  but  erro-  gers,  or  dorks,  at  their  girdles,  and  either  of  tliem 
neously,  imputed  to  Dr.  Bull,  the  duke  of  Buck-  to  provide  armour  and  weapons  for  themselves  ac- 
inghara  is  called  llie  jBea!<ft/i//.S'-;f(7H,  and  the  duke  cording  to  this  indenture.  Two  gentlemen  to  be 
of  Norfolk,  or  earl  of  Surrey,  the  Jf'hite  Lion.  As  appointed  on  the  field,  to  view  both  the  parties:  to 
the  book  is  extremely  rare,  and  tlie  whole  passage  see  that  both  be  equal  in  arms  and  weapons,  ac- 
relates  to  the  emblematical  interpretation  of  lier-i  cording  to  this  indenture;  and  being  so  viewed  by 


garrison  of  Berwick,  it  was  discharged,  under  llie 
pain  of  treason,  that  any  man  should  come  near  the 
champions  within  flight-shot,  except  one  man  for 
either  of  them,  to  bear  their  spears,  two  trumpets, 
and  two  lords  to  be  judges.  When  they  were  in 
readiness,  the  trumpets  sounded,  the  hearalds  cri- 
ed, and  the  judges  let  them  go.  Then  they  encoun- 
tered veiy  fiercely;  but  Grange  struck  his  spear 
through  his  adversary's  shoulder,  and  bare  him  oif 
his  horse,  being  sore  wounded:  but  whether  he 
died  or  not,  it  is  uncertain." — P.  202. 

The  following  indenture  will  show  at  how  late 
a  period  the  trial  by  combat  «as  resorted  to  on  the 
border,  as  a  proof  of  guilt  or  innocence: 

It  is  agreed  between  Tliomas  Musgrave  and  Lan- 
celot Carleton,  for  the  true  trial  of  such  controver- 
sies as  are  betwixt  them,  to  Iiave  it  openly  tried 
by  way  of  combat,  before  God  and  the  face  of  the 
world,  to  try  it  in  Canonbyholme,  before  England 
and  Scotland,  upon  Thursday  in  Easter-week,  ba- 
the eighth  day  of  April  next  ensuing,    A.    D. 


aldrv,  it  shall  be  here  be  given  at  length. 
The  Description  of  the  arms. 
Of  the  proud  cardinal  this  is  the  shielde, 
Uoriit-  up  bt-tweiif  two  anpels  of  Salh.in; 
The  sixe  bloody  axes  in  a  bate  felde, 
Sheweth  the  cnjelte  of  the  red  man, 
Vt'hich  hath  devour;  d  the  Beautiful  Sw  an, 
Mortal  enemy  unto  the  Whjte  Lion, 
Carter  of  Yorke,  the  vyle  butcher's  soiine. 
The  sixe  bulles  lieddrs  in  a  fielde  blacke, 
P.etokeiieth  his  sturdy  furiousness, 
W'herefore,  the  g-odly  hsjht  to  put  ahacke. 
He  bnngeth  in  his  (iyvii-ih  darcnes; 
Tlie  bandog  in  the  niiddes  doth  expresse 
The  mastiff  curre  bred  in  Ypswieh  to«ne, 
Gnawynge  with  his  teeth  a  king.s  crowne. 
The  cioubbe  signitieili  playue  uis  tiranny, 
Covered  over  with  a  cardii-.aPs  halt, 
■Wherein  shall  be  fuliilled  the  prophecy, 
Aryse  up  .laeke,  and  put  on  thy,s;;latt. 
For  the  time  is  come  pf  bat^g'e  and  walatt. 
The  temporall  chevalry  thus  thrown  downe, 
■\Vherfor,  pix^st,  take  hede,  and  beware  thy  croTvite. 
There  were  two  copies  of  tijis  very  scarce  satire 
in  the  library  of  the  late  John  duke  of  Roxburgh. 
See  an  account  of  it  also  in  sir  Egerton  Bridges's 
ciu'ious  miscellany,  the  Censiira  Literaria. 

21.  Let  Musgrave  m:>et  fierce  Deloraine 
In  single  tight.— P.  16. 

It  may  easily  he  stipposed,  that  trial  by  single 
combat,  so  peculiar  to  the  feudal  system,  was  com- 
mon on  the  Borders.  In  1558,  the  well-known 
Kirkaldy  of  Grange  fought  a  duel  with  Ralph  E\Te, 
brother  to  the  then  lord  Evre,  in  consequence  of  a 
dispute  about  a  prisoner  said  to  liave  been  ill  treat- 
ed by  the  lord  Evre.  Pitscottie  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  affair:  "  The  lord  of  Ivers  his 
brother  provoked  William  Kiix-aldj'  of  Grange  to 
fight  with  him,  in  single  combat,  on  horseback, 
with  spears;  wlio,  keeping  the  appointment,  accom- 
jianied  with  Monsieur  d'Ossel,  lieutenant  to  the 
i'rench  king,  and  the  garrison  of  Haymouth,  and 
>ir.  Ivers,  accomnanied  with  the  go\ernor  and 


the  gentlemen,  Uil-  gentlemen  to  ride  to  the  rest 
[of  the  company,  and  to  leave  them  but  two  boys, 
viev.ed  by  the  gentlemen,  to  be  under  sixteen 
years  of  age,  to  hold  their  horses.  In  testimony 
of  this  otir  agreenjent,  we  liave  both  set  our  liaiids 
to  this  indenture,  of  intent  all  matters  sliall  be 
made  so  plain,  as  there  shall  be  no  question  to 
stick  upon  tliat  day.  Wliich  indenture,  as  a  wit- 
ness, shall  be  delivered  to  two  gentlemen.  And 
for  that  it  is  convenient  tlie  world  should  be  privy 
to  every  particular  of  the  groumis  of  the  quarrel, 
we  have  agreed  to  set  it  down  in  this  indenture 
betwixt  us,  ilial  knowing  the  quarrel,  their  eyes 
may  be  witness  of  the  trial. 

The  grounds  of  tlie  Quarrel. 

"1.  Lancelot  Carleton  did  charge  Thomas  Mus- 
grave before  the  lordes  of  lier  majesty's  privy  coun- 
cil, that  Lancelot  Carleton  ■was  told  by  a  gentle- 
man, one  of  her  majesty's  sworn  servants,  that 
Thomas  Musgrave  had  offered  to  deliver  her  ma- 
jesty's castle  of  Bewcastle  to  the  king  of  Scots; 
and  to  « ituess  the  same,  Lancelot  Carleton  had  a 
letter  under  the  gentleman's  own  hand  for  his  dis- 
charge. 

"  2.  He  chargcth  him,  that  whereas  her  majes- 
ty doth  yearly  bestow  a  gi-eat  fee  upon  him,  as 
captain  of  Bewcastle,  to  aid  and  defend  her  ma- 
jesty's subjects  therein;  Thomas  Musgrave  hath 
neglected  his  duty,  for  that  her  majesty's  caslle  of 
Newcastle  was  by  him  made  a  den  of  thieves,  and 
an  harbour  and  receipt  for  murderers,  felons,  and 
all  sorts  of  misdemeanors.  The  precedent  was 
Quinlin  Vv'hitehead  and  Runion  BLackburne. 

"  3.  He  chargeth  him,  that  his  office  of  Bew- 
castle is  open  for  the  Scotch  to  ride  in  and  through, 
and  small  resistance  made  b)'  him  to  the  contrary." 

*'  Thomas  Musgrave  doth  deny  all  this  charge; 
and  saith  that  he  will  prove  that  Lancelot  Carle- 
ton doth  f.lsely  bely  him,  and  will  prove  the  same 


46 


SCOTT'S  POETICAI,  WORKS. 


by  way  of  combat,  nctordiiip;  to  tbis  indenture. 
l^iiRH-lot  Cm'loton  balli  cntcrtaineil  ibis  cballcnge, 
and  so,  by  God's  permission,  will  jirovc  it  true  as 
before,  and  batli  set  iiis  liand  to  ibe  same. 

(Signed)  Thomas  JVliisc^vave. 
Lancelot  Carleton." 

22.  He,  tlie  jovial  Harpfi-.— P.  16. 
The  person  here  alluded  to,  is  one  of  our  ancient 
Border  ininsti-els  called  Rattling  Iloarinj;  \\'illie. 
This  soii/jricfu't  was  ])robably  derived  from  his 
bullyinj;  disposition:  being,  it  would  seem,  such  a 
roaring  boj',   as   is  iVc(iuentlv   mentioned   in   old 


clmiden,  and  there  he  caused  those  lords  and  Bor- 
derers bodily  to  be  sworn,  the  Holy  Gospel  touch- 
eil,  that  they,  justly  and  truly,  after  their  cun- 
ning, should  decrete,  decern,  deliver,  and  put  in 
order  and  writing,  the  statutes,  ordinances,  and 
uses  of  niarche,  that  were  ordained  in  Black  Ar- 
chibald oi  Douglas'' s  days,  .ind  Archibald  his  son's 
days,  in  time  of  warfan;;  and  they  came  again  to 
him  advisedly  with  these  statutes  and  ordinances, 
which  were  in  time  of  warfare  before.  The  said 
earl  /r77//(7«/,  seeing  tin;  statutes  in  writing  decreed 
and  delivered  by  the  said  loriis  and  Borderers, 
1         -nn-,      ■  •    ,•       -    -..T   •      •,,  ...     •         thought  them  right  speedful  and  profitable  to  the 

plays.  W  hile  drinking  at  Newmill,  upon  1  eviot,  ,  Borderers:  the 'which  statuK^s,  ordinances,  and 
about  hve  miles  above  Hawick,  ^^ 'Hie  chanced  to  |  points  of  warfare,  he  took,  and  the  whole  lords 
quarrel  with  one  ot  his  own  profession,  who  was  i  .,„,!  Borderers  he  cause.!  I.cdilv  to  be  sworn,  that 
usually  distinguished  hv  the  odd  name  ot  ^vveet|  they  should  maintain  and  sunpK  hin^  at  their  good- 
MiIk,trom  a  place  on  Kule  water  so  called.  1  hey  j  jj-  power,  to  do  the  law  upon  those  that  should 
retired  to  a  meadow,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  break  the  statutes  underwritten.  Also,  the  said 
leviot,  to  decide  the  contest  with  their  swords,  'arl  William,  and  lordes  an<l  eldest  Borderers, 
and  bweet  .Milk  was  killed  on  the  spot.  A  thorn-  I  ^aje  certain  points  to  be  treason  in  time  of  war- 
tree  marks  the  scene  ol  the  murder,  which  is  st.ll  fo..^  to  be  use.l,  which  were  no  treason  before  his 
called  isweet  Milk  1  horn.     \\  lUie  was  taken  and  time,  but  to  be  treason  in  his  time  and  all  time 


executed  at  Jedlnirgli,  bequeathing  his  name  to  the 
beautiful  Scotch  air,  called  "Rattling  Roaring 
Willie."  Ramsay,  who  set  no  value  on  tradition- 
ary lore,  published  a  i'nw  verses  of  this  song  in  the 
Tea  Table  JMisccllanij,  carefully  suppressing  all 
which  had  any  connexion  with  the  history  of  the 
author,  and  origin  of  the  piece.  In  this  case,  how- 
ever, honest  Allan  is  in  some  degree  justified,  by 
the  extreme  worthlessness  of  the  poetry.  A  verse 
or  two  may  be  taken  as  illustrative  of  the  history 
of  Roaring  Willie,  alluded  to  in  the  text. 

Now  Willie's  g-ane  to  Jeddart, 

And  he's  for  the  vuod-day ;' 
But  Stobs  and  young  Falnash,t 

They  followed  him  a'  the  way; 
They  followed  him  a'  the  way. 

They  sought  hira  up  and  down, 
In  the  links  of  Ousenam  water, 

They  found  him  sleeping  sound, 
Stobs  lighted  affhis  horse, 

And  never  a  word  he  spak. 
Till  he  tied  Willie's  hands 

Fu'  fast  beliind  his  back; 
Fu'  fast  behind  his  back. 

And  down  beneath  his  knee, 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  Sweet  Milkf  gars  hira  die. 
Ah,  wae  light  on  ye,  Stobs! 

An  ill  death  mot  ye  die.' 
Ye're  the  fi  rst  and  foremost  man 

That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me; 
That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me. 

And  took  my  mare  me  fra; 
Wae  to  you,  sir  Gilbert  Elliot! 

Ye  are  my  mortal  fae! 
The  lasses  of  Ousenam  water 

Are  rugging  and  riving  their  hair, 
And  a'  for  the  sake  of  Willie, 

His  beauty  was  so  fair; 
His  beauty  was  so  fair. 

And  eoniely  for  to  see. 
And  diink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  Sweet  Milk  gars  him  die. 

23.  Black  lord  Archibald's  battle  laws, 
In  the  old  Douglas'  day.— P.  16. 
The  title  to  the  most  ancient  collection  of  Bor- 
der regulations  runs  thus: 

"Beit  remembered,  that,  on  the  18th  day  of 
December,  1468,  earl  WilUam  T)onglas  assembled 
the  whole  lords,  free-holders,  and  eldest  Border- 
ers, that  best  knowledge  had,  at  the  college  of  IJn- 


coming. 


NOTES  TO  fAXTO  V, 


*  The  day  of  the  rood  fair  at  Jedburgh. 

t  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  of  Stobs,  and  Scott  of  Falnash. 

X  A  wretched  pun  on  his  antagonist's  name. 


1.  The  Bloody  Heart  bla/.ed  in  the  van. 

Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name.— P.  17. 

The  chief  of  this  potent  race  of  heroes,  about 
the  date  of  the  poem,  was  Archibald  Douglas,  se- 
venth earl  of  Angus,  a  man  of  great  courage  antl 
activity.  The  Bloody  Heart  was  the  well-known 
cognizance  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  assumed  from 
the  time  of  good  lord  James,  to  whose  care  Robert 
Bruce  committed  his  heart  to  be  caixied  to  the 
Holy  Land. 

2.  The  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderbume.— P.  17. 

Sir  David  Home  of  Wedderburne,  who  was  slain 
in  the  fatal  battle  of  Flodden,  left  seven  sons  by 
his  wife  Isabel,  daughter  of  Hoppringle  of  Gala- 
shiels (now  Pringle  of  Whitebank. )  They  were 
called  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderburne. 

."t.  And  Swinton  laid  the  lance  in  rest. 
That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 
Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet.— P.  17. 

At  the  battle  of  Beague,  in  France,  Thomas, 
duke  of  Clarence,  brother  to  Henr)*  V,  was  un- 
horsed by  sir.Iohn  Swinton,  of  Swinton,  who  dis- 
tinguished him  by  a  coronet  set  with  precious 
stones,  which  he  wore  around  his  helmet.  The  fa- 
mily of  Swinton  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  in  Scot- 
land, and  produced  many  celebrated  warriors. 

4.  Beneath  the  crest  of  old  Dunbar, 

And  Hepburn's  mingled  bainii  rs,  come, 

Down  the  steep  mountain  glittering  far. 

And  sliouting  still,  "A  Home!  a  Home!"— P.  17. 

The  eai'ls  of  Home,  as  descendants  of  the  Dun- 
bars,  ancient  earls  of  March,  carried  a  lion  ram- 
pant, argent,  but  as  a  difference,  changed  the  co- 
lour of  the  shield  from  gules  to  vert,  in  allusion  to 
Greenlaw,  their  ancient  possession.  The  slogan 
or  war-ciy,  of  this  powerful  family  was,"A  home! 
a  home!"  It  was  anciently  placed  in  an  escrol 
above  the  crest.  The  helmet  is  armed  with  a  li- 
on's head  erased  gules,  with  a  cap  of  state  gules, 
turned  up  ermine. 

The  Hepburns,  a  powerful  family  in  East  Lo- 
thian, were  usually  in  close  alliance  with  the 
Homes.  The  chief  of  this  clan  was  Hepburn,  lord 
of  Hailes;  a  family  which  terminated  in  the  too 
famous  earl  of  Bothwell. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


4,7 


5.  Pursued  tlie  foot-ball  play.— P.  1 8. 

The  foot-ball  was  anciently  a  very  favourite 
sport  all  through  Scotland,  but  especially  upon 
the  Borders.  SirJohn  Carmichael,  of  Carmichael, 
warden  of  the  middle  marches,  was  killed  in  1600 
by  a  band  of  the  Armstrongs,  returning  from  a 
foot-ball  match.  Sir  Robert  Carey,  in  his  memoirs, 
mentions  a  great  meeting,  appointed  by  the  Scot- 
tish riders  to  be  held  at  Kelso,  for  the  purpose  of 
playing  at  foot-ball,  but  which  terminated  in  an  in- 
cursion upon  England.  At  present  the  foot-ball  is 
often  played  by  the  inhabitants  of  adjacent  parishes, 
or  of  the  opposite  banks  of  a  stream.  The  victory  is 
contested  with  the  utmost  fuiy,  and  very  serious 
accidents  have  sometimes  taken  place  in  the  strug;- 
gle. 

6.  'Twixt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange. 
In  the  ol.i  Border  day.— P.  18. 

Notwithstanding  the  constant  wars  upon  the 
Borders,  and  the  occasional  cruelties  which  mark- 
ed the  mutual  inroads,  the  inhabitants  on  either 
side  do  not  appear  to  have  regarded  each  other 
with  that  violent  and  personal  animosity,  which 
might  have  been  expected.  On  the  contrary,  like 
the  outposts  of  hostile  armies,  they  often  canied 
on  something  resembling  friendly  intercourse, 
even  in  the  middle  of  hostilities;  and  it  is  evident, 
from  various  ordinances  against  trade  and  inter- 
marriages between  English  and  Scottish  Border- 
ers, that  the  governments  of  both  countries  were 
jealous  of  their  cherishing  too  intimate  a  connexion. 
Froissart  says  of  both  nations,  that  "Englyshmen 
on  the  one  party,  and  Scottes  on  the  other  party,  are 
good  men  of  m  arre;  for  when  they  meet,  there  is 
a  hard  fight  without  sparynge.  There  is  no  hoo 
(tnice)  between  them,  as  long  as  spears,  swords, 
axes,  or  daggers  will  endure,  but  lay  on  eche  upon 
uther;  aiul  wiian  they  be  well  beaten,  and  that  the 
one  party  hath  obtained  the  victory,  they  then 
glorifye  so  in  theyre  dedes  of  armes,  and  are  so 
joyful,  that  such  as  be  taken  they  shall  be  ransom- 
ed or  that  they  go  out  of  the  felde;  so  that  shortly 
eche  of  them  is  so  content  with  other,  that  at  their 
departynge  curtyslye  they  will  say,  God  thank 
you." — Jjenier'g  Froissart,  vol.  ii,  p.  153.  The 
Border  meetings  of  truce,  which,  although  places 
of  merchandise  and  merriment,  often  witnessed 
the  most  bloody  scenes,  may  ser^e  to  illustrate  the 
description  in  the  text.  They  are  vividly  portray- 
ed in  tiie  old  ballad  of  the  Reidstpiair.  Botii  par- 
ties came  armed  to  a  meeting  of  the  wardens,  yet 
they  intermixed  fearlessly  and  peaceably  with  each 
other  in  mutual  sports  and  familiar  intercourse, 
until  a  casual  fray  arose; 

Then  was  there  nought  but  bow  and  spear; 
And  every  man  pulled  out  a  brand. 
In  the  29th  Stanza  of  this  Canto,  there  is  an  at- 
tempt to  express  some  of  the  mixed  feelings,  with 
which  the  Borderers  on  each  side  were  led  to  re- 
gard their  neighbours. 

7.  And  frequent  on  the  darkening-  plain, 

Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran; 
As  bands,  their  strae^glers  to  regain. 

Gave  the  shrill  watch-word  of  their  clan.— P.  IB. 
Patten  remarks,  with  bitter  censure,  the  disor- 
derly condiict  of  the  English  Borderers,  who  at- 
tended the  Protector  Somerset  on  liis  expedition 
against  Scotland.  "  As  we  wear  then  a  setling, 
and  the  tents  a  setting  up,  among  all  things  els 
commendable  in  our  liole  journey,  one  thing  seem- 
ed to  me  an  intolerable  disorder  and  abuse;  that 


whereas  always,  both  in  all  lounes  of  wai-,  and  in 
all  campes  of  armies,  quietness  and  stilnes,  with- 
out nois,  is,  principally  in  the  night,  after  the 
watch  is  set,  observed,  (1  nede  not  reason  why,) 
our  northern  prikkers,  the  Borderers,  notwiih- 
staudyng,  with  great  enormitie,  (as  thought  me,) 
and  not  unlike  (to  be  playn)  unto  a  masteries 
hounde  iiowlyng  in  a  hie  wey  when  he  hath  lost 
him  he  waited  upon,  some  hoopynge,  sum  whist- 
lyng  and  most  with  crying,  a  Berwyke,  a  Berwyke ! 
a  J'enwvke,  a  Fenwyke!  a  Bulmer,  a  Bulmer! 
or  so  otherwise  as  theyr  captains  names  wear,  ne- 
ver lin'de  these  troublous  and  dangerous  noyses 
all  the  nyglite  longe.  They  said,  they  did  it  to 
finde  their  captain  and  fellows;  but  if  the  soldiers 
of  our  otiier  countreys  and  shercs  had  used  tiie 
same  maimer,  in  that  case  we  should  have  oft  tvmes 
had  tlie  state  of  our  camp  more  like  tlie  outrage 
of  a  dissolute  huntyng,  than  the  quiet  of  a  well  or- 
dred  armye.  It  is  a  feat  of  war,  in  mine  opinion, 
that  might  right  well  be  left.  I  could  reiierse  caus- 
es (but  yf  I  take  it,  they  are  better  unspoken  than 
uttred,  unless  the  iaut  wear  sure  to  be  amended) 
that  might  shew  thei  move  alweis  more  peral  to 
our  armie,  but  in  their  one  nyghl's  so  doynge,  than 
they  shew  good  service  (as  sum  sey)  in  a  hool  vy- 
age." — Apiul  Dalzell's  Fragments,  p.  75. 

8.  Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  his  way, 

And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray.— P.  21. 

The  pursuit  of  Border  marauders  was  followed 
by  the  injured  party  and  his  friends  with  blood- 
hounds and  bugle-horn,  and  was  called  the  /lot  trod 
He  was  entitled,  if  his  dog  could  trace  the  scent, 
to  follow  tlie  invaders  into  the  opposite  kingdom; 
a  privilege  which  often  occasioned  blood-slied.  In 
addition  to  wliat  has  been  said  of  the  blood-hound, 
I  may  add,  that  the  breed  was  kept  up  bv  theBuc- 
cleuch  family  on  their  Border  estates  till  within 
the  18tli  century.  A  person  was  alive  in  tlie  me- 
mory of  man,  who  remembered  a  blood-hound  be- 
ing kept  at  Eldiuhope,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  for 
whose  maintenance  the  tenant  had  an  allowance 
of  meal.  At  tliat  time  the  sheep  were  always 
watched  .at  night.  Upon  one  occasion,  when  the 
duty  had  fallen  on  the  narrator,  then  a  lad,  he  be- 
came exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  fell  asleep,  upon 
a  bank,  near  suu-rising.  Suddenly  he  was  awaken- 
ed by  the  tread  of  horses,  and  saw  five  men,  well 
mounted  and  armed,  ride  briskly  over  the  edge 
of  the  iiill.  They  stopped  and  looked  at  the  flock, 
but  tlie  day  was  too  far  broken  to  admit  the  chance 
of  their  carrying  any  of  them  off.  One  of  them, 
in  spite,  leape<l  from  his  horse,  and  coming  to  the 
shepherd,  siezed  him  by  the  bell  he  wore  round 
his  waist,  and  setting  his  foot  upon  iiis  bodv,  nul- 
led it  till  it  broke,  and  carried  it  awav  with  him. 
They  rode  oft'  at  the  galloii;  and,  the  shepherd 
giving  tlie  alarm,  the  blood-jiound  was  turned 
loose;  and  the  people  in  the  neighbourhood  alarm- 
ed. The  marauders,  however,  escaped  notwith- 
standing a  shaqi  pursuit.  This  circumstance  serves 
to  show  how  very  long  the  license  of  the  Border- 
ers continued  in  some  degree  to  manifest  itself. 


NOTES  TO  CANTO  VI. 
1.  Breathes  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead,  &e.  P.  21. 

The  influence  of  local  attachment  has  been  so 
exquisitely  painted  by  my  friend  Mr.  Polwhele,  in 
the  poem  which  bears  that  title,  as  might  well  have 
dispensed  with  the  more  feebleattempt  of  any  con- 


48 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


temporary  poet.  To  the  reader  who  lias  not  been 
so  fortunate  as  to  meet  with  this  philosophical  and 
poetical  detail  of  the  nature  and  operations  of  tlie 
love  of  our  country,  tlie  following  brief  extract 
cannot  fail  to  be  acceptable: — 

Ye<i— home  still  chaniK;  and  lie,  who,  clad  in  fur, 
'       His  rapid  rein-ditr  drivt!<  oVr  plains  of  snow, 
Woukl  rath»r  tii  thi-  saim-  «  ilil  Irait*  rrciir 

That  various  liR-  hail  inarkM  «ith  joy  or  wo, 
Than  wander  wht  iv  ihf  spic y  Im.tzi .s  blow 

To  kiss  the  hyacinths  ofAzza's  hair 

Rather,  than  where  luxuriant  summers  glow. 
To  thi'  white  mossLS  of  his  hills  ix'pair, 
And  bid  his  aiitler-train  the  simple  banquet  share. 

2.  She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell. — P.  21. 
Popular  belief,  tliough  contrary-  to  the  doctrines 
of  the  church,  made  a  favourable  distinction  be- 
twixt mRgieians  and  necromancers,  or  wizards: 
the  former  were  supposed  to  command  the  e\il 
spirits,  and  the  latter  to  serve,  or  at  least  to  be  in 
league  and  compact  with  those  enemies  of  man- 
kind. The  arts  of  subjecting  tiie  dxmons  were 
manifold:  sometimes  the  fiends  were  actually  swin- 
dled by  the  magicians,  as  in  the  case  of  a  bargain 
betwixt  one  of  their  number  and  the  poet  "N'irgil. 
The  classical  rtader  will,  doubtless,  be  curious  to 
peruse  this  anecdote: 

"  Virgilius  was  at  scole  at  Tolenton,  wliere  he 
stodyed  dylygently,  for  he  was  of  great  understand.. 
yng.  Upon  a  tyme,  the  scolars  had  lycense  to  go 
to  play  and  sporte  them  in  the  fyldes,  after  the 
usance  of  the  olde  time.  And  there  was  also  Vir- 
gilius therebye,  also  walkyng  among  the  hylles 
alle  about.  It  fortuned  he  spyed  a  great  hole  in 
the  syde  of  a  great  hyll,  wherein  he  went  so  depe, 
that  he  culd  not  see  no  more  lyght;  and  then  he 
went  a  Ivtell  farther  therein,  and  then  he  saw  some 
lyght  agayne,  and  then  he  -vient  fourtli  streyghte, 
and  within  a  lytyll  wyle  after  he  harde  a  voyce 
that  called,  'Virgilius!  Virgilius!'  and  looked 
aboute,  and  he  colde  nat  see  no  body.  Tlian  said 
he,  (  i.  e.  the  voice)  '  Virgilius,  sec  ye  not  the  ly- 
lyll  bourde  lying  beside  you  there  marked  with 
that  word?'  Than  answered  Virgilius,  « I  see  that 
horde  well  anough.'  The  voyce  said,  '  Doo  awaye 
that  horde,  and  lette  me  out  thereatte.'  Tiien  an- 
swered \  irgilius  to  the  vojce  that  was  under  tlie 
lytell  horde,  and  sayde,  '  Who  art  thou  that  callest 
me  so?'  Than  answered  the  dexyll,  '1  am  a  de- 
vyll  conjured  out  of  the  body  of  a  certeyne  man, 
and  banysshed  here  till  the  day  of  judgment,  with- 
out that  I  be  delyvered  by  the  handes  of  men. 
Thus,  Virgilius,  1  pray  thee,  dehver  me  out  of 
this  payn,  and  I  shall  shewe  unto  the  manj-  bokes 
of  negromancye,  and  how  tliou  shalt  come  by  it 
lyghtly,  and  know  the  practyse  therein,  that  no 
man  in  the  scyence  of  negromancye  shall  passe 
tiiee.  And  moreover,  I  shall  shewe  and  enforme 
the  so,  that  thou  shalt  have  all  thy  desyre,  whei'e- 
))y  mythynke  it  is  a  great  gyfte  for  so  lytell  a  do- 
yng.  For  ye  may  also  thus  all  yoiu'  power  fryuds 
help,  and  make  ryclie  your  enemyes. ' — Through 
that  great  promyse  was  Virgilius  tempted:  he 
badde  the  fynd  show  the  bokes  to  him,  that  he 
might  have  and  occupy  tliem  at  his  wyll:  and  so 
the  tVnde  showed  him.  And  than  Virgilius  pulled 
open  a  horde,  and  there  was  a  l}-tell  liole,  and 
thereat  wrang  the  devil  out  lyke  a  yeel,  and  cam 
and  stood  before  Virgilius  like  a  bygge  man:  where- 
of 'N'irgilius  was  astonished  and  marveyled  greatly 
lh;.-';e(>f,  that  so  great  a  man  myghl  come  out  at  so 
little  a  hole.  Than  sayd  Virgilius,  '  Shulde  ye 
well  passe  into  the  hole  that  ye  cam  out  of?' — 


'Yea,  I  shall  well,'  said  the  devyl.  'I  hold  the 
best  plegge  that  1  have,  that  ye  shall  not  do  it.' 
'AVell,'  said  the  devyl,  'thereto  I  consent.'  And 
than  the  devyl  wrang  himself  into  the  lytell  hole 
ageyne:  and  as  he  was  therein,  A'irgilius  kyvercd 
the  hole  ageyne  witli  the  bourde  close,  and  so  was 
the  denl  begvled,  and  myglit  nat  there  come  out 
agen,  but  aljydeth  shutle  styll  therein.  Then 
called  the  devyl  dredefully  to  Virgilius,  and  said, 
'  What  have  ye  done,  Virgilius?'  ^'irgilius  an- 
swered, '  Abyde  there  styll  to  your  day  appoynt- 
ed;'  and  fro  thens  forlii  abyeth  he  there. — And  so 
Virgilius  became  very  connynge  in  the  practyse  of 
the  black  scyence." 

This  storj-  may  remind  the  reader  of  tlie  Arabian 
tale  of  the  fisherman  and  the  imprisoned  genie: 
and  it  is  more  than  probable,  that  many  of  the 
marvels  nan-ated  in  the  life  of  Mrgil  are  of  orien- 
tal extraction.  Among  such  [  am  disposed  to  reck- 
on the  following  wjiimsical  account  of  the  founda- 
tion of  Naples,  containing  a  curious  theory  con- 
cerning the  origin  of  the  earthquakes  witli  which 
it  is  afflicted.  Virgil,  who  was  a  person  of  gallant- 
ly, had,  it  seems,  carried  off  the  daughter  of  a  cer- 
tain Soldan,  and  was  anxious  to  secure  his  prize. 

"  Then  he  tliouglite  in  his  mynde  howe  he 
rayghte  mareye  hyr,  and  thouglit  in  his  mvnde  to 
founde  in  the  middes  of  the  sea  a  fayer  towne, 
with  great  lands  belongvng  to  it;  and  so  he  dyed 
bj-  his  cunnyge,  and  called  it  Napells.  And  the 
fandacyon  of  it  was  of  egges,  aud  in  tjiat  town  of 
Napells  he  made  a  tower  witli  iiii  corners,  and  in 
the  top  he  set  an  appell  upon  an  yroii  yarde,  and 
no  man  culd  pull  away  that  apell  without  he  brake 
it;  and  thorough  that  yren  set  he  a  bolte,  and  in 
that  bolte  set  he  an  egge.  And  he  henge  the  apell 
by  the  stauke  upon  a  cheyne,  and  so  hangeth  is 
still.  And  wlien  the  egg  styrrelh,  so  shulde  the 
town  of  Napells  quake:  and  whan  the  egge  brake, 
than  bhuld  the  town  sinke.  Whan  he  had  made 
an  ende,  he  ktte  call  it  Napells."  This  appears  to 
have  been  an  article  of  current  belief  during  the 
middle  ages,  as  appears  from  tlie  statutes  of  tlie 
order  Dii  Saint  Ef!prit,  an  droit  desir,  instituted 
in  li)52.  A  chapter  of  the  knights  is  appointed  to 
be  held  annually  at  tlie  castle  o"  the  enchanted 
egg,  near  the  g^-otto  of  'N'irgil. — J\tontfauco?i,  vol. 
ii,  p.  329. 

3.  A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist.— P.  22. 

A  merlin  or  sparrow-hawk  was  usually  carried 
by  ladies  of  rank,  as  a  falcon  was,  in  time  of  peace, 
tlie  constant  attendant  of  a  knight,  or  baron.  See 
Latham  on  Falconry — Godscrofl  relates, that,  when 
AI:uy  of  Lorraine  was  regent,  she  pressed  tlie  eai-1 
of  Angus  to  admit  a  royal  garrison  into  his  castle 
of  Taiitallon.  To  this  he  retiu-ned  no  direct  answer; 
but,  as  if  apostrophising  a  goss-hawk  which  sat  on 
his  wrist,  and  which  he  was  feeding  dm-ing  the 
queen's  speech,  he  exclaimed,  "  The  Devil's  ia 
this  greedy  glade,  she  will  never  befall."  Hume^s 
History  oj  tlie  House  of  Douglas,  1743,  vol.  ii,  p. 
131.  liarclay  complains  of  the  common  and  inde- 
cent practice  of  bringing  hawks  and  hounds  into 
churches. 

4.  And  princely  peacock's  gilded  train.— P.  22. 

The  peacock,  it  is  well  known,  was  considered, 
during  the  times  of  chivalry,  not  merely  as  an  ex- 
quisite delicacy,  hut  as  a  dish  of  peculiar  solemni- 
ty. Alter  being  roasted,  it  was  again  decorated 
with  its  plumage,  and  a  sponge,  dipt  in  lighted 
spirits  of  vine,  was  placed  in  its  bill.  When  it  was 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


49 


introduced  on  days  of  grand  festival,  it  was  the 
signal  for  the  adventurous  knights  to  take  upon 
them  vows  to  do  some  deed  of  chivahy,  "  before 
the  peacock  and  the  ladies. " 

5.  And  o'er  the  boar-head,  garnish 'd  brave.— P.  22. 

The  boar's  head  was  also  a  usual  dish  of  feu- 
dal splendour.  In  Scotland  it  was  sometimes  sur- 
rounded with  little  banners,  displa3ing the  colours 
and  achievements  of  the  baron,  at  whose  board  it 
was  served.  Pinkerton^s  Jlisioi'v,  vol.  i,  p.  432. 

6.  And  cygnet  frora  St.  Mary's  wave. — P.  22. 
There  are  often  fliglits  of  wild  swans  upon  St. 

Maiy's  lake  at  the  head  of  the  river  Yarrow. 

7.  Smote, with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Ilunthill.— P.  22. 
The  Rutherfords  of  Hunthill  were  an  ancient 

race  of  Border  lairds,  whose  names  occur  in  his- 
tory, sonietimes  as  defending  the  frontier  against 
the  Englisli,  sometimes  as  disturbing  the  peace  of 
their  own  country.  Dickon  Draw-the-sword  was 
son  to  tiie  ancient  warrior,  called  in  tradition  the 
Cock  of  Hunthill. 

8.  But  bit  his  glove,  and  sliook  his  head.— P.  22. 

To  bite  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  seems  not  to 
have  been  considered,  upon  the  Border,  as  a  ges- 
ture of  contempt,  though  so  used  by  Shakspeare, 
but  as  a  pledge  of  mortal  revenge.  It  is  yet  remem- 
bered, that  a  young  gentleman  of  Teviotdale,  on 
the  morning  after  a  hard  drinking-bout,  observed, 
that  he  liad  bitten  his  glove.  He  instantly  demand- 
ed of  his  companions,  with  whom  lie  had  quarrelled  J' 
and  learning  tiiat  he  had  had  words  with  one  of  the 
party,  insisted  on  instant  satisfaction,  asserting, 
that  though  he  remembered  nothing  of  the  dispute, 
yet  he  was  sure  he  never  would  have  bit  his  glove 
unless  he  had  received  some  unpardonable  insult. 
He  fell  in  the  duel,  which  was  fought  uear  Selkirk, 
in  1721. 

9.  Arthur  Fire-the-Braes.— P.  22. 

The  person,  bearing  this  redoubtable  nomme  de 
giterve,  was  an  Elliot,  and  resided  at  Thorleshope, 
in  Liddesdale.  He  occurs  in  the  list  of  Border  ri- 
ders, in  1597. 

10.  Since  old  Buccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 

When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  ta'eii.— P.  22. 

A  tradition,  preserved  by  Scott  of  Satchells,  who 
ptiblished,  in  1688,  .i  true  Msfnri/  of  the;  right 
honourable  name  of  Scott,  gives  the  following  ro 
mantic  origin  of  that  name.  Two  brethren,  natives 
of  Galloway,  having  been  banished  from  that 
country  for  a  riot,  or  insurrection,  came  to  Ran- 
kelburn,  in  Ettrick  forest,  where  the  keeper,  wliose 
name  was  Brvdone,  received  them  joyfully,  on  ac- 
count of  their  skill  in  winding  the  horn,  ainf  in 
the  other  mysteries  of  the  chase. — Kenneth  Mac- 
Alpine,  then  king  of  Scotland,  came  soon  after  to 
hunt  in  the  royal  forest,  and  pursued  a  buck  from 
Ettrickheuch  to  the  glen  now  called  Buckleuch, 
about  two  miles  above  the  junction  of  Rankelburn 
with  the  river  Ettrick. — Here  the  stag  stood  at 
bay;  and  the  king  and  his  attendants,  who  followed 
on  horseback,  were  thrown  out  by  the  steepness 
of  the  hill  and  the  morass.  John,  one  of  the 
brethren  from  Galloway,  had  followed  the  chase 
on  foot:  and  now  coming  in,  seized  the  buck  by  the 
horns,  and,  being  a  man  of  great  strength  and  ac- 
tivit}',  threw  him  on  his  back,  and  ran  with  his 
burden  about  a  mile  up  the  steep  hill,  to  a  place 
called  Cracra-Cross,  where  Kenneth  had  halted, 
and  laid  the  buck  at  the  sovereign's  feet.* 


The  deer  being  curee'd  in  that  place. 

At  liis  majesty's  demand, 
Then  John  of  Galloway  ran  apace, 

And  fetched  water  to  his  hand. 
The  king  did  wash  into  a  dish. 

And  Galloway  John  he  wot; 
He  said,  "  Thy  name  now  after  this 

Shall  ever  be  called  John  Scott. 
"  The  forest  and  the  deer  therein. 

We  commit  to  thy  hand. 
For  thou  shalt  sure  the  ranger  be, 

If  thou  obey  command: 
And  for  the  buck  thou  stoutly  brought 

To  us  up  that  steep  heuch. 
Thy  designation  ever  shall 

Be  John  Scot  in  Buckscleugh. 

In  Scotland  no  Buckleuch  was  then, 
Defore  the  buck  in  the  cleuch  was  slain; 
Night's  men*  at  first  they  did  appear. 
Because  moon  and  stars  to  their  anns  they  bear. 
Their  crest,  supporters,  and  hunting-horn. 
Shows  iheir  begiiniing  from  hunting  come; 
Their  name  and  stile,  the  book  doth  say, 
John  gained  them  both  into  one  day.  IVuit's  Bellenden. 
The  Buccleuch  arms  have  been  altered,  and  now 
allude  less  pointedly  to  this  hunting,  whether  real 
or  falnilous.    Tlie  family  now  bear  Or  upon  a  bend 
azure,  a  nmllet  betwixt  two  crescents  of  the  field; 
in  addition  to  which,  they  formerly  bore  in  the 
field  a  hunting  horn.  The  supporters,  now  two  la- 
dies, were  formerly  a  hound  and  buck,  or,  accord- 
ing to  the  old  terms,  a  hart  of  leash  and  a  hart  of 
g-reece.  The  family  of  Scoltof  Howpasley  andThir- 
lestane  long  retained   the   bugle-liorn:   thev  also 
carried  a  bent  bow  and  arrow  in  the  sinister  can- 
tie,  perhaps  as  a  difference.    It  is  said  the  motto 
was — Best  riding  by  moon-light,  in  allusion  to  the 
ci-escents  on  the  shield,  and  perhaps  to  the  habits 
of  tliose  who  bore  it.  The  motto  now  given  is  Amo, 
applying  to  the  female  supporters. 

11. old  Albert  Gn^me, 

The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name.— P.  22. 

".lohn  Grahame,  second  son  of  Malice,  earl  of 
Monteith,  commoidy  surnamcd  Jolvn  ivi/h  Ihebriglit 
axvord,  upon  some  displeasure  risen  against  him 
at  court,  retired  «  ith  many  of  his  clan  and  kindred, 
into  the  English  Borders,  in  the  reign  of  king  Heniy 


'Ki-oissart  i-elates,  that  a  knight  of  the  household  of  the 
Compte  de  Foix  exhibited  a  similar  feat  of  strength.  The 


hall-fuehad  waxtd  low ,  and  wood  \\  as  wantid  to  mend  it. 
The  knight  went  down  to  the  court-yard,  wliere  stood  an 
ass  laden  with  faggots,  seized  on  the  animal  and  his  bur- 
den, and  earrjing  him  up  to  the  hall  on  his  shouldei-s, 
tumbled  him  into  the  chimney  with  his  heels  uppermost; 
a  Innnane  pleasantly,  much  applauded  by  tlie  court  and 
all  the  spectators. 

*  "  Minions  of  the  moon,"  as  Falstaff  would  have  said. 
The  vocation  pursued  by  our  ancient  Borderei-s  may  be 
justitied  on  the  authority  of  the  most  polished  of  the  an- 
cient nations:  "  For  the  Grecians  in  old  time,  and  such 
barbarians  as  in  the  continent  lieved  neere  into  the  sea,  or 
else  inhabited  the  islands,  after  they  once  began  to  cross 
over  one  to  another  in  ships,  became  theeves,  and  went 
abroad  under  the  conduct  of  their  more  puissant  men, 
both  to  enrich  themselves,  and  to  fetch  in  maintriianee 
for  the  weak;  and  falling  upon  towns  inifortiiii  d,  or  scat- 
teringly  inhabited,  rifted  tliem,  i.nd  made  this  the  best 
meaiis  of  their  living;  being  a  matt.rat  that  time  nowhere 
in  disgrace,  but  rather  cari-jing  with  it  something  of  glo- 
ry. This  is  manifested  by  .some  that  dwell  upon  the  con- 
tinent, amongst  whom,  so  it  be  pLi-fonmd  nobly,  it  is  still 
esteemed  as  an  ornament.  The  same  is  also  proved  by 
some  of  the  ancient  poets,  who  introduced  in(  u  question- 
ing of  such  as  sail  by,  on  all  coasts  alike,  whether  they  be 
theevis  or  not;  as  a  thing  neyther  scorned  by  such  as  were 
asked,  nor  upbraided  by  those  tha'.  were  desireus  to  know. 
They  also  robbed  one  another  vithiii  the  main  land;  and 
much  of  Greece  usetli  that  old  custome,  as  tlie  Lorriaiis, 
the  .hiirnainans,  and  those  of  the  continent  in  that  quar- 
ter, uiiKi  this  day.  Moreover,  the  fashion  of  wtaring  iron 
reniaiiieth  yet  with  the  people  of  that  continent,  frein 
their  old  trade  of  theeving."— Hoiif  j'  Thucydides,  p.  4, 
Lond.  1629. 


50 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  fourth,  where  they  seated  lliemsel  ves:  and  many 
of  their  posterity  liave  continued  there  ever  since. 
Mr.  Sandlord  speaking  of  them,  says  (which  in- 
deed was  applicable  to  most  of  the  Borderers  on 
bi)lh  sides,)  they  were  all  stark  moss-troqpers, 
and  arrant  thieves:  Both  to  England  and  Scotland 
outlawed;  yet  sometimes  connivL-d  at,  because  they 
g:ive  intelligence  forth  of  Scotland,  and  would  )-aise 
4(.K)  horse  at  any  lime  upon  a  raid  of  the  English 
into  Scotland.  A  saying  is  recorded  of  a  mother 
tn  her  son  (which  is  now  become  proverbial,) 
Ride,  Rotvley,  hough's  P  the  pot;  that  is,  the  last 
niece  of  beef  was  in  the  pot,  and  tlierefore  it  was 
high  time  for  him  to  go  and  fetch  more.  Introduc- 
tion to  the  History  of  Ctimbeiiand. 

The  residence  of  the  Grxmes  being  chiefly  in 
the  Debateable  land,  so  called  because  it  w  as  claim- 
ed by  both  kingdoms,  tlicir  depredations  extended 
both  to  England  and  Scotland,  with  impunity,  for 
as  both  \»  ardens  aixoinited  them  the  proper  sub- 
jects of  their  own  i)riiice,  neither  inclined  to  de- 
mand reparation  for  their  excesses  from  the  oppo- 
site officers,  which  would  have  been  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  jurisdiction  over  tliem. — See  a  long 
correspondence  on  this  subject  betwixt  lord  Dacre 
and  the  English  privy  council,  in  Introduction  to 
History  of  Cvmberland.  The  Debateable  land  was 
finally  divided  betwixt  England  and  Scotland,  by 
commissioners  appointed  by  both  nations. 

12.  The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall. — P.  22. 
This  biu-den  is  adopted,  with  some  alteration, 

from  an  old  Scottish  song,  beginning  thus: 
She  leaned  her  back  against  a  ihuni. 
The  siu»  shines  fair  on  C;iilisle  %^a'; 
And  thei-e  she  has  her  youii;,'  babe  born, 
And  the  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  a". 

13.  Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame?— P.  23. 
The  gallant  aiul  unfortunate  Henry  Howard,  earl 

of  Surrey,  was  unquestionably  the  most  accom-  j 
plished  cavalier  of  his  time;  and  iiis  sonnets  dis- 
play beauties  which  would  do  honour  to  a  more  i 
polished  age.  He  was  beheaded  on  Tower-hill  in 
1546;  a  victim  to  the  mean  jealousy  of  Henry  Vlll,  ! 
who  could  not  bear  so  brilliant  a  character  near  I 
his  throne.  j 

The  song  of  the  supposed  bard  is  founded  on  an  ' 
incident  said  to  have  happened  to  the  earl  in  his  , 
travels.  Cornelius  Agri[)pa,  the  celebrated  alche- 
mist, showed  him,  in  a  lookingglass,  the  lovely  j 
Geraldine,  to  whose  service  he  had  devoted  his' 
pen  and  his  sword.  The  vision  represented  her  as 
indisposed,  and  reclined  upon  a  couch,  reading  her 
lover's  verses  by  the  light  of  a  waxen  taper. 

14.        '        The  storm-swept  Orcades;  i 

Where  erst  St  Clairs  held  piineely  sway,  ! 

O'er  isle  and  islet,  straii  and  buy.— P.  23. 

The  St.  Clairs  are  of  Norman  extraction,  bemg 
descended  from  William  de  St.  Ciaii-,  second  son 
of  Walderne  compte  de  St.  Clair,  and  .Margaret, 
daughter  to  Richard  duke  of  Normandy.  He  was 
called  for  his  fair  deportment,  the  seemly  St.  Clair; 
and  settling  in  Scotland  during  the  reign  of  Mal- 
colm Ceanmore,  obtained  large  grants  of  land  in 
Mid-Lothian. — These  domains  were  increased  by 
the  liberality  of  succeeding  munarchs  to  the  des- 
cendants of  the  family,  and  comprehended  the  ba- 
ronies of  lloseline,  Penlland,  Cowsland,  Cardaine, 
and  seve.ai  others.  It  is  said  a  large  addition  was 
obtained  from  Robert  Bruce,  on  the  follow  ing  oc- 
casion: The  king,  in  following  the  chase  upon 
Fentland  hills,  had  often  started  "  a  white  faunch 
deer,"  which  had  always  escaped  from  his  hounds; 


and  he  asked  the  nobles,  who  were  assemhlert 
around  him,  whether  any  of  them  had  dogs,  which 
they  thought  might  be  more  successful.  No  cour- 
tier would  affirm  that  his  hounds  were  fleeter  than 
those  of  the  king,  until  sir  William  St.  Clair  of 
Roseline  unceremoniously  said,  he  would  wager 
his  head  that  his  t»  o  favourite  dogs,  Help  and  Hold, 
would  kill  the  <leer  before  she  could  cross  the 
March-burn.  The  king  instantly  cauglit  at  his  un- 
wary oiler,  and  betted  the  forest  of  Pentlandmoor 
against  the  life  of  sir  William  St.  Clair.  All  the 
hounds  were  tied  up,  except  a  few  ratches,  or  slow 
hounds,  to  put  up  the  deer;  wiiile  sir  William  St. 
Clair,  posting  himself  in  the  best  situation  for  slip- 
ping his  dogs,  prayed  devoutly  to  Christ,  the  bless- 
ed Virgin,  and  St.  Kalherine.  The  deer  was  short- 
ly after  roused,  and  the  hoimds  slipped;  sir  Wil- 
liam following  on  a  gallant  steed,  to  cheer  his  dogs. 
The  hind,  however,  reached  tlie  middle  of  the 
brook,  upon  which  the  hunter  threw  himself  from 
his  horse  in  despair.  At  this  critical  moment,  how- 
ever. Hold  stooped  her  in  the  brook;  and  Help, 
coming  up,  turned  her  back,  and  killed  her  on  sir 
W  illiam's  side.  The  king  descended  from  the  hill, 
embraced  sir  William,  and  i)estowed  on  him  the 
lands  of  Kirkton,  Logan-house,  Earncraig,  &c.  in 
free  forestrie.  Sir  W  illiam,  in  acknnowledgment 
of  St.  Katherine's  intercession,  built  the  chapel  of 
St.  Katherine  in  the  Hopes,  the  churchyard  of 
which  is  still  to  be  seen.  The  hill,  from  which 
Robert  Bruce  beheld  this  memorable  chase,  is  still 
called  the  King's  Hill;  and  the  place  where  sir 
William  liunted  is  called  the  knight's  field.* — 
J\JS.  History  oftliefa;nily  of  St.  Clair,  by  Richard 
^uqitMin  Hay,  Canon  of  St.  Genevieve. 

This  ;idventurons  huntsman  mai-ried  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Malice  Spar,  earl  of  Orkney  and  Stru- 
therne,  in  whose  right  their  son  Henry  was,  in 
1379,  created  earl  of  Orkney,  by  Haco,  king  of 
Norwav.  His  title  was  recognized  by  the  kings  ot 
Scotlanil,  and  i-eraained  with  his  successors  until  it 
was  annexed  to  the  crown,  in  1471,  by  act  ot  Par- 
liament. In  exchange  for  this  earldom,  the  castle 
and  domains  of  Ravenscraig,  or  Ravensheuch, 
were  conferred  on  William  Saintclair,  earl  of 
Caithness. 

15.  Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall. 

Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall.— P.  23 

The  castle  of  Kirkwall  was  built  by  the  St. 
Clairs,  while  earls  of  Orkney.  It  was  dismantled 
by  the  earl  of  Caithness  about  1615,  having  been 
garrisoued  against  the  government  by  Robert  Stew- 
art, natural  son  to  the  earl  of  Orkney. 

Its  ruins  aft'orded  a  sad  subject  for  contemplation 
to  John,  master  of  St.  Clair,  who,  flying  irom  his 
native  country,  on  accoiuit  of  his  share  in  the  in- 
surrection, ill  1715,  made  some  stay  at  Kirkwall. 

•  The  tomb  of  sir  William  St.  Clair,  on  which  he  ap- 
pears sculptured  in  armour,  with  afjr.-yhodnd  at  his  feet, 
is  still  to  be  Seen  in  Rosline  chape!.  The  pel-son  who 
shows  it,  always  tells  the  story  of  his  hunting  match,  with 
some  addition  to  Mr.  Hay"s  account;  as  that  the  knight 
of  Rosliue's  fright  made' him  poetical,  and  that,  in  the 
last  emergency,  he  shouted. 

Help,  baud,  an'  ye  may. 
Or  Hoslin  will  lose  his  head  this  day. 
If  this  couplet  does  him  no  great  honour  as  a  poet,  the 
conclusion  of  the  s  orv  does  him  still  less  credit.  He  set 
his  foot  on  the  dog,  sa>s  the  narrator,  and  killed  him  on 
the  *pot,  saying,  he  should  never  again  put  his  neck  in 
such  a  risk.  As  Mr.  Hay  does  not  mtntion  this  circiim 
stance,  1  hope  it  is  only  founded  on  the  coucliant  posture 
of  the  houiuf  on  the  monument. 


THE  LAY   OF  THE   LAST  MLVSTREL. 


51 


"  I  had  occasion  to  entertain  myself  at  Kirkwall 
with  the  melancholie  prospect  of  tlie  ruins  of  an 
old  castle,  the  seal  of  the  old  earls  of  Orkney,  my 
ancestors;  and  of  a  more  melancholy  reflection,  of 
so  great  and  noble  an  estate  as  the  Orkney  and 
Shetland  isles  being  taken  from  one  of  them  by- 
James  HT,  for  faultrie  after  his  brother  Alexander, 
.luke  of  Albany,  had  married  a  daughter  of  my 
family,  and  for  protecting  and  defending  the  said 
Alexander  against  the  king,  who  wished  to  kill 
him,  as  he  had  done  his  youngest  brother,  the  earl 
of  Mar;  and  for  which,  after  the  forfaultrie,  he 
gratefully  divorced  my  forfaulted  ancestor's  sister; 
though  1  cannot  persuade  myself  that  he  had  any 
misalliance  to  plead  against  a  familie  in  whose 
veins  the  blood  of  Robert  Bruce  ran  as  fresh  as  in 
his  own;  for  their  title  to  the  crow^ne  was  by  a 
daughter  of  David  Bruce,  son  to  Robert;  and  our 
alliance  was  by  marrjing  a  gi-andchild  of  the  same 
Robert  Bruce,  and  daughter  to  the  sister  of  the 
same  David,  out  of  the  familie  of  Douglas,  which 
at  that  time  did  not  much  suUie  the  blood,  more 
than  my  ancestour's  having  not  long  before,  had 
the  honour  of  marrying  a  daughter  of  the  king  of 
Denmark's,  who  was  named  Florentine,  and  has 
left  in  the  town  of  Kirkwall  a  noble  monument  of 
the  grandeur  of  the  times,  the  finest  church  ever  1 
saw  entire  in  Scotland.  1  then  had  no  small  reason 
to  think,  in  that  unhappy  state,  on  the  many  not 
inconsiderable  services  rendered  since  to  the  roy- 
al familie,  for  these  many  years  by-gone,  on  all  oc- 
casions, when  they  stood  most  in  need  of  friends, 
which  tliey  have  thought  themselves  very  often 
obliged  to  acknowledge  by  letters  yet  extant,  and 
in  a  stile  more  like  friends  than  sovereigns:  our 
attachment  to  them,  without  anie  other  thanks, 
having  brought  upon  us  considerable  losses,  and 
among  otiiers,  that  of  our  all  in  Cromwell's  li  me ;  and 
1  ft  in  iliat  condition,  without  the  least  relief  except 
w  hat  we  found  in  our  own  virtue.  My  father  was  the 
only  man  of  the  Scotts  nation  who  had  courage 
enough  to  protest  in  parliament  against  kingWil- 
lia.vi's  title  to  the  throne,  which  was  lost,  God  knows 
how;  and  this  at  a  time  when  the  losses  in  the  cause 
\  of  the  royall  familie  and  their  usual  gratitude,  had 
scarce  left  him  bread  to  maintain  a  numerous  tam- 
ilie  of  eleven  children,  who  had  soon  after  sprung 
up  on  him,  in  spite  of  all  which,  he  had  honoura- 
bly persisted  in  his  principle.  I  say,  these  things 
considered,  and  after  being  treated  as  I  was,  and  in 
that  unluckie  state,  when  objects  appear  to  men  in 
tlieir  true  light,  as  at  the  hour  of  death,  could  I  be 
Dlamed  for  making  some  bitterreiiections  to  myself, 
and  laughing  at  the  extravagance  and  unaccount- 
able humoui'  of  men,  and  the  singularitie  of  mv 
own  case,  (an  exile  for  the  cause  of  the  Stuart 
family,)  when  I  ought  to  have  known,  that  the 
^Teatesl  crime  1,  or  my  family,  could  have  com- 
mitted, was  persevering  to  my  own  destruction,  in 
ferving  the  royal  familie  faithfully,  though  obsti- 
nately, after  so  great  a  share  of  depression;  and  al 
ter  they  had  been  pleased  to  doom  me  and  my  fam- 
ilie to  starve." — AlS.JMemoirs  of  John,  Cluster  of 
St.  Clair. 

16.  Kings  of  the  main  tlieir  leadei-s  brave, 
TlKir  barks  the  dragons  of  llie  T\avf.— p.  23. 

The  chiefs  of  the  Vakingr,  or  Scandinavian  pi- 
rates, assumed  the  title  of  Sxkonungr^  or  Sea- 
kings.  Ships,  in  the  inflated  language  of  tiie  Scalds, 
are  often  termed  the  serpents  of  the  oc-^ku. 

17.  Of  that  sea-snake,  tremendous  curlM, 
Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world.— P.  24, 


The  jorinuns'andr,  or  snake  of  the  ocean,  whose 
folds  surround  the  earth,  is  one  of  the  wildest  fic- 
tions of  the  Edda.  It  was  very  nearl)'  caught  by 
the  god  Thor,  who  went  to  fish  for  it  with  a  hook 
baited  with  a  bull's  head.  In  the  battle  betwixt 
the  evil  demons  and  the  divinities  of  Odin,  which 
is  to  precede  the  Ragiiavaokr,  or  Twilight  of  the 
gods,  this  snake  is  to  act  a  conspicuous  part. 

18.  Of  those  dread  maids,  whose  hideous  yell 
Maddens  the  battle's  bloody  swell.— P.  24. 

These  were  the  Valkyrhir,  or  selectors  of  the 
slain,  despatched  by  Odin  from  Valhalla,  to  choose 
those  w  ho  were  to  die,  and  to  distribute  the  contest. 
Thev  are  well  known  to  the  English  reader,  as 
Gray's  Fatal  Sisters. 

19.  Ransaek'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

Thf ir  falchious  wrench'd  from  corpses'  hold.— P.  24. 

The  northern  warriors  were  usually  entombed 
witti  their  arms,  and  their  other  treasures.  Thus, 
Angantvr,  before  commencing  the  duel  in  which 
he  was  "slain,  supulated,  that  if  tie  ftU,  hi;;  sword 
Tyrfing  should  be  buried  witli  him.  His  daughter, 
Hervor,  afterward  took  it  from  his  tomb.  The 
dialogue  which  passed  betwixt  her  and  Augantyr's 
spirit  on  this  occasion  has  often  been  translated. 
The  whole  history  may  be  found  in  the  Harvarar- 
Saga.  Indeed  the' ghosts  of  the  northern  warriors 
w  ere  not  wont  tamely  to  suffer  their  tombs  to  be 
plundered;  and  hence  the  mortal  heroes  had  an 
additional  temptation  to  attempt  such  adventures; 
for  they  held  nothing  more  worthy  of  their  valour 
than  to'  encounter  supernatural  beings. — Bartuo- 
iixus  I)e  caiisis  contempts  a  Daiiis  mortis,  lib.  1, 
cap.  '2,  9,  10,  13. 

20. Rosabelle.— p.  24. 

This  was  a  family  name  in  the  house  of  St. 
Clair.  Henry  St.  Clair,  the  second  son  of  the  line, 
married  Rosabelle,  fourth  daughter  of  the  earl  of 
Slratherne. 

21.  Castle  Ravensheuv-h.— P.  24. 

A  large  and  strong  castle,  now  ruinous,  situated 
betwixt  Kirkaldy  and  Dysart,  on  a  steep  crag, 
washed  by  the  Frith  of  Forth.  It  was  conferred 
on  sir  W  illiam  St.  Clair,  as  a  slight  compensation 
for  the  earldom  of  Orkney,  by  a  charter  of  king 
James  HI,  dated  in  1471,  and  is  now  the  property 
of  sir  James  St.  C'!air  Erskiiie,  (now  earl  of  Ross- 
lyn,)  representative  of  the  family.  It  was  long  a 
principal  residence  of  the  barons  of  Roslin. 

22.  Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud, 
V/here  Roslin's  chiefs  iincoftin'd  lie; 

Each  barou,  for  a  sable  shroud, 

Slieathed  in  his  iron  panoply.— P.  24. 
The  beautiful  chapel  of  Roslin  is  still  in  tolera- 
ble presei-vation.  It  was  founded  in  1440  by  Wil- 
liam St.  Clair,  prince  of  Orkney,  duke  of  Olden- 
burgli,  earl  of  Caithness  and  Stratiierne,  lord  St. 
Clair,  lord  JS'iddesdale,  lord  admiral  of  the  Scot- 
tish seas,  lord  chief  justice  of  Scotland,  lord  war- 
den of  the  three  Marciies,  baron  of  Roslin,  Pent- 
land,  Pentlandmoor,  kc.  knight  of  the  Cockle  and 
of  the  Garter,  (as  is  atfirmed,)  high  cliancellor, 
chamberlain,  and  lieutenant  of  Scotland.  This  lofty 
person,  whose  titles,  says  Godscroft,  miglit  weary 
a  S[ianiar:i,  built  the  castle  of  Roslin,  where  he 
resided  in  princely  splendour,  and  founded  the 
cliapei,  whiclj  is  in'the  most  rich  and  florid  stj'le 
of  Gothic  architecture.  Among  the  profuse  carv- 
iiif  on  liie  pillats  and  buttresses,  the  rose  is  fre- 
quenllv  inlroSuced,  ia  allusion  to  tiie  name,  with 


52 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


■which,  however,  the  flower  1ms  no  connexion;  tlie 
etymology  being  Kosslinnhe,  the  promontory  ol 
the  linn  or  water-fall.  The  clianel  is  suiil  to  ap- 
pear on  fire  previous  to  the  death  of  any  of  his  de- 
scendants, 'this  superstition,  noticed  by  Slezer 
in  his  'rheatmm  .Vfoi/x,  anti  alluded  to  in  the  text, 
is  jtrobably  of  Norwegian  derivation,  and  may  have 
been  iraportetl  by  the  earls  of  Orkney  into  their 
Lothian  domains.  The  tomb-fires  of  the  north  are 
mentioned  in  most  of  tlic  Sagas. 

The  barons  of  Itoslin  were  buried  in  a  vault  be- 
neath the  chapel  floor.  The  manner  of  their  in- 
terment is  thus  de.scribed  by  Father  Hay,  in  the 
MS.  history  already  (|uc)teil. 

"  Sir  William  Sinclair,  the  father,  was  a  loud 
man.  He  kept  a  miller's  daugliter,  with  whom,  it 
is  alledged,  he  went  to  Ireland:  yet  I  think  the 
cause  of  his  retreat  was  rather  occasioned  by  the 
Presbyterians,  who  vexed  him  sadly,  because  of 
his  religion  being  Roman  Catholic.  His  son,  sir 
William,  died  during  the  troubles,  and  was  inter- 
red in  the  chapel  of  Roslin  the  very  same  day  that 
the  battle  of  Dunbar  was  fought.  W'hcn  my  good 
father  was  buried,  his  (i.  e.  sir  William's)  corpse 
seemed  to  be  entire  at  the  opening  of  the  cave;  but 
when  they  came  to  touch  his  body,  it  fell  into  dust. 
He  was  lying  in  his  armour,  with  a  red  velvet  cap 
on  his  head,  on  a  flat  stone;  nothing  was  spoiled 
except  a  piece  of  the  wliite  fun-ing,  that  went  round 
the  cap,  and  answered  to  the  hinder  part  of  the 
head.  All  his  predecessors  were  buried  after  the 
same  manner,  in  their  armour:  late  Rosline,  my 
good  father,  was  the  first  that  was  buried  in  a  cof- 
fin; against  the  sentiments  of  king  .Tames  the  Se- 
venth, who  was  then  in  Scotland,  and  several  other 
])ersons  well  versed  in  antiquity,  to  whom  my  mo- 
ther would  not  hearken,  thinking  it  beggarly  to  be 
buried  after  that  manner.  The  great  expenses  she 
was  at  in  burying  her  husband,  occasioned  the 
sumptuary  acts  which  were  made  in  the  following 
parliament." 


'Gylbiu,  come;"— P.  24. 


See  the  story  of  Gilpin  Horner,  p.  36,  in  notes. 

24.  For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan. 
Like  him,  of  whom  the  stoi-y  ran, 
Who  sjioke  the  spectre-houud  in  Man.— P.  24. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Peel-to^^'n,  in  the  Isle  of 
Man,  is  surrounded  by  four  churches  now  ruinous. 
Through  one  of  these  chapels,  there  was  formerly 
a  ])assage  from  the  guard-room  of  the  gaiTison. 
This  was  closed,  it  is  said,  upon  the  following  oc- 
casion: "  Thev  sav,  that  an  apparition,  called  in 
tiie  Mankisii  language,  the  JMauthe  Doog,  in  the 
shape  of  a  large  black  spaniel,  witii  curled  shaggy 
hair,  was  used  to  haunt  Peel-castle;  and  has  been 
frequently  seen  in  every  room,  but  particularly  in 
the  guard-chamber,  where,  as  soon  as  candles  were 
lighted, itcame  andlay  down  before  the  fire,  in  pres- 
ence of  all  the  soldiers,  who,  at  length,  by  being 
so  much  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  it,  lost  great 
part  of  the  terror  they  were  seized  with  at  its  first 
appearance.  They  still,  however,  retained  a  cer- 
tain awe,  as  believing  it  was  an  evil  spirit,  which 
only  waited  permission  to  do  them  hurl;  and,  for 
tliat  reason, forbore  swearing, and  all  prophane  dis- 
cource,  while  in  its  company.  But  though  they 
endured  the  shock  of  such  a  guest  when  all  toge- 


ther in  :i  body,  none  cared  to  be  left  alone  with 
it.  It  being  the  custom,  therefore,  for  one  of  the 
soldicis  to  lock  the  gates  of  the  castle  at  a  ceilain 
hoiu',  and  cary  the  keys  to  the  captain,  to  wliose 
apartment,  as  I  said  before,  the  way  led  through 
the  church,  they  agreed  among  tlicmselves,  that 
whoever  was  to  succeed  the  ensuing  night  his  fel- 
low in  this  errand,  should  accompany  him  that 
Went  first,  and  by  this  means  no  man  would  be  ex- 
posed singly  to  llie  danger:  for  I  forgot  to  mention, 
that  the  J\lautlie  Doog  was  always  seen  to  come 
out  from  that  passage  at  the  close  of  day,  and  return 
to  it  again  as  soon  as  the  morning  dawned;  which 
made  them  look  on  this  place  as  its  peculiar  resi- 
dence. 

"  One  night,  a  fellow  being  drunk,  and  by  tlie 
strength  of  the  liquor  rendered  more  daring  tlian 
ordinarily,  laughed  at  the  simplicity  of  his  com-  |f 
panions;  and,  though  it  was  not  his  turn  to  go 
with  the  keys,  w  ould  needs  take  that  oflice  upon  > 
him  to  testify  his  courage.  All  the  soldiers  en-  . 
deavoured  to  dissuade  him;  but  llie  more  they  said,  ,  • 
the  more  resolute  he  seemed,  and  swore  that  he 
desired  nothing  more  than  that  the  JMauthe  Doog 
would  follow  him  as  it  had  done  the  others;  for  he 
would  try  if  it  were  dog,  or  devil.  After  having 
talked  in  a  very  reprobate  manner  for  some  time, 
he  snatched  up  the  keys,  and  went  out  of  the  guard- 
room: in  some  time  after  his  departure,  a  great 
noise  was  heard,  but  nobody  liad  the  boldness  to 
see  wliat  occasioned  it,  till  the  adventurer  return- 
ing, they  demanded  the  knowledge  of  him;  but  as 
loud  and  noisy  as  he  had  been  at  leaving  them,  he 
was  now  become  sober  and  silent  enougli;  for  he 
was  never  heard  to  speak  more:  and  though  all  the 
time  he  lived,  which  was  three  days,  he  was  en- 
treated by  all  who  came  near  him,  either  to  speak, 
or  if  he  could  not  do  that,  to  make  some  signs,  by 
which  they  might  understand  what  had  happened 
to  him;  yet  nothing  intelligible  could  be  got  from 
him,  only  that  by  tlie  distortion  of  his  limbs  and  fea- 
tures, it  might  be  guessed  that  he  died  in  agonies 
more  than  is  common  in  a  natural  death. 

"  The  JMauthe  Doog  was  however  never  after 
seen  in  the  castle,  nor  would  any  one  attempt  to 
go  through  that  passage;  for  which  reason  it  was 
closed  u]),  and  another  way  made.  This  accident 
happened  about  threescore  years  since:  and  I  heard 
it  attested  by  several,  but  especially  by  an  old  sol- 
dier, who  assured  me  he  had  seen  it  oftener  than 
he  had  then  hairs  on  his  head." — Waldroii's  de- 
scription of  the  Isle  nfJMaii,  p.  107. 

25.  And  he  a  solemn  sacifd  plie;ht 

Did  to  St.  Bryde  of  Douglas  make.— F.  25. 
This  was  a  favourite  saint  of  tiie  house  of  Dou- 
glas, and  of  the  earl  of  Angus  in  particular,  as  we 
learn  from  the  following  passage.  The  queen  re- 
gent had  proposed  to  raise  a  rival  noble  to  the  du- 
cal dignity;  and  discoursing  of  her  pur[)ose  with 
Angus  he  answered,  "Why  not  madam j"  we  arc 
happy  tliat  have  such  a  princess,  that  can  know 
and  will  acknowledge  men's  service,  and  is  willing 
to  recompence  it:  but,  by  the  might  of  God,  (this 
was  his  oath  when  he  was  serious  and  in  anger,  .at 
other  times,  il  was  by  St.  Bride  of  Douglas,)  if  he 
be  a  duke,  I  will  be  a  drake!" — So  she  desisted 
from  prosecuting  of  that  purpose. — Godscroft,  vol, 
ii,  p.  131. 


A  TALE  OF  FLODDEN  FIELD. 


Alas;  that  Scottish  maid  should  sing 
'1  he  combat  where  her  lover  fell: 

That  Scottish  Bard  should  wake  the  string, 
The  triumph  of  our  foes  to  tell.        Leyden. 


TO   THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  HENRY,  LORD  MONTAGUE,  &c. 

THIS  ROMASCE   IS   IXSr.RIBED,   BT   THE  ACTHOK. 


,-l..„.I>,f„Il 


That  hems  our  little  gHioeii  in, 
Low  in  its  dark  and  nanrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  i-ivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  green-wood  grew, 
So  feeble  trilled  the  streamlet  throtigh: 
Now,  murmuring  lioarse,  and  frequent  seen 
'1  iirough  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 
An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  tiie  glade. 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade. 
And,  foaming  brown  willi  double  speed. 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 

No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  forest  hills  is  shed; 
No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam, 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam; 
Away  hath  passed  the  hcathcr-bell. 


The  buried  warlike,  and  the  wise' 
The  mind,  tliat  tliought  for  Britain's  weal. 
The  hand,  that  grasped  the  victor  steel' 
The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 
Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blow s; 
But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  shine, 
^V^lere  glory  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine; 
And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloom 
That  shrouds,  O  Pitt,  thy  hallowed  tomb! 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
O  never  let  those  names  depart! 
Say  to  your  sous, — Lo,  here  his  grave, 
Who  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave; 
To  him,  .IS  to  tlie  burning  levin. 
Short,  hrigiit,  resistless  course  was  given; 


52 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


■which,  however,  the  (lower  lias  no  connexion;  the 
etymology  hcing  Uosslinnhe,  tiie  promontory  ol 
the  linn  or  waler-tall.  The  tha])el  is  saitl  to  ap- 
pear on  fire  previous  to  the  death  of  any  ofhis  de- 
scendants. 'I'liis  superstition,  noticed  by  Slezcr 
in  his  Theatrnm  Scotix,  and  alluded  to  in  the  text, 
is  probably  of  Norwegian  derivation,  and  may  have 
been  imported  by  the  earls  of  Orkney  into  their 
Lothian  domains.  The  tomb-fires  of  the  north  are 
mentioned  in  most  of  the  Sagas. 

The  barons  of  Iloslin  were  huried  in  a  vault  be- 
neath the  chapel  floor.  The  manner  of  their  in- 
terment is  thus  described  by  Father  Hay,  in  tlic 
jNIS.  history  already  (pioted. 

"  Sir  William  Sinchiir,  the  father,  was  a  leud 
man.  He  kept  a  miller's  daughter,  wjtli  whom,  it 
is  allcdged,  he  went  to  Ireland:  yet  I  tliink  the 
cause  of  his  retreat  was  rather  occasioned  bv  tlie 


thcr  in  a  body,  none  cared  to  be  left  alone  with 
it.  It  being  the  custom,  tliercforc,  for  one  of  tiie 
soldicis  to  lock  the  gates  of  the  castle  at  a  ceitain 
hour,  and  cary  the  keys  to  the  captain,  to  whose 
apartment,  as  1  said  before,  the  way  led  through 
the  church,  they  agreed  among  themselves,  tiiat 
whoever  was  to  succeed  the  ensuing  night  his  fel- 
low in  this  errand,  should  accMiipany  him  that 
went  first,  and  by  this  means  no  man  woidd  be  ex- 
posed singly  to  the  (huiger:  for  I  forgot  to  mention, 
that  the  jMautlie  Doog  was  always  seen  to  come 
out  from  that  passage  at  the  close  of  day,  and  return 
to  it  again  as  soon  as  the  morning  dawned;  which 
made  them  look  on  this  place  as  its  peculiar  resi- 
dence. 

"  One  night,  a  fellow  being  drunk,  and  by  tlie 
strength  of  the  licpior  rendered  more  daring  tlian 
ordinarily,  laughed  at  tlie  simplicity  of  his  com- 


the  gv'  .. -l->,i.di-:^tr,  wnti;;,  as  sooi.  ^s canuies  were 
lighted,  it  came  and  lay  down  before  the  fire,  in  pres- 
ence of  all  the  soldiers,  who,  at  length,  liy  being 
so  much  accustomed  to  tlie  sight  of  it,  lost  great 
part  of  the  terror  they  were  seized  with  at  its  first 
appearance.  They  still,  however,  retained  a  cei-- 
tain  awe,  as  believing  it  was  an  evil  spirit,  which 
only  waited  permission  to  do  them  hurt;  and,  for 
that  reason,  forbore  swearing,  and  all  prophane  dis- 
cource,  wliile  in  its  company.  But  though  they 
endured  the  shock  of  such  a  guest  when  all  toge- 


geiit  liao  pro,,  -ti  to  raise  a  rivai  noble  to  the  du- 
cal dignity;  and  discoursing  of  her  iiurpose  witli 
Angus  he  answered,  "  \\  by  not  madam?  we  are 
happy  tiiat  have  such  a  princess,  that  can  know 
and  will  acknowledge  men's  service,  and  is  willing 
to  recompence  it:  but,  by  the  might  of  God,  (this 
was  his  oath  when  he  was  serious  and  in  anger,  at 
other  times,  it  was  by  St.  Bride  of  Douglas, )  if  lie 
be  a  duke,  I  will  be  a  drake!" — So  she  desisu-il 
from  prosecuting  of  that  purpose.— Gorfscro/?,  vol 
ii,  p.  131. 


A  TALE  OF  FLODDEN  FIELD. 


Aiasl  that  Scottish  maid  should  sing 
'I'he  combat  where  her  lover  fellf 

That  Scottish  Bard  should  wake  the  string, 
The  triumph  of  our  fots  to  tell.        Leydcn. 


TO   THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE  HEXRY,  LORD  MONTAGUE,  &c. 

THIS  ROMAZSCE  IS  IXSC.RIBED,   B¥   THE   ADTHOU. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

It  is  hardly  to  be  expected,  that  an  author,  whom 
the  public  has  honoured  witli  some  de_s;ree  of  ap- 
plause, should  not  be  again  a  trespasser  on  their 
kindness.  Yet  the  author  of  JVlarmio}!  must  be 
supposed  to  feel  some  anxiety  concerning  its  suc- 
cess, since  he  is  sensible  that  he  hazards,  by  this 
second  intrusion,  any  reputation  which  his  first 
poem  may  have  procured  him.  The  present  story 
turns  upon  the  private  adventures  of  a  fictitious 
character;  but  is  called  a  Tale  of  Flodden  Field, 
because  the  hero's  fate  is  connected  w  ith  that  me- 
morable defeat,  and  the  causes  which  led  to  it. 
The  design  of  the  author  was,  if  possible  to  ap- 
prise his  readers,  at  tlie  outset,  of  the  date  of  his 
story,  and  to  prepare  them  for  the  manners  of  the 
age  in  which  it  is  laid.  Any  historical  naiTative, 
far  more  an  attempt  at  epic  composition,  exceeds 
his  plan  of  a  romantic  tale;  yet  he  may  be  permit- 
ted to  hope  from  the  popularity  of  The  Lay  of  the 
Last  Slliiistrel,  that  an  attempt  to  paint  the  man- 
ners of  the  feudal  times,  upon  a  broader  scale,  and 
m  the  course  of  a  more  interesting  stoiy,  will  not 
be  unacceptable  to  the  public. 

The  poem  opens  about  the  commencement  of 
August  and  concludes  with  the  defeat  of  Flodden, 
9th  September,  1513. 


MARMION. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  I. 

TO  AVILLIAM  STEWART  ROSE,  Esa. 

Ashestiel,  Et trick  Forest. 
Notember's  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear: 
Late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn. 
That  hems  our  little  garden  in. 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrrow  glen. 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken. 
So  thick  the  tangled  green-wood  grew, 
So  feeble  trilled  the  streamlet  through: 
Now,  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen 
'1  iirough  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 
An  angi-y  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade. 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade, 
And,  foaming  brown  with  double  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 

No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  forest  hills  is  shed; 
No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam. 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam; 
Away  hath  passed  the  hcathf^r-bell, 


That  bloomed  so  ricli  on  Needpalli-fell, 
Sallow  his  brow,  and  russet  bare 
Are  now  the  sister-heights  of  Yare. 
The  sheep,  before  the  fiincliiug  heaven, 
To  sheltered  dale  and  down  are  driven. 
Where  yet  some  faded  herbage  pines, 
And  yet  a  watery  sunbeam  shines: 
In  meek  despondency  tJiey  eye 
The  withered  s«  ard  and  w  intry  sky, 
And  far  beneath  their  summer  hill, 
Stray  sadl)'  by  Gleukinnon's  rill: 
The  shepherd  shifts  his  mantle's  fold 
And  wraps  him  closer  from  the  cold; 
His  dogs  no  merry  circles  wheel. 
But,  shivering,  follow  at  his  heel; 
A  cowering  glance  they  often  cast. 
As  deeper  moans  the  gathering  blast. 

My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild. 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child. 
Feel  the  sad  influence  of  the  hour, 
And  wail  the  daisy's  vanished  flower; 
Their  summer  gambols  tell,  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask, — Will  spring  return. 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gav, 
And  blossoms  clotlie  the  hawthorn  spray ' 

Yes.  prattlers,  yes.    The  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie; 
The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round. 
And  while  you  frolick  light  as  thev, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day. 

To  mute  and  to  material  things 
New  life  revolving  summer  brings; 
The  genial  call  dead  Nature  hears, 
And  in  her  glory  re- appears. 
But  Oh!  my  country's  wintiy  state 
What  second  spring  shall  renovate' 
What  powerful  call  shall  bid  arise 
The  buried  warlike,  and  the  wise' 
The  mind,  that  thought  for  Britain's  weal, 
The  hand,  that  grasped  the  victor  steel  '> 
The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 
Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blows; 
But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  shine, 
WTiere  gloiy  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine; 
And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloom 
That  shrouds,  O  Pitt,  thy  hallowed  tomb! 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
O  never  let  those  names  depart! 
Say  to  j'our  sous, — Lo,  here  his  grave, 
Wiio  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave; 
To  him,  as  to  tiie  burning  levin. 
Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given; 


Si 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  found, 

Was  heard  the  fated  thunder's  sound, 

Till  burst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore, 

Rolled,  blazed,  destroyed, — and  was  no  more. 
X;)r  mourn  ye  less  his  perished  worth, 

Wiio  l)a(le  the  ci)n([Ueror  go  forth. 

And  lanelied  that  thunderbolt  of  war 

On  Kgypl,  llafniii,*  'I'rafali^ai-; 

Who,  born  to  guide  such  high  emprise, 

Fur  15ritaiu's  weal  was  early  wise; 

Alas!  to  whom  the  Almighty  gave, 

For  Britain's  sins,  an  early  grave; 

His  worth,  who,  in  his  mightiest  hour, 

A  bauble  held  tlie  pride  ot  power. 

Spurned  at  the  sordid  lust  of  pelf. 

And  served  his  Albion  for  herself; 

Wlio,  when  the  frantic  crowd  amain 

Strained  at  subjection's  bursting  rein, 

O'er  their  wild  mood  full  conciuest  gained. 

The  pride,  lie  would  not  crush,  restrained. 

Showed  their  fierce  zeal  a  worthier  cause. 

And  brought  the  freeman's  arm  to  aid  the  freeman's 
laws. 
Had'st  thou  but  lived,  though  stripped  of  power, 

A  walchnian  on  the  lonelj-  tower. 

Thy  tiu-illing  trump  had  roused  the  laud. 

When  ft-aud  or  danger  were  at  hand; 

By  tliec,  as  by  the  beacon-light. 

Our  pilots  iiad  kept  course  aright; 

As  some  proud  column,  though  alone, 

Thy  strengtii  iiad  propped  the  tottering  throne. 

Now  is  llie  stately  column  broke, 

The  beacon-ligiit  is  quenched  in  smoke, 

The  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still. 

The  warder  silent  on  the  hill! 

Oh,  tliink,  how  to  his  latest  day, 
When  death,  just  hovering,  claimed  his  prey. 

With  Palinure's  unaltered  mood, 
Firm  at  his  dangerous  post  he  stood; 
Each  call  for  needful  rest  repelled, 
With  dying  hand  the  rudder  held. 
Till,  in  his  fall,  with  fateful  sway. 
The  steerage  of  the  realm  gave  way! 
Then,  while  on  Britain's  thousand  plains 
One  unpolluted  ciiurch  remains, 
Whose  peaceful  bells  ne'er  sent  around 
The  bloody  tocsin's  maddening  sound. 
But  still,  upon  the  hallowed  day, 
Convoke  the  swains  to  praise  and  pray; 
While  faith  and  civil  peace  are  dear, 
Grace  this  cold  mai-ble  with  a  tear, — 
He,  who  preserved  them,  Pitt,  lies  here! 

Nor  yet  suppress  tiie  generous  sigh, 
Because  his  rival  slumbers  nigh; 
Nor  be  thy  requiescat  dumb, 
Lest  it  be  said  o'er  Fox's  tomb. 
For  talents  moMrn,  untimely  lost, 
When  best  emidoyed,  and  wanted  most; 
Mourn  genius  liigli,  and  lore  profound. 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound; 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine. 
To  p^juetrate,  resolve,  combine; 
And  feelings  keen,  and  fancy's  glow, — 
They  sleep  with  him  who  sleeps  below: 
And,  if  thr)U  mourn'sl  they  could  not  save 
From  error  him  who  owns  this  grave. 
Be  every  harsher  thought  su|)pressed. 
And  sacred  be  the  last  long  rest. 
Here,  where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings; 
Where  stiff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue, 


•  Copenhagen. 


Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and  sung; 

Here,  where  the  Iretted  aisles  prolong 

The  distant  notes  of  holy  song. 

As  if  some  angel  spoke  agen. 

All  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men; 

If  ever  from  an  English  heart, 

O  here  let  ])rejudice  depart, 

And,  partial  feeling  cast  aside. 

Record,  that  Fox  a  Britain  died! 

When  Europe  crouched  to  France's  yoke, 

And  Austria  bent,  and  Prussia  broke, 

And  the  firm  Russian's  purpose  brave 

Was  bartered  by  a  timorous  slave, 

Even  then  dishonour's  peace  he  spurned. 

The  sullied  olive-l)ranch  returned. 

Stood  for  his  country's  glory  fast. 

And  nailed  her  colours  to  the  mast! 

Heaven,  to  reward  his  firmness,  gave 

A  portion  in  lliis  honoured  grave; 

And  ne'er  held  marble  in  its  trust 

Of  two  such  wond'rous  men  the  dust. 

With  more  tlian  mortal  powers  endowed, 
How  high  they  soared  above  the  crowd! 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race, 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place; 
Like  fabled  Gods,  their  mighty  war 
Shook  realms  and  nations  in  its  jar; 
Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand. 
Looked  up  the  nol)lest  of  the  land. 
Till  through  the  British  woild  were  known 
The  names  of  Pi'i'T  and  Fox  alone. 
Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 
E'er  framed  in  dark  Thessalian  cave. 
Though  his  could  drain  the  ocean  dry, 
And  force  the  planets  from  the  sky. 
These  spells  are  spent,  and,  spent  with  these, 
The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees. 
Genius,  and  taste,  and  talent  gone, 
For  ever  tombed  beneath  the  stone. 
Where — taming  thought  to  human  pride! 
The  mighty  chiefs  sleep  side  by  side. 
Drop  upon  Fox's  grave  the  tear, 
'Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier; 
O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound. 
And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 
The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry, — 
"  Here  let  their  discord  v  ith  them  die; 
Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 
VVhom  fate  made  brothers  in  the  tomb. 
But  search  the  land  of  living  men. 
Where  wilt  thou  find  their  like  agen'" 

Rest,  ardent  Spirits!  till  the  cries 
Of  dying  Nature  bid  yon  rise; 
Not  even  your  Britain's  groans  can  pierce 
The  leaden  silence  of  your  liearse: 
Then,  O  liow  impotent  and  vain 
This  grateful  tributary  strain! 
Though  not  unmarked  from  northern  clime. 
Ye  heard  the  Border  Minstrel's  rhyme: 
His  Gothic  harp  has  o'er  you  rung; 
The  bard  you  deigned  to  praise,  your  deathless 
names  has  sung. 

Stay  yet  illusion,  stay  awhile. 
My  wildered  fancy  still  beguile! 
From  this  high  theme  how  can  I  part, 
Ere  half  uidoaded  is  my  heart! 
For  all  the  tears  e'ei'  sorrow  drew. 
And  all  the  raptures  fancy  knew. 
And  all  the  keener  rush  of  blood. 
That  throbs  through  bard  in  hard-like  luood, 
Were  here  a  tribute  mean  and  low. 
Though  all  their  mingled  streams  could  flow- 


MAltmON. 


SS 


Wo,  wonder,  and  sansalion  liigh, 
In  one  spring-tide  of  ecstasj'! — 
It  will  not  be — it  may  not  last — 
The  vision  of  enclianlment's  past: 
Like  frost-work  in  the  morning  rar, 
The  fancied  fabric  melts  awav; 
Each  Gothic  arch,  memorial  stone, 
And  long,  dim,  lofty  aisle  are  gone, 
And,  lingering  last,  dtce))tion  dear, 
The  choir's  high  sounds  die  on  my  ear. 
Now  slow  return  the  lonel)'  down. 
The  silent  pastures  bleak  and  brown. 
The  farm  l)egi-it  with  copse-wood  wild, 
The  gambols  of  each  frolic  child, 
Mixing  their  shrill  cries  with  the  tone 
Of  Tweed's  dark  waters  i-ushing  on. 

Prompt  on  unequal  tasks  to  run. 
Thus  Nature  disciplines  her  son: 
Meeter,  she  says,  for  me  to  stray. 
And  waste  the  solitary  day. 
In  plucking  from  yon  fen  the  reed, 
And  watch  it  floating  down  the  Tweed; 
Or  idly  list  the  shrilling  lay 
Witli  which  the  milk-maid  cheers  her  way. 
Marking  its  cadence  rise  and  fail. 
As  from  the  field,  beneath  her  pail. 
She  trips  it  down  the  uneven  dale: 
Meeter  for  nie,  by  yonder  cairn, 
The  ancient  shepherd's  tale  to  learn. 
Though  oft  he  stop  in  rustic  fear. 
Lest  his  old  legends  tire  the  ear 
Of  one,  who,  in  his  simple  mind. 
May  boast  of  book-learned  taste  refined. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  canst  fitly  tell, 
(For  few  have  read  romance  so  well,) 
How  still  the  legendary  lav 
O'er  poet's  bosom  holds  its  swav; 
How  on  the  ancient  minstrel  strain 
Time  lays  his  palsied  hand  in  vain; 
And  how  our  hearts  at  doughty  deeds. 
By  waiTiors  wrought  in  steely  weeds, 
Still  throb  for  fear  and  pitv's  sake; 
As  when  the  champion  of  the  lake 
Enters  Morgana's  fated  house, 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force. 
Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse;' 
Or  when,  dame  Ganore's  grace  to  move, 
(Alas!  that  lawless  was  their  love,) 
He  sought  proud  Tarquin  in  his  den, 
And  freed  full  sixty  knights;  or  when, 
A  sinful  man,  and  unconfessed. 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest. 
And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high. 
He  might  not  view  with  waking  eve. 2 

Tiie  mightiest  chiefs  of  British  song 
Scorned  not  such  legends  to  prolong: 
They  gleam  through  Spenser's  elfin  dream. 
And  mix  in  Milton's  heavenly  theme; 
And  Drydeu,  in  immortal  strain. 
Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again. 
But  that  a  ribald  king  and  court 
Bade  him  toil  on,  to  make  them  sport; 
Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay, 
Fit  for  their  souls,  a  looser  lay,' 
Licentious  satire,  song,  and  play:^ 
The  world  defrauded  of  the  high  design. 
Profaned  the  God-given  strength,  and  marred  the 
lofty  line. 

"Warmed  by  such  names,  well  may  we  then, 
Though  dwindled  sons  of  little  men, 
Essav  to  break  a  feeble  lance 
6 


In  the  fair  fields  of  old  romance; 

Or  seek  the  moated  castle's  cell, 

Where  long  through  talisman  and  spell, 

While  tyrants  niled,  and  damsels  wept, 

Thy  Genius,  Chivalry,  hath  slept: 

There  sound  the  harpings  of  the  North, 

Till  he  awake  and  sally  forth. 

On  venturous  quest  to  prick  again. 

In  all  iiis  arras,  with  all  his  train. 

Shield,  lance,  and  brand,  and  plume,  and  scfti-* 

Fay,  giant,  dragon,  squire,  and  dwarf, 

And  wizard,  with  his  wand  of  might. 

And  errant  maid  on  palfrev  white. 

Around  the  Genius  weave  their  spells. 

Pure  Love,  who  scarce  his  passion  tells; 

Mystery,  half  veiled  and  half  revealed; 

And  Honour,  witii  his  spotless  shield; 

Attention,  with  fixed  eve;  and  Fear, 

That  loves  the  tale  he  sluinks  to  hear; 

And  gentle  Courtesv;  and  Faith, 

Unchanged  by  sufferings,  time,  or  death; 

And  Valour,  lion-mettled  lord. 

Leaning  upon  his  own  good  sword. 

Well  has  thy  fair  achievement  shown, 
A  worthy  meed  may  thus  be  ^^on; 
Ytene's*  oaks — beneath  whose  shade, 
Their  theme  the  meriy  minstrels  made. 
Of  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  bold,-* 
And  tliat  red  king,t  who,  while  of  old. 
Though  Boldrewood  the  chase  he  led, 
By  his  loved  huntsman's  ari'ow  bled — 
Ytene's  oaks  have  heard  again 
Renewed  such  legendary  strain; 
For  tliou  hast  sung,  how  he  of  Gaul, 
That  Amadis,  so  famed  in  hall. 
For  Oriana,  foiled  in  fight 
The  necromancer's  felon  might; 
And  well  in  modern  verse  hast  wove 
Partenopcx's  mystic  love: 
Hear  then,  attentive  to  my  lay, 
A  kniglitly  tale  of  Albion's  elder  day. 

CANTO  I. 

THE    CASTLE. 

I. 

Da)'  set  on  Korham's  castled  steep. 
And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,^ 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone: 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep,^ 
The  loop-hole  grates  where  captives  weep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep. 

In  yellow  lustre  shone. 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high. 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky, 

Seemed  forms  of  giant  height: 
Their  armour,  as  it  caught  the  rays 
Flashed  back  again  the  western  blaze. 

In  lines  of  dazzling  light. 

n. 

St.  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay. 
Now  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

Less  bright,  and  less,  was  flung; 
The  evening  gale  had  scarce  the  power 
To  wave  it  on  the  donjon  tower, 

So  heavily  it  hung. 
The  scouts  had  parted  on  their  search, 

The  castle  gates  were  barred; 
Above  the  gloomy  portal  arch. 
Timing  his  footseps  to  a  march. 


•  The  new  forest  in  Hampshire,  anciently  so  calltd. 
t  William  Rufus. 


56 


SCOT  IS   ruETlCAi.  WOltKS. 


The  warder  kept  his  guard; 
Low  humming,  as  lie  paced  »lniig, 
Some  ancient  bonlcr-gathering  soug. 

III. 
A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears; 
He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears, 
O'er  HornclifF-hill,  a  plump*  of  spears, 

Beneath  a  pennon  gay: 
A  horseman,  darting  from  the  crowd, 
Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud, 
Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud, 

Before  the  dark  array. 
Beneath  the  sable  palisade. 
That  closed  the  castle  barricade, 

His  bugle  horn  lie  blew; 
The  warder  hasted  from  the  wall. 
And  warned  the  captain  in  the  hall, 

For  well  the  blast  he  knew; 
And  joyfully  that  knight  did  call 
To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschal. 

IV. 

*•  Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 

Bring  pasties  of  the  doe. 
And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free. 
And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be, 
And  every  minstrel  sound  his  glee. 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow  ; 
And  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 
To  fire  a  noble  salvo-shot; 

Lord  Marmion  waits  below!" — 
Then  to  the  castle's  lower  ward 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall. 
The  iron- studded  gates  unbarred, 
Baised  the  portcullis'  ponderous  guard. 
The  lofty  palisade  unsparred, 

And  let  the  drawbridge  fall. 

V. 

Along  the  bridge  lord  Marmion  rode, 
Proudly  his  red-roan  charger  trod, 
His  helm  hung  at  the  saddle  bow; 
Well,  by  his  visage,  you  might  know 
He  was  a  stalworth  knight,  and  keen, 
And  had  in  many  a  battle  been; 
The  scar  on  his  brown  cheek  revealed 
A  token  true  of  Bosworth  field; 
His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire. 
Showed  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire: 
Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 
Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 
His  forehead,  by  his  casque  worn  bare, 
His  thin  moustache,  and  curlj'  hair. 
Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there. 
But  more  through  toil  than  age; 
His  square  turned  joints,  and  strength  of  limb. 
Showed  him  no  carpet  knight  so  trim, 
But,  in  close  fight,  a  champion  grim, 
In  camps,  a  leader  sage. 

VI. 

Well  was  he  armed  from  head  to  heel. 

In  mail,  and  plate  of -Milan  steel;' 

But  his  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost. 

Was  all  with  burnished  gold  embossed; 

Amid  the  plumage  of  the  crest 

A  falcon  hovered  on  her  nest. 

With  wings  outspread,  and  forward  breast; 


•  This  word  properly  appli-s  to  a  flight  of  water-fowl; 
but  is  applied,  hy  analogy,  to  a  body  of  noi-se. 
There  is  a  knight  of  t]ie  North  Countrv, 
■Which  leads  a  Ixxatj pliniip  of  sjieai-s. 

Battle  nfrioddeit. 


E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield, 
Soared  sable  in  an  azure  field: 
The  golden  legend  bore  aright, 
"  Who  checks  at  me,  to  death  is  dight.''^ 
Blue  was  the  charger's  broidered  rein; 
Blue  ribbons  decked  his  arching  mane; 
The  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 
Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapped  with  gold. 

VU. 

Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires. 
Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  sires; 
They  burned  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim; 
For  well  could  each  a  war-horse  tame, 
Could  draw-  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway, 
And  lightly  bear  the  ring  away; 
Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored. 
Could  dance  in  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 
And  frame  love-ditties  passing  rare. 
And  sing  them  to  a  lady  fair. 

VIII. 

Four  men-at  arms  came  at  their  backs, 
With  halbert,  bill,  and  battle-axe: 
They  bore  lord  Marmion 's  lance  so  strong, 
And  led  liis  sumpter-mules  along, 
And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 
Him  listed  ease  liis  battle-steed. 
The  last,  and  trustiest  of  the  four. 
On  high  his  forky  pennon  bore; 
Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue, 
Fluttered  the  streamer  glossy  blue. 
Where,  blazoned  Siible,  as  before. 
The  towering  falcon  seemed  to  soar. 
Last,  twenty  )eomen,  two  and  two, 
In  hosen  black,  and  jerkins  blue. 
With  falcons  broidered  on  each  breast. 
Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 
Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 
Knew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood; 
Each  one  a  six  foot  bow  could  bend, 
And  far  a  cloth-yard  shaft  could  send; 
Each  held  a  boar-spear  tough  and  strong. 
And  at  their  belts  their  quivers  rung. 
Their  dusty  palfreys,  and  array. 
Showed  they  had  marched  a  weary  way. 

IX. 

'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  now, 
How  fairly  armed,  and  ordered  how. 

The  soldiers  of  the  guard, 
With  niusquet,  pike,  and  morion, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion, 

Stood  in  the  castle-yard; 
Minstrels  and  trumpeters  were  there. 
The  gunner  held  his  linstock  yare, 

For  welcome-shot  prepared — 
Entered  the  train,  and  such  a  clang. 
As  then  througH  all  his  turrets  rang, 

Old  Norhara  never  heard. 

X. 

The  guards  their  morrice-pikes  advanced, 

The  trumpets  flourished  brave. 
The  cannon  from  the  ramparts  glanced. 

And  thundering  welcome  gave. 
A  blith  salute,  in  martial  sort. 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound. 
For,  as  lord  Marmion  crossed  the  court, 

He  scattered  angels  round. 
"  Welcome  to  Norham,  Marmion, 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand ! 
Well  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan. 

Thou  flower  of  English  land!" 


MARMION. 


57 


XI. 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabards  deck, 
With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone, 
By  which  you  reach  the  donjon  gate, 
And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state, 

They  hailed  lord  Marmion: 
They  hailed  him  lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward  and  Scrivelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town;9 
And  he,  their  courtesy  to  requite. 
Gave  them  a  chain  of  twelve  marks  weiglit. 

All  as  he  lighted  down. 
"Now,  largesse,*  largesse,'"  lord  Marmion, 

Knight  of  the  crest  of  gold! 
A  blazoned  shield,  in  battle  won. 

Ne'er  guarded  heart  so  bold." 
XII. 
They  marshalled  him  to  the  castle-hall. 

Where  the  guests  stood  all  aside, 
And  loudly  flourished  the  trumpet-call, 

And  the  heralds  loudly  cried, 
— "Room,  lordings,  room  for  lord  Marmion, 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold! 
Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

In  the  lists  at  Cottiswold: 
There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

'Gainst  Marinion's  force  to  stand; 
To  him  he  lost  his  ladye-love, 

And  to  the  king  his  land. 
Ourselves  beheld  the  listed  field, 

A  sight  both  sad  and  fair; 
We  saw  lord  Mai-mion  pierce  his  shield, 

And  saw  his  saddle  bare; 
We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest 

He  wears  with  worthy  pride; 
And  on  the  gibbet  tree,  reversed, 

His  foeman's  scutcheon  tied. 
Pluce,  nobles,  for  the  Falcon-knight! 

Room,  room,  ye  gentles  gay. 
For  him  who  conquered  in  the  right, 

Marmion  of  Fontenaye!" — 
XIII. 
Then  stepped  to  meet  that  noble  lord. 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold. 
Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 

And  captain  of  the  Hold.'' 
He  led  lord  Marmion  to  the  deas. 

Raised  o'er  the  pavement  high. 
And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place — 

They  feasted  full  and  higii: 
The  whiles  a  northern  harper  rude 
Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, 

'■'■  IIoxu  the  fierce  Thirhvalls,  mid  Ridleys  all,^- 
Stout  TJ'lllimoncbwick, 
And  Hard-ridhi!^  Dick, 

And  Huglue  of  Haw  den,  and  Will  o'  llie  Wall, 
Have  set  on  sir  Albany  Featherstonhaugh, 
And  taken  his  life  at  the  Dcadman^s  shaw.  "t — 

Scantly  lord  Marmion 's  ear  could  brook 

The  harper's  barbarous  lay; 
Yet  much  he  praised  the  pains  he  took. 

And  well  those  pains  did  pay: 
For  lady's  suit,  and  minstrel's  strain. 
By  knight  should  ne'er  be  heard  in  vain. 

XIV. 
"Now,  good  lord  Marmion,"  Heron  says, 

"  Of  your  fair  courtesy. 


•The  cry  by  which  the  heralds  expressed  their  thanks 
for  the  bounty  of  the  nobles, 
t  The  rest  of  this  old  ballad  may  be  found  in  the  note. 


I  pray  you  bide  some  little  space 

In  "this  poor  tower  with  me. 
Here  may  you  keep  your  arms  from  rust, 

May  breathe  your  war-horse  well; 
Seldom  hath  passed  a  week,  but  giust 

Or  feat  of  arms  befel: 
The  Scots  can  rein  a  mettled  steed, 

And  love  to  couch  a  spear; — 
St.  George !  a  stirring  life  they  lead, 

That  liave  such  neighbours  near. 
Then  stay  with  us  a  little  space. 

Our  nortliern  wars  to  learn; 
I  pray  you  for  your  lady's  grace." — 

Lord  Marmion's  brow  grew  stern. 
XV. 
The  captain  marked  his  altered  look, 

And  gave  a  squire  the  sign; 
A  mighty  wassail  bowl  he  took. 

And  crowned  it  high  with  wine. 
"  Now  pledge  me  here,  lord  Marmion: 

But  first,  I  pray  thee  fair, 
Where  hast  thou  left  that  i)age  of  thine, 
That  used  to  serve  thy  cup  of  wine. 

Whose  beauty  was  so  rare' 
When  last  in  Raby  towers  we  met. 

The  boy  1  closely  eyed. 
And  often'  marked  his  cheeks  were  wet 

With  tears  he  fain  would  hide: 
His  was  no  rugged  horse-boy's  hand. 
To  burnish  shield,  or  sharpen  brand, 

Or  saddle  battle-steed; 
But  meeter  seemed  for  lady  fair. 
To  fan  her  cheeks,  or  curl  her  hair. 
Or  tlirough  embroidery,  rich  and  rare. 

The  slender  silk  to  lead: 
His  skin  was  fair,  his  ringlets  gold, 

His  bosom — when  he  sighed, 
Tiie  russet  doublet's  rugged  fold 

Could  scarce  repel  its  pride! 
Say,  hast  thou  given  that  lovely  youth 

To  serve  in  lady's  bower? 
Or  was  the  gentle  page,  in  sooth, 

A  gentle  paramour?" 

XVI. 
Lord  Marmion  ill  could  brook  such  jest; 

He  rolled  his  kindling  eye. 
With  pain  his  rising  wrath  suppressed, 

Yet  made  a  calm  reply: 
"  That  boy  thou  thought'st  so  goodly  fair, 
He  might  not  brook  the  northern  air. 
More  of  his  fate  if  thou  Avould'st  learn, 
I  left  him  sick  in  Lindisfarn: 
Enougii  of  him. — But,  Heron,  say, 
Why  does  thy  lovely  lady  gay 
Disdain  to  grace  the  hall  to-day? 
Or  has  that  dame,  so  fair  and  sage. 
Gone  on  some  pious  pilgrimage '" — 
He  spoke  in  covert  scorn,  for  fame 
Whispered  light  tales  of  Heron's  dame. 

XVII. 

Unmarked,  at  leat  unrecked,  the  taunt. 

Careless  the  knight  replied, 
"No  bird,  whose  feathers  gayly  Paunt, 

Delights  in  cage  to  bide: 
Norham  is  grim,  and  gi-ated  close. 
Hemmed  in  by  battlement  and  fosse, 

And  many  a  darksome  tower; 
And  better  loves  my  lady  bright. 
To  sit  in  liberty  and  light. 

In  fair  queen  Margaret's  bower. 
We  hold  our  greyhound  in  uui  hand, 


58 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Our  falcon  on  our  clove; 
But  where  sliall  wc  find  leash  or  band, 

For  dame  that  loves  to  rove' 
Let  the  wild  i'alcou  soar  her  swing, 
She'll  stoop  when  she  has  tired  her  wing." — 

xvm. 

"Nay,  if  with  royal  James's  bride, 

The  lovely  lady  Heron  bide. 

Behold  me  here  a  messenger. 

Your  tender  greetings  prompt  to  bear; 

For,  to  the  Scottish  court  addressed, 

1  journey  at  our  king's  behest, 

And  pi-ay  you,  of  your  grace,  jirovide 

For  me,  and  mine,  a  trusty  guide. 

1  have  not  ridden  iu  Scotland  since 

James  backed  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 

Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 

Who  on  the  gibl)et  paid  the  cheat. 

Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power 

What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower." — '^ 

XIX 
"  For  such  like  need,  my  lord,  I  trow, 
Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow; 
For  here  be  some  have  pricked  as  far. 
On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar; 
Have  drunk  tlie  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale. 
And  dri\en  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale; 
Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods. 
And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods." — i* 

XX 
"  Now,  in  good  sootli,"  lord  jMarmion  cried, 
"Were  I  in  warlike-wise  to  ride, 
A  better  guard  I  would  not  lack, 
Than  your  stout  forayers  at  my  back: 
But,  as  in  form  of  peace  I  go, 
A  friendly  messenger,  to  know, 
W^hy,  through  all  Scotland,  near  and  far. 
Their  king  is  mustering  troops  for  war. 
The  sight  of  plundering  border  spears 
Might  justify  suspicious  fears. 
And  deadly  feud,  or  thirst  of  spoil. 
Break  out  in  some  unseemly  broil: 
A  herald  were  my  fitting  guide; 
Or  friar,  sworn  in  peace  to  bide; 
Or  pardoner,  or  travelling  priest, 
Or  strolling  pilgrim,  at  the  least." 

XXI. 
The  captam  mused  a  little  space. 
And  passed  his  hand  across  his  face. 
— "  Fain  would  1  find  the  guide  you  want. 
But  ill  may  s[)are  a  pursuivant. 
The  only  men  that  safe  can  ride 
Mine  errands  on  the  Scottish  side; 
And,  though  a  bishop  built  this  fort. 
Few  holy  brethren  here  resort; 
Even  our  good  chaplain,  as  I  ween. 
Since  our  last  siege,  we  have  not  seen: 
The  mass  he  might  not  sing  or  sav, 
Upon  one  stinted  meal  a  day; 
So,  safe  he  sat  in  Durham  aisle. 
And  prayed  for  our  success  the  while. 
Our  Norham  vicar,  wo  betide. 
Is  all  too  well  in  case  to  ride. 
The  priest  of  Shoreswood'J — he  could  rein 
The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train; 
But  then,  no  spearman  in  the  hall 
Will  sooner  swear,  or  stab,  or  brawl. 
Friar  John  of  Tillraouth  were  the  man; 
A  blithsome  brother  at  the  can, 
A  welcome  guest  in  hall  and  bower. 
He  knows  each  castle,  town,  and  tower, 


In  which  the  wine  and  ale  are  good 

'Twixt  Newcastle  and  Holy-Rood. 

But  that  good  man,  as  ill  befalls, 

Hath  seldom  left  our  castle  walls, 

Since,  on  the  vigil  of  St.  Bede, 

In  evil  hour,  he  crossed  the  Tweed, 

To  teach  dame  Alison  her  creed. 

Old  Bughlrig  found  him  with  his  wife; 

And  John,  an  enemy  to  strife. 

Sans  frock,  ami  liioil,  fied  for  his  life. 

The  jealous  cluirl  liath  deeply  swore, 

That,  if  again  he  ventui-e  o'er. 

He  shall  slirieve  penitent  no  more. 

Little  he  loves  such  risks,  I  know; 

Yet,  in  your  guard,  perchance,  will  go."— 

XXII. 

Young  Selby,  at  the  fair  hall-board, 

Carved  to  his  uncle,  and  that  lord. 

And  reverently  took  up  the  word. 

"  Kind  uncle,  wo  were  we  each  one. 

If  harm  should  hap  to  brother  John. 

He  is  a  man  of  mirthful  speech, 

Can  many  a  game  and  gambol  teach; 

Full  well  at  tables  can  he  play. 

And  sweep,  at  bowls,  tiie  stake  away. 

None  can  a  lustier  carol  bawl. 

The  needfullest  among  us  all. 

When  time  hangs  lieavy  in  the  hall. 

And  snow  comes  thick  at  Christmas  tide, 

And  we  can  neither  hunt,  nor  ride 

A  foray  on  the  Scottish  side. 

The  vowed  revenge  of  Bughtrig  rude. 

May  end  in  worse  than  loss  of  hood. 

Let  friar  John,  in  safety,  still 

In  chimney-corner  snore  his  fill, 

Roast  hissing  crabs,  or  ilagons  swill: 

Last  night,  to  Norham  there  came  one 

Will  better  guide  lord  Marmion." 

"  Nepliew,"  quoth  Heron,  "  by  my  iay. 

Well  hast  thou  spoke;  say  forth  thy  say." 

XXIII. 

"  Here  is  a  holy  palmer  come, 

From  Salem  first,  and  last  from  Rome; 

One,  that  hath  kissed  the  blessed  tomb, 

And  visited  each  holy  shi-ine. 

In  Arabj^  and  Palestine; 

On  hills  of  Armenie  hath  been. 

Where  Noah's  ark  may  yet  be  seen; 

By  that  Red  Sea,  too,  hath  he  trod, 

\Vhich  parted  at  the  prophet's  rod; 

In  Sinai's  wilderness  he  saw 

The  -Mount,  whei-e  Israel  heard  the  law. 

Mid  thunder-dint,  and  Hashing  levin, 

And  shadows,  mists,  and  darkness,  given. 

He  shows  saint  James's  cockle  shell, 

Of  fair  Montserrat,  too,  can  tell; 

And  of  that  Grot  where  Olives  nod, 
Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  aJl  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Saint  Rosalie  retired  to  God.  is 

XXIV. 

"  To  stout  saint  George  of  Norwich  merry, 
Saint  Tliomas,  too,  of  Canterbury, 
Cuthbert  of  Dui'ham,  and  saint  Bede, 
Vov  his  sins'  pardon  hath  he  prayed. 
He  knows  the  passes  of  the  North, 
And  seeks  far  shrines  beyond  the  Forth; 
Little  he  eats,  and  long  will  wake. 
And  drinks  but  of  the  "streams  or  lake. 
This  were  a  guide  o'ci-  moor  and  dale; 
But,  when  our  John  hath  quafied  his  ale, 


MARMION. 


59 


As  little  as  the  wind  that  blows, 

And  warms  itself  against  his  nose. 

Kens  he,  or  cares,  which  way  he  goes.  "— 

XXV. 

"  GramercY  !"  quoth  lord  Marmion, 
"  Full  loth  were  1,  that  friar  John, 
That  venerable  man,  for  me, 
Were  placed  in  fear  or  jeopardy: 

If  this  same  palmer  will  me  lead 
From  hence  to  Holy-Rood, 

Like  his  good  saint,  I'll  pay  his  meed. 

Instead  of  cockle  shell  or  bead, 
Witli  angels  fair  and  good. 
I  love  such  holy  ramblers;  still 
They  know  to  ciiarm  a  weary  hill, 

^\  ith  song,  romance,  or  lav: 
Some  jovial  tale,  or  glee,  or  jest, 
Some  lying  legend,  at  the  least. 

They  bring  to  cheer  the  way. " — 

XX^T. 

"  Ah!  noble  sir,  young  Selby  said, 

And  iinger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

"  This  man  knows  much,  perchance  e'en  more 

Than  he  could  learn  by  holy  lore. 

Still  to  himself  he's  muttering, 

And  shrinks,  as  at  some  unseen  thing. 

Last  night  we  listened  at  his  cell; 

Strange  sounds  we  heard,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 

He  murmured  on  till  morn,  howe'er 

No  living  mortiJ  could  be  near. 

Sometimes  1  thought  I  heard  it  plain, 

As  other  voices  spoke  again. 

I  cannot  tell — I  like  it  not — 

Friar  John  hath  told  us  it  is  wi-ote, 

No  conscience  clear,  and  void  of  wrong, 

Can  rest  awake,  and  pray  so  long. 

Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 

Have  marked  ten  aves,  and  two  creeds.*' — '" 

XXVIl. 

— "  Let  pass,"  quoth  Marmion;  "  by  my  fay, 

This  man  shall  guide  me  on  my  way. 

Although  the  great  arch  fiend  and  he 

Had  sworn  themselves  of  companv; 

So  please  you,  gentle  youth,  to  call 

This  palmer  to  the  castle  hall." 

The  summoned  palmer  came  in  placs; 

His  sable  cowl  o'erliung  his  face: 

In  his  black  mantle  was  he  clad. 

With  Peter's  kevs,  in  cloth  of  red. 
On  his  broad  sLoulders  wrought;'^ 

The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck; 

The  crucifix  around  his  neck 
Was  from  Loretto  brought; 
His  sanckJs  were  witli  travel  tore, 
Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scrip,  he  wore: 
The  faded  palm-branch  in  his  hand, 
Showed  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land. 

XXYIU. 

When  as  the  palmer  came  in  hall, 

Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tall. 

Or  hail  a  statelier  step  withal, 

Or  looked  more  high  and  keen: 
For  no  saluting  did  he  wait, 
But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state, 
And  fronted  Marmion  where  he  sate, 

As  he  his  peer  had  been. 
But  his  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil; 
His  cheek  was  sunk,  alas,  the  while! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile. 

His  eve  looked  hasrsrard  wild: 


I  Poor  wretch !    the  mother  tliat  him  bare, 
If  she  had  been  in  presence  thei"e. 
In  his  wan  face,  and  sun-burned  hair, 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 
Danger,  long  travel,  want,  or  wo. 
Soon  change  the  form  that  best  we  know — 
For  deadly  fear  can  time  outgo. 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair; 
Hard  toil  can  roughen  form  and  face. 
And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright  grace; 
Nor  does  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace, 

More  deeply  than  despair. 
Happy  whom  none  of  tliese  befall, 
Rut  this  poor  palmer  knew  them  all. 

XXIX. 
Lord  Marmion  then  his  boon  did  ask; 
The  palmer  took  on  him  the  task. 
So  he  would  march  wiiii  morning  tide, 
To  Scottish  court  to  be  his  guide. 
— "  But  I  have  solemn  vows  to  pay, 
And  may  not  linger  by  the  way, 

To  fair  Saint  Andrews  bound, 
\^  ithin  the  ocean-cave  to  pray. 
Where  good  saint  Rule  his  holy  lay, 
Fi-om  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day, 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound;i9 
Thence  to  saint  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 

And  the  crazed  brain  restore: — 20 
Saint  Mary  grant,  tliat  cave  or  spring 
Could  back  to  peace  my  bosom  bring. 

Or  bid  it  throb  no  more!" — 

XXX. 

And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep. 
Where  wine  and  spices  richly  steep. 
In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep, 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Alarmion  drank  a  fair  good  rest. 
The  captain  pledged  his  noble  guest, 
I'he  cup  went  through  among  the  rest, 
j      VTho  drained  it  meirily: 
Alone  the  palmer  passed  it  by, 
I  Though  Selby  pressed  him  courteously. 
I      Tiiis  was  the  sign  the  feast  was  o'er: 
I      It  hushed  the  meriy  wassel-roar, 
I  The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 

j      Soon  in  the  casOe  nought  was  heard. 
But  the  slow  footstep  of  the  guard. 
Pacing  his  sober  round. 

'  XXXI. 

With  early  dawn  lord  Marmion  rose: 
,  And  first  the  chapel  doors  vmclose; 
Then,  after  morning  rites  were  done, 
[  (A  hasty  mass  from  friar  John,) 
)■  And  knight  and  squire  had  broke  their  fast, 
i  On  rich  substantial  repast. 
'Lord  Marmion's  bugles  blew  to  horse  : 
i  Then  came  the  stin-up-cup  in  course. 
Between  the  baron  and  his  host. 
No  point  of  courtesy  was  lost; 
High  thanks  were  by  lord  Marmion  paid, 
Solemn  excuse  the  captain  made. 
Till,  filing  from  the  gate,  had  past 
That  noble  train,  their  lord  the  last. 
Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet-call: 
Thundered  the  cannon  from  tlie  wall, 

And  shook  the  Scottish  shore; 
Around  the  castle  eddied  slow. 
Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow, 
And  hid  its  turrets  hoar; 


60 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Till  thev  nillcd  forth  upon  the  air, 
And  niel  the  river  brt-izes  iht-re. 
Which  gave  again  llic  prospTect  fair. 

INTUOnUCTlON  TO  CANTO  II. 

TO  THE  UEV.  JOHN  MARRIOT,  m.  a. 

.Inhestiel,  Etlrick  Forest. 
The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare. 
Where  flourished  once  a  forest  fair,' 
Wlien  these  waste  pilens  with  copse  were  lined, 
And  peopled  with  ilu;  hart  and  iiind. 
Von  lliorn — perchance  whose  prickly  spears 
Have  fiMiced  him  for  three  hundred  years, 
While  fell  around  his  green  compeers — 
Yon  lonely  thorn,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell. 
Since  he,  "sp  gray  and  stubborn  now. 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sappling  bough; 
WouW  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade, 
A  thousand  mingled  l)ranches  made; 
How  broad  the  shadows  of  the  oak, 
How  clung  the  rowan*  to  the  rock, 
And  through  the  foliage  showed  his  head. 
With  narrow  leaves,  and  berries  red; 
What  pines  on  every  mountain  sprung, 
O'er  every  dell  what  birches  hung, 
In  every  breeze  what  aspens  shook. 
What  alders  shaded  every  brook  ! 

"  Here,  in  my  shade,"  methinks  he'd  say, 
"The  mighty  stag  at  noontide  lay; 
The  wolf  I've  seen,  a  fieixer  game, 
(The  neighbouring  dingle  bears  his  name,) 
With  lurching  step  around  me  prowl, 
And  stop  against  the  moon  to  howl; 
The  mountain-boar,  on  battle  set, 
His  tusks  upon  my  stem  would  whet; 
While  doe  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good, 
Have  bounded  by  through  gay  green-wood. 
Tlien  oft,  from  Newark's  riven  tower. 
Sallied  a  Scottish  monarch's  power: 
A  thousand  vassals  mustered  round. 
With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound; 
And  I  might  see  the  youth  intent, 
Guard  every  pass  wiili  cross-bow  bent; 
And  through  the  brake  the  i-angers  stalk. 
And  falc'iiers  hold  the  ready  hawk; 
And  foresters,  in  green-wood  trim. 
Lead  in  the  leash  the  gaze-hounds  grim. 
Attentive,  as  the  bratchet'sf  bay 
From  the  dai-k  covert  drove  the  prey, 
To  slip  them  as  be  broke  away. 
The  startled  quarry  bounds  amain, 
As  fast  the  gallant  grey-hounds  strain: 
Whistles  tlie  arrow  from  the  bow. 
Answers  the  liarquebuss  below; 
While  all  the  i-ocking  hills  reply. 
To  hoof-clang,  hound,  and  hunters' cry. 
And  bugles  ringing  lightsomely." — 

Of  such  proud  huntings,  many  tales 
Yet  linger  in  our  lonely  dales. 
Up  pathless  Etlrick,  and  on  Yarrow, 
Where  erst  the  Outlaw  drew  his  arrow.* 
But  not  more  blith  that  sylvan  court. 
Than  we  have  been  at  humbler  sport; 
Though  small  our  pomp  and  mean  our  game, 
Our  mirth,  dear  Marriot,  was  the  same. 
Tlemember'st  thou  my  grey-hounds  true' 
O'er  holt,  or  hill,  there  never  flew. 
From  slip,  or  leash,  there  never  sprang. 


More  fleet  of  fool,  or  sure  of  fang. 

Nor  dull,  between  each  meny  chase. 

Passed  by  the  intermitted  space; 

For  we  had  fair  resource  in  store. 

In  Classic,  and  in  Gothic  lore: 

We  marked  each  memorable  scene, 

And  held  poetic  talk  between; 

Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 

Hut  had  its  legend  or  its  song. 

All  silent  now — for  now  are  still 

Thy  bowers,  untenanted  How  hill ! 

No'longer,  from  thy  mountains  dun. 

The  yeoman  hears  "the  well-known  gun, 

And,\virde  his  honest  heart  glows  warm, 

At  thought  of  his  paternal  farm, 

Rountl  to  his  mates  a  brimmer  Alls, 

And  drinks,  '•  The  chieftain  of  the  hills!" 

No  faii-v  forms,  in  YaiTOw's  bowers, 

Trip  o'er  the  walks,  or  tend  the  flowers. 

Fair  as  the  elves  whom  Janet  saw, 

F,v  moonlight,  dance  on  Carterhaugh; 

No  youthful  baron's  left  to  grace 

The  forest-sheriff''s  lonely  chase. 

And  ape,  in  manly  step  and  tone, 

The  majesty  of  Oberon: 

And  she  is  gone,  whose  lovely  face 

Is  but  her  least  and  lowest  grace; 

Though  if  to  Sylphid  queen  'twere  given, 

To  show  our  earth  the  charms  of  heaven. 

She  coidd  not  glide  along  the  air. 

With  form  more  ligb-t,  or  face  more  fair. 

No  more  the  widow's  deafened  ear 

Grows  quick,  that  lady's  step  to  hear: 

At  noontide  she  expects  her  not, 

Nor  busies  her  to  trim  the  cot; 

Pensive  she  turns  her  humming  wheel. 

Or  pensive  cooks  her  oi-phans'  meal; 

Yet  blesses,  ei-e  she  deals  their  bread, 

The  gentle  hand  by  which  they're  fed. 

From  Yair — which  hills  so  closely  bind. 
Scarce  can  the  Tweed  his  passage  find. 
Though  much  he  fret,  and  chafe,  and  toil. 
Till  all  his  eddying  currents  boil, — 
Her  long-descended  lord  is  gone. 
And  left  us  by  the  stream  alone. 
And  much  I  miss  those  sportive  boys. 
Companions  of  my  mountain  joys. 
Just  at  the  age  'twixt  boy  and  youth, 
W'hen  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 
Close  to  my  side  with  what  delight. 
They  press'ed  to  hear  of  Wallace  wight, 
When,  pointing  to  his  aiiy  mound, 
I  called  his  ramparts  holy  ground!* 
Kindled  their  brows  to  hear  me  speak; 
And  I  have  smiled,  to  feel  my  cheek. 
Despite  the  difference  of  our  years, 
Return  again  the  glow  of  theirs. 
Ah,  happy  boys!  such  feelings  pure. 
They  will  not,  cannot  long  endure; 
Condemned  to  stem  the  w  orld's  rude  tide. 
You  may  not  linger  by  the  side; 
For  fate  shall  thrust  you  from  the  shore, 
And  i)assion  ply  the  sail  and  oar. 
Yet  cherish  the  remembrance  still. 
Of  the  lone  mountain,  and  the  rill; 
For  trust,  dear  boys,  the  time  will  come, 
\V'iien  fiercer  transports  shall  be  dumb, 
And  you  will  think,  right  frequently. 
But,  well  1  hope,  without  a  sigh. 


'  Mountain-asli. 


t  Slow-hound. 


•  There  is  on  a  high  mountainous  range  above  the  farm 
of  AshLStiel,  a  fosse  called  Wallace's  Trench. 


MARMION. 


61 


On  the  free  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
Together,  on  the  brown  hill's  bent. 

AVhen,  musing  on  companions  gone, 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone, 
Something,  ray  friend,  we  )'et  may  gain, — 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain: 
It  sootlis  the  love  of  lonely  rest, 
Deep  in  each  gentler  heart  impressed. 
'Tis  silent,  amid  worldly  toils. 
And  stifled  soon  by  mental  broils; 
IJut,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared. 
Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard, 
Whispering  a  mingled  sentiment, 
Twixt  resignation  and  content. 
Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake, 
By  lone  St.  Mar^-'s  silent  lake:^ 
Thou  know'st  it  well, — nor  fen,  nor  sedge, 
Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge; 
Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 
At  once  upon  the  level  brink; 
And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand 
Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 
Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue, 
Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view; 
Shaggv'  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare. 
Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake  is  there. 
Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 
Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scattered  pine. 
Yet  e'en  tliis  nakedness  has  power, 
And  aids  the  feeling  of  the  hour; 
Nor  thicket,  dell,  nor  copse  you  spy. 
Where  living  thing  concealed  might  lie; 
Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell. 
Where  swain,  or  woodman  lone,  might  dwell; 
There's  nothing  left  to  fancy's  guess. 
You  see  that  all  is  loneliness: 
And  silence  aids — though  the  steep  hills 
Send  to  the  lake  a  thousand  rills; 
In  summer  tide,  so  soft  they  weep, 
The  sound  but  lulls  the  ear  asleep; 
Your  horse's  hoof-tread  sounds  too  rude. 
So  stilly  is  the  solitude. 

Nought  living  meets  the  eye  or  ear, 
But  well  I  ween  the  dead  are  near; 
For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 
Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low,'* 
Yet  still,  beneath  the  hallowed  soil, 
The  peasant  rests  him  from  his  toil. 
And,  dying,  bids  his  bones  be  laid, 
Where  erst  his  simple  fathers  prayed. 

If  age  had  tamed  the  passions'  strife. 
And  fate  had  cut  my  ties  to  life, 
Here,  have  I  thought,  'twere  sweet  to  dwell, 
And  rear  again  the  chaplain's  cell. 
Like  that  same  peaceful  hermitage, 
Where  Milton  longed  to  spend  his  age. 
'Twere  sweet  to  mark  the  setting  day 
On  Bourhope's  lonely  top  deca)-; 
And,  as  it  faint  and  teeble  died, 
On  the  broad  lake,  atid  mountain's  side. 
To  say,  "Thus  pleasures  fade  away; 
"South,  talents,  beauty,  thus  decay. 
And  leave  us  dark,  forlorn,  and  gray!" — 
Then  gaze  on  Dryhope's  ruined  tower. 
And  think  on  Yarrow's  faded  Flower: 
And  when  that  mountain-sound  I  heard. 
Which  bids  us  be  for  storm  prepared. 
The  distant  rustling  of  his  wings. 
As  up  his  force  the  tempest  brings, 
"Twere  sweet,  ere  yet  his  terrors  rave, 
To  sit  upon  the  wizard's  grave; 
That  wizard  priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 


From  company  of  hoi)"  dusl;^ 

On  which  no  sunbeam  ever  shines— 

(So  superstition's  creed  divines,) 

Thence  view  the  lake,  with  sullen  roar, 

Heave  her  broad  billows  to  the  shore; 

And  mark  the  wild  swans  mount  the  gale. 

Spread  wide  through  mist  their  snowy  sail, 

And  ever  stoop  again,  to  lave 

Their  bosoms  on  the  surging  wave; 

Then,  when  against  the  driving  hail. 

No  longer  might  my  plaid  avail. 

Back  to  mv  loneh'  home  retire. 

And  light  my  lamp,  and  trim  my  fire: 

There  ponder  o'er  some  mystic  lay, 

Till  the  wild  tale  had  all  its  swaj% 

And,  in  the  bittern's  distant  shriek, 

I  heard  unearlbl)'  voices  speak, 

And  thought  the  wizard  priest  was  come, 

To  claim  again  his  ancient  home! 

And  bade  my  busy  fancy  range 

To  frame  him  fitting  shape  and  sti-ange, 

Till  from  the  task  my  brow  I  cleared, 

And  smiled  to  think  that  1  had  feared. 
But  chief,  'twere  sweet  to  think  such  life, 

(Though  but  escape  from  fortune's  strife,) 

Something  most  matchless,  good,  and  wise, 

A  great  and  grateful  sacrifice; 

And  deem  e:ich  hour,  to  musing  given, 

A  step  upon  the  road  to  heaven. 
Yet  him,  whose  heart  is  ill  at  ease 

Such  peaceful  solitudes  displease: 

He  loves  to  drown  his  bosom's  jar 

Amid  the  elemental  war: 

And  my  black  palmer's  choice  had  been 

Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene. 

Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Lochskene.* 

There  eagles  scream  from  isle  to  shore; 

Down  all  the  rocks  the  torrents  roar; 

O'er  the  black  waves  incessant  driven, 

Dark  mists  infect  the  summer  heaven; 

Through  the  rude  harriers  of  the  lake, 

Away  its  hurrying  waters  break. 

Faster  and  whiter  dash  and  curl, 

Till  down  yon  dark  abyss  they  hurl. 

Rises  the  fog-smoke  white  as  snow, 

Thunders  the  viewless  stream  below, 

Diving,  as  if  condemned  to  lave 
!  Some  demon's  subterranean  cave, 
i  Who,  prisoned  by  enchanter's  spell, 
I  Shakes  the  dark  rock  with  groan  and  3'ell. 

And  well  that  palmer's  form  and  mien 

Had  suited  with  the  stormy  scene. 

Just  on  the  edge,  straining  his  ken, 
I  To  view  the  bottom  of  the  den, 
i  Where,  deep,  deep  down,  and  far  within, 
;  Toils  with  the  rocks  the  roaring  linn: 

Then,  issuing  forth  one  foamy  wave. 

And  wheeling  round  the  Giant's  Grave, 

White  as  the  snowy  charger's  tail. 

Drives  down  the  pass  of  Moffatdale. 
Marriot,  thy  harp,  on  Isis  strung. 

To  many  a  Border  theme  has  rung: 

Then  list  to  me,  and  thou  shalt  know 

Of  this  mysterious  man  of  wo, 

CASTO  ir. 

THE    rOXVENT. 

.  I. 

j  The  breeze,  which  SAxept  aw.-iy  tlie  smoke, 
I      Round  Norham  Castle  rolled, 
;  When  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke. 


62 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


AViili  lif^htnins^-rtHsli,  ami  thunder-stroke, 

As  Marmion  left  tlie  llokl. 
It  curled  not  Tweed  alone,  lliat  breeze, 
For,  tar  ui)oii  Noi-lliuniUriau  seas, 

It  iVesldv  blew,  anil  slronjj;, 
Wli.re,  from  lii;,'h  Wiiitby's  cloistered  pile, 
HoiMKJ  lo  s;iint  t'ullibert's  Holy  Isle,' 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 
Upon  the  gale  slie  stooped  lier  side, 
And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide, 

As  she  were  dancin;j;  bDine; 
'I'lie  merry  seamen  lain;bed,  to  see 
Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

Furrow  the  green  sea-tbam. 
Much  joyed  tliey  in  their  honoured  freight; 
For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state. 
The  abbess  of  saint  Hilda  placed. 
With  five  fair  nuns,  tiie  galley  graced. 

II. 
'Twas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids. 
Like  birds  escaped  to  green  wood  shades. 

Their  first  Hight  from  the  cage. 
How  timid,  and  how  curious  too. 
For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new. 
And  all  the  common  sights  they  view. 

Their  wonderment  engage. 
One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail. 

With  many  a  benedicite; 
One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale, 

And  would  for  terror  praj"; 
Then  shrieked,  because  the  sea-dog,  nigh. 
His  round  black  head,  and  sparkling  eye, 

Reared  o'er  the  foaming  spray; 
And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil, 
Disordered  by  the  summer  gale, 
Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 
Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy; 
Perchance,  because  such  action  graced 
Her  fair  turned  arm  and  slender  waist. 
Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there. 
Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share, — 
The  abbess,  and  the  novice  Clare. 

IIL 

The  abbess  was  of  noble  blood, 

But  early  took  tlie  veil  and  hood. 

Ere  upon  life  she  cast  a  look. 

Or  knew  the  world  that  she  forsook. 

Fair  too  she  was,  and  kind  had  been 

As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 

For  her  a  timid  lover  sigh. 

Now  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye. 

Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name. 

Combined  with  vanity  and  shame; 

Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 

Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall: 

The  deadliest  sin  her  mind  could  reach, 

Was  of  monastic  rule  the  breach; 

And  her  ambition's  liighest  aim. 

To  emulate  saint  Hilda's  fame. 

For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower. 

To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower; 

For  liiis,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint. 

She  decked  the  chapel  of  the  saint; 

And  gave  the  relique-shrine  of  cost, 

W'ith  ivory  and  gems  embost. 

The  poor  her  convent's  bounty  blest, 

The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  found  rest. 

IV. 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 
Reformed  on  Benedictine  school; 


Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare: 
Vigils,  and  penitence  austere 
Had  early  (juenched  the  light  of  youth. 
But  gentle  M-as  the  dame  in  sooth; 
Though,  vain  of  her  religious  sway. 
She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey, 
Yet  nothing  stern  was  she  in  cell. 
And  the  nuns  loved  their  abbess  well. 
Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame; 
Summoned  to  Lindisfarn,  she  came. 
There,  with  saint  Cuthbert's  abbot  old. 
And  Tynemouth's  i)rioress,  to  hold 
A  chapter  of  saint  Benedict, 
For  inipiisilion  stern  and  strict. 
On  two  apostates  from  the  faith. 
And,  if  need  were,  to  doom  to  death. 

V. 
Nought  say  I  here  of  sister  Clare, 
Save  this,  that  she  was  young  and  fair; 
As  yet  a  novice  unprofessed. 
Lovely  and  gentle,  but  distressed. 
She  was  betrothed  to  one  now  dead. 
Or  worse,  who  had  dishonoured  fled. 
Her  kinsman  bade  her  give  her  hand 
To  one,  who  loved  her  for  her  land; 
Herself,  almost  heart-broken  now, 
Was  bLUt  to  take  the  vestal  vow. 
And  shroud,  within  saint  Hilda's  gloom, 
Her  blasted  hopes  and  withered  bloom. 

VI. 
She  sate  upon  the  galley's  prow. 
And  seemed  to  mark  the  waves  below; 
Nay,  seemed  so  fixed  her  look  and  eye, 
To  count  them  as  they  glided  by. 
She  saw  them  not — "twas  seeming  all — 
Far  other  scene  lur  thoughts  recal, — 
A  sun-scorched  desert,  waste  and  bare, 
Nor  wave  nor  breezes,  murmured  there; 
There  saw  she,  w  here  some  careless  hand 
O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  heaped  the  sand. 
To  hide  it  till  the  jackalls  come. 
To  tear  it  from  the  scanty  tomb. — 
See  what  a  woful  look  was  given, 
As  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heaven! 

Vii. 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distressed — 
These  charms  might  tame  the  fiercest  breast: 
Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told. 
That  he,  in  fury  uncontrolled. 
The  sliaggy  monarch  of  the  wood. 
Before  a  virgin,  fair  and  good. 
Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 
But  i)assions  in  the  human  frame. 
Oft  put  the  lion's  rage  to  shame; 
'  And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue. 
With  sorded  avarice  in  league. 
Had  practised,  with  her  bowl  and  knife. 
Against  the  mourner's  harmless  life. 
This  crime  was  charged  'gainst  those  who  lay 
Prisone<l  in  Cuthbert's  islet  gray. 

vin. 

And  now  the  vessel  skirts  tlie  strand 
Of  mountainous  Northumberland; 
Towns,  lowers,  and  halls  successive  rise. 
And  catch  the  nuns'  delighted  eyes. 
Monk  ^^'earmouth  soon  behind  them  lay. 
And  Tynemouth's  priory  and  bay; 
They  marked,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 
Of  Lofty  Seaton-Delaval; 
They  saw  the  Blythe  and  Wansbeck  floods 
Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods; 


MARMION. 


63 


They  past  the  tower  of  Widderington, 

Mother  of  many  a  valiant  son; 

At  Coquet-isle  their  beads  they  tell 

To  the  good  saint  who  owned  the  cell; 

Then  did  the  Alne  attention  claim, 

And  Warkwortli,  proud  of  Percy's  name; 

And  next,  they  crossed  themselves,  to  hear 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near, 

Where,  boiling  through  the  rocks,  tliey  roar 

On  Dunstanborough's  cavemed  shore:  ' 

Thy  tow'r,  proud  Bamborough,  mark'd  thev  there; 

King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and'squarc. 

From  its  tall  rock  look  grimly  down, 

And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown; 

Then  fi-om  the  coast  they  bore  away. 

And  reached  the  Holy  Island's  bay. 

IX. 

The  tide  did  now  its  flood-mark  gain, 
And  girdled  in  the  saint's  domain: 
For,  with  the  flow  and  ebb,  the  style 
Varies  from  continent  to  isle; 
Drj'-shod,  o'er  sands,  twice  every  dav, 
The  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  find  way;' 
Twice  everv-  day,  the  waves  t-fface  " 
Of  staves  and  sandall'd  feet  the  trace. 
As  to  the  port  the  galley  flew. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 
The  castle,  with  its  battled  wall. 
The  ancient  monastery's  hall, 
A  solemn,  huge,  and  dak-red  pile, 
Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  isle. 

X.     • 

In  Saxon  strength  that  abbey  frowned. 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round. 

That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 

On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low, 
Built  ere  the  art  was  known, 

By  pointed  aisle,  and  shafted  stalk, 

The  arcades  of  an  alleyed  walk 
To  emulate  in  stone. 
On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  poured  his  impious  rage  in  vain; 
And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these. 
Exposed  to  the  tempestuous  seas, 
Scourged  by  the  wind's  eternal  sway, 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they. 
Which  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstand 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Rebuilded  in  a  later  style. 
Showed  where  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been; 
Not  but  the  wasting  sea-breeze  keen 
Had  worn  the  pillar's  carving  quaint, 
And  mouldered  in  his  niche  the  saint, 
And  rounded,  with  consuming  power. 
The  pointed  angles  of  e.^ch  tower: 
Yet  still  entire  the  abbey  stood. 
Like  veteran,  worn,  but  unsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon  as  they  neared  his  turrets  strong. 
The  maidens  raised  Saint  Hilda's  song. 
And  with  the  sea-wave  and  the  wind. 
Their  voices,  sweetly  shrill,  combined. 
And  made  harmonious  close; 
.Then,  answering  from  the  sandy  shore, 
Half-drowned  amid  the  breakers'  roar, 

According  chorus  rose. 
Down  to  the  h.aven  of  the  Isle, 
The  monks  and  nuns  in  order  file, 
From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim; 


Banner,  and  cross,  and  reliques  there, 
To  meet  saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare; 
And,  as  they  caught  tlie  sounds  on  air. 

They  echoed  back  the  liymn. 
The  islanders,  in  joyous  mood. 
Rushed  emulously  through  the  flood, 

To  hale  the  bark  to  land; 
Conspicuous  by  her  veil  and  hood. 
Signing  the  cross  the  abbess  stood. 

And  blessed  them  with  her  hand. 

XII. 

Suppose  we  now  the  welcome  said. 
Suppose  the  convent  banquet  made; 

All  through  the  holy  dome. 
Through  cloister,  aisle,  and  gallery, 
Wherever  vestal  maid  might  prv, " 
Nor  risk  to  meet  unhalloied  eye. 

The  stranger  sisters  roam; 
Till  fell  the  evening  damp  with  dew, 
And  the  sharp  sea-breeze  coldh"  blew, 
For  there,  e'en  summer  night  is  chill. 
Then,  having  strayed  and  gazed  their  fill. 

They  closed  around  the  fire; 
And  all,  in  turn,  essayed  to  paint 
The  rival  merits  of  their  saint, 

A  theme  th.it  ne'er  can  tire 
A  holy  maid;  for,  be  it  known. 
That  their  saint's  honour  is  their  own. 

XIII. 

Then  WTiitby's  nuns  exulting  told. 
How  to  their  house  three  barons  bold 

Must  menial  service  do;8 
WTiile  horns  blow  out  a  note  of  shame. 
And  monks  crv',  "  Fy  upon  your  name! 
In  wrath,  for  loss  of  sylvan  game. 

Saint  Hilda's  priest  ye  slew." 
"  This,  on  Ascension-day,  each  year, 
\Aniile  labouring  on  our  harhour-pier. 
Must  Herbert,  Bruce,  and  Percy  hear." 
They  told  how,  in  their  convent  cell, 
A  suxon  princess  once  did  dwell, 

The  lovely  Edelfled;^ 
And  how,  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 
Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

W^hen  holy  Hilda  prayed. 
Themselves,  within  their  holy  bound, 
Their  stony  folds  had  often  found. 
They  told,  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail. 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail,'" 
And,  sinking  down,  with  flutterings  faint, 
Tliey  do  their  homage  to  the  saint. 

XIV. 

Nor  did  saint  Cuthbert's  daughters  fail 

To  vie  with  these  in  holy  tale; 

His  body's  resting-place,  of  old. 

How  oft  their  patron  changed,  they  told;" 

How,  when  the  rude  Dane  burned  their  pile, 

The  monks  fled  forth  from  Holy  Isle; 

O'er  northern  mountain,  marsh,  and  moor. 

From  sea  to  sea,  from  siiore  to  shore. 

Seven  years  saint  Cuthbert's  corpse  they  bore. 

They  rested  them  in  fair  Melrose; 

But  though,  alive,  he  loved  it  well. 
Not  there  his  relics  might  repose; 

For,  wondrous  tale  to  tell! 
In  his  stone-coffin  forth  he  rides, 
(A  ponderous  bark  for  river  tides,) 

Yet  light  as  gossamer  it  glides. 
Downward  to  Tillmouth  cell. 
Nor  long  was  his  abiding  there. 
For  southward  did  the  s:\int  repair; 


64 


SCOTT'S  POETICAI-  WORKS 


Cliester-le  Street,  !\ml  Uippon,  saw 
His  holy  corpse,  ere  Wardilaw 
Hailed  liiin  willijoy  and  fear; 
And,  after  many  wanderings  past, 
He  chose  his  lordly  seat  at  last, 
Where  his  cathedral,  huge  and  vast, 

Looks  down  upon  the  VVear. 
There,  deep  in  Durham's  (lothic  shade, 
His  relics  are  in  secret  laid; 

But  none  may  know  the  place, 
Save  of  his  holiest  servants  three. 
Deep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy, 
Who  share  that  wondrous  grace. 
XV. 
Who  may  his  miracles  declare! 
E'en  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir 

(Although  witli  them  they  led 
Galwegians,  wild  as  ocean's  gale, 
And  Lodon's  knights,  all  sheathed  in  mail, 
And  the  bold  men  of  Teviotdale,) 

Before  his  standard  fled.'^ 
'Twas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 
Edged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 
And  turned  the  conqueror  back  again, '3 
When,  with  his  Norman  bowyer  ban(i, 
He  came  to  waste  Northumberland. 

XVI. 
But  fain  saint  Hilda's  nuns  would  learn. 
If,  on  a  rock,  by  Lindisfarn, 
Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 
The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name:'* 
Such  tales  had  Whitby's  fishers  told. 
And  said  they  might  his  shape  behold. 

And  hear  his  anvil  sound; 
A  deadened  clang, — a  huge  dim  form. 
Seen  but,  and  heard,  when  gathering  storm, 

And  night  were  closing  round. 
But  this,  as  tale  of  idle  fame, 
The  nuns  of  Lindisfarn  disclaim. 

XVII. 
\Vhile  round  the  fire  such  legends  go, 
Far  difi"erent  was  the  scene  ot  wo. 
Where,  in  a  secret  aisle  beneath. 
Council  was  held  of  life  and  death. 
It  was  more  dark  and  lone,  that  vault, 

Than  the  worst  dungeon  cell; 
Old  Colwulf  15  built  it,  for  his  fault, 
In  penitence  to  dwell. 
When  he,  for  cowl  and  beads,  laid  down 
The  Saxon  battle-axe  and  crown. 
This  den,  which,  chilling  every  sense 

Of  feeling,  hearing,  sight. 
Was  called  the  vault  of  penitence. 

Excluding  air  and  light. 
Was,  by  the  prelate  Sexhelm,  made 
A  place  of  burial,  for  such  dead 
As,  having  died  in  mortal  sin. 
Might  not  be  laid  the  church  within. 
'Twas  now  a  place  of  punishment; 
Whence,  if  so  loud  a  shriek  were  sent. 

As  readied  the  upper  air. 
The  hearers  blessed  themselves,  and  said, 
The  spirits  of  the  sinful  dead 
Bemoaned  their  torments  there. 

XVIII. 

But  though,  in  the  monastic  pile. 
Did  of  this  penitential  aisle 
Some  vague  tradition  go, 
Few  only,  save  the  abbot,  knew 
WTiere  the  place  lay;  and  still  more  few 
Were  those,  who  had  from  him  the  clew 


"  To  that  dread  vault  to  go. 
Victim  and  executioner 
Were  blind-fold  when  transported  there. 
In  low  dark  rounds  the  arches  hung. 
From  the  rude  rock  the  side-walls  sprung; 
The  grave-stones,  rudely  sculptured  o'er, 
Half  sunk  in  earth,  by  time  half  wore, 
Were  all  tlie  pavement  of  the  floor; 
The  mildew  drops  fell  one  by  one, 
With  tinkling  plash,  upon  the  stone. 
A  cresset,*  in  an  iron  chain. 
Which  served  to  light  this  drear  domain. 
With  damp  and  darkness  seemed  to  strive. 
As  if  it  scarce  might  keep  alive; 
And  yet  it  dimly  served  to  show 
The  awful  conclave  met  below. 

XIX. 
There,  met  to  doom  in  secrecy. 
Were  placed  the  heads  of  convents  three; 
All  servants  of  saint  Benedict, 
The  statutes  of  whose  orders  strict 

On  iron  table  lay; 
In  long  black  dress,  on  seats  of  stone, 
Behind  were  these  three  judges  shown, 

By  the  pale  cresset's  raj': 
The  abbess  of  saint  Hilda,  there, 
Sate  for  a  space  with  visage  bare, 
tfntil,  to  hide  her  bosom's  swell. 
And  tear-drops  that  for  pitj'  fell, 

She  closely  drew  her  veil: 
Yon  shrouded  figure,  as  I  guess. 
By  her  proud  mien  and  flowing  dress. 
Is  Tynemouth's  haug^y  prioress,'^ 

And  she  with  awe  looks  pale: 
And  he,  that  ancient  man,  whose  sight 
Has  long  been  quenched  by  age's  night. 
Upon  whose  wrinkled  brow  alone, 
>ior  ruth,  nor  mercy's  trace  is  shown. 

Whose  look  is  hard  and  stern, — 
Saint  Cutbbert's  abbot  is  his  style; 
For  sanctity  called,  through  the  isle. 
The  saint  of  Lindisfarn. 
XX. 
Before  them  stood  a  guilty  pair; 
But,  though  an  equal  fate  they  share. 
Yet  one  alone  deserves  our  care. 
Her  sex  a  page's  dress  belied; 
The  cloke  and  doublet,  loosely  tied. 
Obscured  her  charms,  but  could  not  hide. 
Her  cap  down  o'er  her  face  she  drew; 

And,  on  her  doublet-breast, 
She  tried  to  hide  the  badge  of  blue, 
Lord  Marraion's  falcon  crest. 
But,  at  the  pi-ioress'  command, 
A  monk  undid  the  silken  band. 

That  tied  her  tresses  fair. 
And  raised  thi  bonnet  from  her  head. 
And  down  her  slender  form  they  spread. 

In  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 
Constance  de  Beverley  they  know. 
Sister  professed  of  Fontevraud, 
Whom  the  church  numbered  wilh  the  dead, 
For  broken  vows,  and  convent  fled. 

XXI. 
When  thus  her  face  was  given  to  view, 
(Although  so  pallid  was  her  hue, 
It  did  a  ghastly  contrast  bear. 
To  those  bright  ringlets,  glistering  fair,) 
Her  look  composed,  and  steady  eye. 
Bespoke  a  matchless  constancy. 


'  Antique  chandflier. 


MARMION. 


65 


And  there  she  stood,  so  calm,  and  pale. 
That,  but  her  breathing  did  not  fail, 
And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head. 
And  of  her  bosom,  waixanted. 
That  neither  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks. 
You  might  have  thought  a  form  of  wax, 
Wrought  to  the  very  life,  was  there; 
So  still  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair. 

XXTl. 

Her  comrade  was  a  sordid  soul. 

Such  as  does  murder  for  a  meed; 
Who,  but  of  fear,  knows  no  control. 
Because  his  consience,  seared  and  foul. 

Feels  not  the  import  of  his  deed; 
One,  whose  brute-feeling  ne'er  aspires 
Beyond  his  own  more  brute  desires. 
Such  tools  the  tempter  ever  needs. 
To  do  the  savagest  of  deeds; 
For  them,  no  visioned  terrors  daunt. 
Their  nights  no  fancied  spectres  haunt; 
One  fear  with  them,  of  all  most  base. 
The  fear  of  death, — alone  finds  place. 
This  wretch  was  clad  in  frock  and  cowl. 
And  shamed  not  loud  to  moan  and  howl, 
His  body  on  the  floor  to  dash. 
And  crouch,  like  hound  beneath  the  lash; 
^^  iiile  his  mute  partner,  standing  near, 
AVaited  her  doom  without  a  tear. 

xxni. 

Yet  well  the  luckless  wretch  might  shriek, 
AVell  might  her  paleness  terror  speak, 
For  there  were  seen,  in  that  dark  wall. 
Two  niches,  narrow,  deep,  and  tall;^ 
Who  enters  at  such  griesly  door. 
Shall  ne'er,  I  ween,  find  exit  more. 
In  each  a  slender  meal  was  laid. 
Of  roots,  of  water,  and  of  bread : 
By  each,  in  Benedictine  dress, 
Two  haggard  monks  stood  motionless; 
AVho,  holding  high  a  blazing  torch. 
Showed  the  grim  entrance  of  the  porch: 
Reflecting  back  the  smoky  beam, 
The  dark-red  walls  and  arches  gleam. 
Hewn  stones  and  cement  were  displayed. 
And  building  tools  in  order  laid. 

XXIV. 

These  executioners  were  chose. 
As  men  who  were  with  mankind  foes. 
And,  with  despite  and  envy  fired. 
Into  the  cloister  had  retired; 

Or  who,  in  desperate  doubt  of  grace. 
Strove,  by  deep  penance,  to  efface 

Of  some  foul  crime  the  stain; 
For,  as  the  vassals  of  her  will. 
Such  men  the  church  selected  still. 
As  either  joyed  in  doing  ill. 
Or  thought  more  grace  to  gain. 
If,  in  her  cause,  they  wrestled  down 
Feelings  their  nature  strove  to  own. 
By  strange  device  were  they  brouglit  there, 
They  knew  not  how,  and  knew  not  where. 

XXV. 

And  now  that  blind  old  abbot  rose. 

To  speak  the  chapter's  doom. 
On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose. 

Alive,  within  the  tomb;'' 
But  stopped,  because  that  woful  maid. 
Gathering  her  powers,  to  speak  essayed. 
Twice  she  essayed,  and  twice,  in  vain; 
Her  accents  might  no  utterance  gain; 


Nought  but  imperfect  murmurs  slip 
From  her  convulsed  and  ([uivering  lip: 

'Twixt  each  attempt  all  was  so  still, 

You  seemed  to  hear  a  distant  rill — 
'Twas  ocean's  swells  and  falls; 
For  though  this  vault  of  sin  and  fear 
Was  to  the  sounding  surge  so  near, 
A  tempest  there  you  scarce  could  hear; 
So  massive  were  the  walls. 
XXVI. 
At  length,  an  effort  sent  apart 
The  blood  that  curdled  to  her  heart. 

And  light  came  to  her  eye. 
And  colour  dawned  upon  her  cheek, 
A  hectic  and  a  fluttered  streak, 
Like  that  left  on  the  Cheviot  peak, 

By  Autumn's  stormy  sky; 
And  when  her  silence  broke  at  length. 
Still  as  she  spoke,  she  gathered  strength. 

And  armed  herself  to  bear; 
It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 
Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair. 

XXVII. 

"  I  speak  not  to  implore  your  grace; 
Well  know  I,  for  one  minute's  space 

Successless  might  I  sue: 
Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain; 
For  if  a  death  of  lingering  pain, 
To  cleanse  my  sins,  be  penance  vain, 

Vain  are  your  masses  too.— 
I  listened  to  a  traitor's  tale, 
1  left  the  convent  and  the  veil. 
For  three  long  years  I  bowed  my  pride, 
A  horse-boy  in  his  train  to  ride; 
And  well  mv  folly's  meed  he  gave, 
Who  forfeited,  to  be  his  slave. 
All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave. — 
He  saw  young  Clara's  face  more  fair. 
He  knew  her  of  broad  lands  tlie  heir. 
Forgot  liis  vows,  his  faith  forswore. 
And  Constance  was  beloved  no  more. 

'Tis  an  old  tale,  and  often  told; 
But,  did  my  fate  and  wish  agree. 

Ne'er  liad  been  read,  in  story  old. 

Of  maiden  true  betrayed  for  gold. 
That  loved,  or  was  avenged,  like  me ! 

XXAIII. 

"  The  king  approved  his  favourite's  aim; 
In  vain  a  rival  barred  his  claim. 

Whose  faith  w  itii  Clai'e's  was  plight, 
For  he  attaints  that  rival's  fame 
With  treason's  charge — and  on  they  came, 

In  mortal  lists  to  fight. 
Their  oatlis  are  said. 
Their  prayers  are  prayed. 
Their  lances  in  the  rest  are  laid. 

They  meet  in  mortal  shock; 
And  hark!  the  throng,  with  thundering  cry 
Shout  '  Marmion,  Alarmion,  to  tiie  skv ! 

De  Wilton  to  the  block ! ' 
Say  ye,  who  preach  heaven  shall  decide. 
When  ill  the  lists  two  champions  ride, 

Say,  was  heaven's  justice  here' 
When,  loyal  in  his  love  and  faith, 
Wilton  found  overthrow  or  deatii. 

Beneath  a  traitor's  spear. 
How  false  the  charge,  how  true  he  fell. 
This  guilty  packet  best  can  tell."  — 
Then  drew  a  packet  from  hei-  breast. 
Paused,  g:itlicred  voice,  and  spoke  the  rest. 


66 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXIX. 

*' Still  was  fiilsc  Mariuion's  bridal  staid; 
To  Whitby's  cnvonl  fled  the  maid, 

Tiiu  iialcd  match  to  slum. 
'  Ho!  siiit'ts  she  thiisi"  king  Henry  cried, 
Sir  Marmion,  she  shall  be  tl»y  bride. 
If  she  were  sworn  a  nun.' 
One  wav  remained — the  i^ins!;'s  command 
Sent  Marmion  to  the  Scottish  land: 
I  linj^ered  here,  and  rescue  plann'd 

For  Clara  an<l  for  me: 
Tiiis  caililfmonk.  for  gold,  did  swear. 
He  would  to  Whitby's  shrine  repair. 
And,  by  liis  (h-ugs,  my  rival  fair 

A  saint  in  lieaven  should  be. 
T?ut  ill  the  dastard  kept  his  oath, 
^\"hose  cowardice  has  tmdone  us  both. 

XXX. 
"  And  now  my  tongue  the  secret  tells. 
Not  that  remorse  my  bosom  swells. 
But  to  assure  my  soul,  tiiat  none 
Shall  ever  wed  with  Marmion. 
Had  fortune  my  last  ho[)e  betrayed. 
This  packet,  to  tlie  king  conveyed, 
Had  given  him  to  the  headsman's  stroke, 
Althougli  my  iicarl  that  instant  broke. — 
Now,  men  of  diath,  work  forth  your  will, 
For  1  can  sufier,  and  be  still; 
And,  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast, 
It  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

XXXT. 
"  Yet  dread  me,  from  my  living  tomb. 
Ye  vassal  slaves  of  blootly  Home ! 
If  Marmion's  late  remorse  siioulj  wake, 
Full  soon  such  vengeance  w  ill  he  t;  ke. 
That  you  shall  wish  the  fiery  Dane 
Had  rather  been  your  guest  again. 
Behind,  a  darker  hour  ascends! 
The  altars  quake,  the  crosier  bends, 
The  ire  of  a  despotic  king 
Rides  forth  upon  dwstruction's  wing. 
Then  shall  these  vaults,  so  strong  and  deep. 
Durst  open  to  the  sea-wind's  sweep; 
Some  traveller  then  shall  find  my  bones, 
Wiiitening  amid  disjointed  stones, 
And,  ignorant  of  priests'  cruelty. 
Marvel  such  relics  here  should  be." — 

XXX 11. 
Fixed  was  her  look,  and  stern  her  air; 
Back  fi-om  her  shoulders  streamed  her  hair; 
The  locks,  that  wont  lier  brow  to  shade. 
Stared  up  erectly  from  her  head; 
Her  figm-e  seemed  to  I'ise  more  high; 
Her  voice,  despair's  wild  energy 
Had  given  a  tone  of  propiiecy. 
Appalled  tiie  astonished  conclave  sate; 
With  stui)id  eyes,  tlie  men  offate 
Gazed  on  llie  light  insijired  form. 
And  listened  for  the  avenging  storm; 
The  judges  fell  the  victim's  dread; 
No  hand  was  moved,  no  word  was  said. 
Till  tlius  the  abbot's  doom  was  given, 
liaising  liis  sightless  balls  to  heaven: — 
"  Sister,  let  thy  sorrows  cease; 
Sinful  brother,"part  in  peace!" 
From  that  dire  dungeon,  place  of  doom. 
Of  execution  too.  and  tomb. 

Paced  forth  the  judges  three; 
Sorrow  it  were,  and  shame,  to  tell 
The  butcher-work  that  there  befel. 
When  they  had  glideii  from  the  cell 
l>f  sin  anil  misery. 


XXXIII. 

A  hundred  winding  ste[)s  convey 
That  conclave  to  the  upper  day; 
But,  ere  they  breathed  the  fi-esher  air, 
They  heard  tlie  shriekings  of  despair. 

And  many  a  stifled  groan: 
With  speed  their  upward  way  they  take, 
(Such  speed  as  age  and  fear  can  make,) 

And  crossed  themselves  for  terror's  sake, 
As  hurrying,  tottering  on; 
Even  in  the  vesper's  heavenly  tone 
They  seemed  to  hear  a  dying  groan, 
And  bade  the  passing  knell  to  toll 
For  welfare  of  a  parting  soul. 
Slow  o'er  the  midnight  wave  it  swung, 
Northumbrian  rocks  in  answer  rung; 
To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  rolled, 
His  beads  the  wakeful  hermit  told; 
The  Bamborougli  peasant  raised  his  head, 
But  slept  ere  half  a  prayer  he  said; 
So  far  was  heard  the  miglity  knell, 
The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 
Spread  his  broad  nostril  to  the  wind, 
Listed  before,  aside,  behind, 
I'hen  couched  him  down  beside  the  hind, 
And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern. 
To  hear  that  sound,  so  dull  and  stern. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  III. 
TO  ^VILLIAM  ERSKINE,  Esa. 

Asliestid,  Uttrick  Forest. 
Like  April  morning  clouds,  that  pass. 
With  varying  shadow,  o'er  the  grass. 
And  imitate,  on  field  and  furi-ow. 
Life's  clie(|uered  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow; 
Like  streamlet  of  the  mountain  north. 
Now  in  a  toi'rent  racing  fortli. 
Now  winding  slow  its  silver  train, 
.\nd  almost  slumbering  on  the  plain; 
Like  breezes  of  the  autumn  day. 
Whose  voice  inconstant  dies  away. 
And  ever  swells  again  as  fast, 
When  the  ear  deems  its  murmur  past; 
Thus  various,  my  romantic  tlieme 
Flits,  winds,  or  sinks,  a  morning  dream. 
Yet  pleased,  our  eye  pursues  the  trace 
Of  light  and  shade's  inconstant  race; 
Pleased,  views  the  rivulet  afar. 
Weaving  its  maze  irregular; 
And  pleased,  we  listen  as  the  breeze 
Heaves  its  wild  sigh  through  autumn  trees; 
Then  wild  as  cloud,  or  stream,  or  gale. 
Flow  on,  flow  unconfined,  my  tale. 
Need  1  to  thee,  dear  Erskine,  tell, 
1  love  the  license  all  too  well. 
In  sounds  now  lowly,  and  now  strong, 
To  raise  the  desultory  song? — 
')ft,  when  mid  such  capricious  chime, 
Some  transient  fit  of  lofty  rhyme. 
To  thy  kind  judgment  seemed  excuse 
For  many  an  error  of  the  muse; 
Oft  hast  thou  said,  "  If,  still  mis-spent. 
Thine  hours  to  poetry  are  lent: 
Go,  and,  to  tame  tliy  wandering  course. 
Quaff  from  the  fountain  at  the  source; 
Appi'oach  those  masters,  o'er  whose  tomb. 
Immortal  laurels  ever  bloom: 
Instructive  of  the  feebler  bard, 
Still  from  the  grave  their  voice  is  heard; 
From  them,  and  from  the  paths  they  showed, 
Choose  honovu'ed  guide  and  practised  road; 


MARMION. 


67 


Nor  ramble  on  through  brake  and  maze, 
With  harpers  rude  of  barbarous  days. 

"  Or,  deera'st  thou  not  our  later  time, 
Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  rhyme? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  verse 
For  Brunswick's  venerable  hearse? 
What !  not  a  line,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 
When  valour  bleeds  for  liberty  i" 
Oh,  hero  of  that  glorious  time. 
When,  with  unrivalled  light  sublime, — 
Though  martial  Austria,  and  though  all 
The  might  of  Russia,  and  the  Gaul, 
Though  banded  Europe  stood  her  foes — 
The  star  of  Brandenburgh  arose ! 
Thou  couldst  not  live  to  see  her  beam 
For  ever  quenched  in  Jena's  stream. 
Lamented  chief! — It  was  not  given, 
To  thee  to  change  the  doom  of  heaven, 
And  crush  that  di-agon  in  its  birth, 
Predestined  scourge  of  guilty  earth. 
Lamented  chief! — not  thine  the  power. 
To  save  in  that  presumptuous  hour. 
When  Prussia  hurried  to  the  field. 
And  snatched  the  spear,  but  left  the  shield ! 
Valour  and  skill  'twas  thine  to  try. 
And,  tried  in  vain,  'twas  tliine  to  die. 
Ill  had  it  seemed  thy  silver  hair 
The  last,  the  bitterest  pang  to  share. 
For  princedoms  reft,  and  scutcheons  riven, 
And  birthrights  to  usurpers  given; 
Thy  lands,  thy  children's  wrongs  to  feel. 
And  witness  woes  thou  could'st  not  heal! 
On  thee  relenting  heaven  bestows 
For  honoured  life  an  honoured  close; 
And  when  revolves,  in  time's  sure  change. 
The  hour  of  Germany's  revenge. 
When,  breathing  fury  for  her  sake. 
Some  new  Arminius  shall  awake. 
Her  champion,  ere  he  sti-ike,  shall  come 
To  whet  his  sword  on  Brunswick's  tomb. 

"  Or  of  the  Red-Cross  hero  teach. 
Dauntless  in  dungeon  as  on  breach: 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore. 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar; 
Alike  to  him  tlie  war  that  calls 
Its  votaries  to  the  sliatlered  walls. 
Which  the  grim  Turk,  besmeared  with  blood. 
Against  the  invincible  made  good; 
Or  that,  whose  thundering  voice  could  wake 
The  silence  of  the  polar  lake. 
When  stubborn  Russ,  and  metal 'd  Swede, 
On  the  warped  wave  their  death-game  played; 
Or  that,  where  vengeance  and  affright 
Howled  round  the  father  of  the  fight. 
Who  snatched,  on  Alexandria's  s;ind. 
The  conqueror's  ^vreath  with  dying  hand. 

"  Or,  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine. 
Restore  the  ancient  tragic  line, 
And  emulate  the  notes  that  rung 
From  the  wild  harp,  which  silent  hung, 
By  silver  Avon's  holy  shore. 
Till  twice  an  hundred  years  rolled  o'er; 
When  she,  the  bold  enchantress,  came. 
With  fearless  hand  and  heart  on  flame ! 
From  the  ])ale  willow  snatched  the  treasure, 
And  swept  it  with  a  kindred  measure. 
Till  Avon's  swans,  while  rung  the  grove 
With  Montfort's  hate  and  Basil's  love, 
Awakening  at  the  inspired  strain. 
Deemed  their  own  Shakspeare  lived  again." 

Thy  friendship  thus  thy  judgment  wronging, 
With  praises,  not  to  me  belonging, 


In  task  more  meet  for  mightiest  powers, 

Would'st  thou  engage  my  thriftless  hours. 

But  say,  my  Erskine,  hast  thou  weighed 

That  secret  power  by  all  obeyed. 

Which  warps  not  less  the  passive  mind, 

Its  source  concealed  or  undefined; 

^Vhether  an  impulse,  that  has  birth 

Soon  as  the  infant  wakes  on  earth. 

One  with  our  feelings  and  our  powers, 

And  rather  part  of  us  than  ours; 

Or  whether  fitlier  termed  the  sway 

Of  habit,  formed  in  early  da)'!" 

Howe'er  derived,  its  force  confessed 

Rules  with  despotic  sway  the  breast, 

And  drags  us  on  by  viewless  chain, 

^Aliile  taste  and  reason  plead  in  vain. 

Look  east,  and  ask  the  Belgian  why, 

Beneath  Batavia's  sultry  sky. 

He  seeks  not,  eager  to  inhale. 

The  freshness  of  the  mountain  gale, 

Content  to  rear  his  whitened  wall 
Beside  the  dank  and  dull  canal' 

He'll  say,  from  youth  he  loved  to  see 
The  while  sail  gliding  by  the  tree. 
Or  see  yon  weather-beaten  hind. 
Whose  sluggish  herds  before  him  wind. 
Whose  tattered  plaid  and  rugged  cheek 
His  northern  clime  and  kindred  speak; 
Through  England's  laughing  meads  he  goes, 
And  England's  wealth  around  him  flows; 
Ask,  if  it  would  content  him  well. 
At  ease  in  these  gay  plains  to  dwell, 
AVhere  hedge-rows  spread  a  verdant  screen. 
And  spires  and  forests  intervene. 
And  the  neat  cottage  peeps  between? 
Xo,  not  for  these  will  he  exchange 
His  dai'k  Lochaber's  boundless  range; 
Nor  for  fair  Devon's  meads  forsake 
Bennevis  gray  and  Garry's  lake. 

Thus,  while  1  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charmed  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  witli  the  chime, 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time; 
And  feelings,  roused  in  life's  first  day. 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 
Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower. 
Which  charmed  m)-  fancy's  wakening  hour. 
Though  no  broad  river  swept  along 
To  claim,  perchance,  heroic  song; 
Though  sighed  no  gi'oves  in  summer  gale. 
To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale; 
Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 
Claimed  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed: 
Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given. 
By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 
It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild. 
Where  naked  cliff's  were  rudely  piled; 
But  ever  and  anon  between 
Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green; 
And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 
Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew. 
And  honey-suckle  loved  to  crawl 
Up  the  low  crag  and  ruined  wall. 
I  deemed  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  his  round  surveyed; 
And  still  I  thought  that  shattered  tower 
The  mightiest  work  of  human  power; 
And  marvelled,  as  the  aged  hind 
With  some  strange  tale  bewitched  my  mind. 
Of  forayers,  w  ho,  w  ith  headlong  force, 
Down  from  that  strength  had  spurred  their  horse. 
Their  southern  rapine  to  renew. 
Far  in  the  (Ustant  Cheviot's  blue. 


68 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  hoiiif  riMuniiiis;,  tilleil  the  liall 

With  revel,  wassel-rout,  and  brawl. — 

Methought  that  still  witti  trump  and  clang 

The  gale- way's  broken  arches  rang; 

Methouf;ht  grim  leatiirts,  seamed  with  scars, 

Glared  tlirouy;!*  the  window's  rusty  bai"S. 

And  ever,  by  tlie  winter  hearth, 

Olil  tales  1  heard  of  woe  or  mirth. 

Of  lovers'  sleights,  of  ladies'  charms, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms; 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight. 

When,  pouring  from  their  highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway. 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

While  stretched  at  length  upon  the  floor, 

Again  1  fought  each  combat  o'er, 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  displayed; 

And  onward  still  the  Scottish  lion  bore, 

And  still  the  scattered  Southron  fled  before. 

Still,  with  vain  fondness,  could  I  trace. 
Anew,  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brightened  at  our  evening  fire; 
From  the  thatched  mansion's  gray-haired  sire, 
AVise  without  learning,  plain  and  good. 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood; 
Whose  eye  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen. 
Showed  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought. 
Content  willi  equitv  unbought; 
To  him  the  venerable  priest. 
Our  fre()uent  and  familiar  guest. 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint; 
Alas!  whose  siieech  too  oft  1  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke: 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-willed  imp,  a  grandame's  child; 
But,  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
AVas  still  endured,  beloved,  cai-est. 

From  me,  tlius  nurtured,  dost  thou  ask 
The  classic  poet's  well-conned  task? 
Nay,  Erskiue,  naj- — on  the  wild  hill 
Let  the  wild  heathbell  flourish  still; 
Cherish  the  tulip,  prune  the  vine. 
But  freely  let  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  leave  untrimmed  the  eglantine: 
Nay,  my  friend,  nay — since  oft  thy  praise 
Hath  given  fresh  vigour  to  my  lays. 
Since  oft  thy  judgment  could  refine 
My  flattened  tliought,  or  cumbrous  line. 
Still  kind,  as  is  thy  wont,  attend. 
And  in  the  minstrel  spare  the  friend; 
Though  wild  as  cloud,  as  stream,  as  gale. 
Flow  forth,  flow  unrestrained,  my  tale! 

CAXTO  III, 

THE  HOSTEL,  OR  INN. 

I. 

The  livelong  day  lord  Marmion  rode: 
The  mountain-path  the  Palmer  showed; 
By  glen  and  streamlet  winded  still. 
Where  stunted  birches  hid  the  rill. 
They  might  not  choose  the  lowland  road. 
For  the  Merse  forayers  were  abroad. 
Who,  fired  with  haie  and  thirst  of  prev, 
Had  scarcely  failed  to  bar  their  way. 
Oft  on  the  trampling  band,  from  crown 
Of  S'jme  tall  elift',  the  deer  looked  down; 


On  wing  of  jet,  from  his  repose 

In  the  deep  heath,  the  black-cock  rose; 

Sprung  from  the  gorse  the  timid  roe, 

Nor  waited  for  the  bending  bow; 

And  when  the  stony  path  began, 

Hy  which  the  naked  peak  they  wan. 

Up  flew  thi-  snowy  jjtarmigan. 

The  noon  had  long  been  passed  before 

They  gained  the  height  of  Lammermoor; 

Thence  winding  down  the  northern  way, 

Before  them,  at  the  close  of  day. 

Old  Gilford's  towers  and  hamlet  lay. 

II. 
No  summons  calls  them  to  the  tower. 
To  spend  the  hospitable  hour. 
To  Scotland's  camp  the  lord  was  gone, 
His  cautious  dame,  in  bower  alone, 
Dreaded  her  castle  to  unclose, 
So  late,  to  unknown  friends  or  foes. 

On  through  the  hamlet  as  they  paced. 

Before  a  porch,  wliose  front  was  graced 

With  bush  and  flaggon  trimly  placed. 
Lord  Marmion  drew  his  rein: 

The  village  inn'  seemed  large,  though  rude; 

Its  cheerful  fire  and  hearty  food 
Might  well  relieve  his  train. 
Down  from  their  seats  the  horsemen  sprang, 
Witli  jingling  spurs  the  court-yard  rang; 
They  bind  their  horses  to  the  stall, 
For  forage,  food,  and  firing  call. 
And  various  clamour  fills  the  hall; 
Weighing  llie  labour  with  the  cost. 
Toils  every  where  the  bustling  host. 

III. 
Soon,  by  the  chimney's  raeri'y  blaze, 
Through  tlie  rude  hostel  might  you  gaze; 
Miglit  see,  where  in  dark  nook  aloof. 
The  rafters  of  the  sooty  roof 

Bore  wealth  of  w  inter  cheer; 
Of  sea  fowl  dried,  and  solands  store. 
And  gammons  of  the  tusky  boar. 

And  savoury  haunch  of  deer. 
The  chimney  arch  projected  wide; 
Above,  around  il,  and  beside. 

Were  tools  for  housewives'  hand; 
Nor  wanted,  in  that  martial  day. 
The  implements  of  Scottish  fray, 

Tiie  buckler,  lance,  and  brand. 
Beneath  its  shade,  the  place  of  state, 
On  oaken  settle  Marmion  sate. 
And  viewed,  around  the  blazing  hearth. 
His  followers  mix  in  noisy  mirth. 
Whom  with  brown  ale,  in  jolly  tide, 
From  ancient  vessels  ranged  aside, 
Full  actively  their  host  supplied. 

IV. 
Theirs  was  tiie  glee  of  martial  breast. 
And  laughter  theirs  at  little  jest; 
And  oft  lord  Marmion  deigned  to  aid, 
And  mingle  in  the  mirth  tiiey  made: 
For  thougii,  with  men  of  high  degree. 
The  proudest  of  tlie  proud  was  he. 
Yet,  trained  in  camps,  he  knew  the  art 
To  win  the  soldier's  hardy  heart. 
They  love  a  captain  to  obey. 
Boisterous  as  March,  yet  fresh  as  May; 
\V  ith  open  hand,  and  brow  as  free. 
Lover  of  wine  and  minstrelsy; 
Ever  the  first  to  scale  a  tower. 
As  venturous  in  a  lady's  bower: — 
Such  buxom  chief  shall  lead  his  host 
From  India's  fires  to  Zembla's  frost. 


MAllMION. 


69 


Resting  upon  his  pilgrim  staff, 

Right  opposite  the  Palmer  stood: 
His  thin  dark  visage  seen  but  half, 

Half  hidden  by  his  hood. 
Still  fixed  on  Marmion  was  his  look, 
Which  he,  who  ill  such  gaze  could  brook, 

Strove  by  a  frown  to  quelle 
But  not  for  that,  though  more  than  once 
Full  met  their  stern  encountering  glance, 

The  Palmer's  visage  fell. 

VI. 

By  fits  less  frequent  from  the  crowd 
Was  heard  the  burst  of  laughter  loud; 
For  still  as  squire  and  archer  stared 
On  that  dark  face  and  matted  beard. 

Their  glee  and  game  declined. 
All  gazed  at  length  in  silence  drear, 
Unbroke,  save  when  in  comrade's  ear 
Some  yeoman,  wondering  in  his  fear, 

Thus  wliispered  forth  his  mind: 
"Saint  Mary!  saw'st  thou  ere  such  sight' 
How  pale  his  cheek,  his  eye  how  bright. 
Whene'er  the  fire-brand's  fickle  light 

Glances  beneath  his  cowl .' 
Full  on  our  lord  he  sets  his  eye; 
For  his  best  palfrey,  would  not  1 

Endure  that  sullen  scowl." — 

\TI. 

But  Marmion,  as  to  chase  the  awe 

Which  thus  had  quelled  their  heai'ts,  who  saw 

The  ever-var}ing  fire-light  show 

That  figure  stern  and  face  of  woe. 

Now  called  upon  a  squire: — 
"  Fitz-Eustace,  know'st  thou  not  some  lay. 
To  speed  the  lingering  night  away? 

We  slumber  by  the  fire. " 
VIII. 
"  So  please  you,"  thus  the  youth  rejoined, 
"  Our  choicest  minstrel's  left  behind. 
Ill  may  we  hope  to  please  your  ear, 
Accustomed  Constant's  strains  to  hear. 
The  harp  full  deftly  can  he  strike. 
And  wake  the  lover's  lute  alike; 
To  dear  Saint  ^  alentine,  no  thrusii 
Sings  livelier  from  a  spring-tide  bush; 
No  niglitingale  her  love-lorn  tune 
More  sweetly  warbles  to  the  moon. 
Woe  to  the  cause,  whate'er  it  be, 
Detains  from  us  his  melody. 
Lavished  on  rocks,  and  billows  stern. 
Or  duller  monks  of  Lindisfern. 
Now  must  I  venture,  as  I  may, 
To  sing  his  favourite  roundelay." 

IX. 
A  mellow  voice  Fitz-Eustace  had, 
The  air  he  chose  was  wild  and  sad; 
Such  have  I  heard,  in  Scottish  land, 
Rise  from  the  busy  harvest  band, 
When  falls  before  the  mountaineer. 
On  lowland  plains,  the  ripened  ear. 
Now  one  shrill  voice  the  notes  prolong. 
Now  a  wild  chorus  swells  the  song: 
Oft  have  I  listened,  and  stood  still, 
As  it  came  softened  up  the  hill. 
And  deemed  it  the  lament  of  men 
Who  languisird  for  their  native  glen; 
And  thought  how  sad  would  be  such  sound. 
On  Susquehannah's  swamp\-  ground, 
Kentucky's  wood-encumbered  brake, 
Or  wild  Ontario's  boundless  lake. 


Where  heart-sick  exiles,  in  the  strain. 
Recalled  fair  Scotland's  hills  again ! 

X. 

SONG. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest. 

Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Parted  for  ever? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high. 

Sounds  the  far  billow, 
Where  early  violets  die, 

Under  the  willow. 

CHOHUS. 

Eleu  loro,  &c.  Soft  shall  be  his  pillo«'. 

There,  through  the  summer  day. 

Cool  streams  are  laving; 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway. 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving; 
There,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  for  ever, 
Never  again  to  wake. 

Never,  O  never. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu  loro,  &c.  Never,  O  never. 

XI. 
Where  shall  the  traitor  rest. 

He,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast. 

Ruin,  and  leave  her' 
In  the  lost  battle. 

Borne  down  by  the  flying. 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  gi'oans  of  the  dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu  loro,  &c.  There  shall  he  be  lying 
Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  flap 

O'er  the  false-hearted, 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap. 

Ere  life  be  parted. 
Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

By  his  grave  ever; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it, — 

Never,  O  never. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu  loro,  &c.  Never,  O  never. 

xn. 

It  ceased,  the  melancholy  sound, 
And  silence  sunk  on  all  around. 
The  air  was  sad;  but  sadder  still 

It  fell  on  Marmion's  ear. 
And  plained  as  if  disgaace  and  ill. 
And  shameful  death,  were  near. 
He  drew  his  mantle  past  his  face. 

Between  it  and  the  band. 
And  rested  with  his  head  a  space, 
Reclining  on  his  hand. 
His  thoughts  I  scan  not;  but  I  ween. 
That,  could  their  import  have  been  seen. 
The  meanest  groom  in  all  the  hall. 
That  e'er  tied  courser  to  a  stall. 
Would  scarce  have  wished  to  be  their  prey. 
For  Lutterward  and  Fontenaye. 

XIII. 
High  minds,  of  native  pride  and  force. 
Most  deeply  feel  thy  pangs,  Remorse! 
Fear,  for  tiieir  scourge,  mean  villains  have— 
Thou  art  the  torturer  of  the  brave ! 
Yet  fatal  strength  they  boast,  to  steel 
Their  minds  to  bear  tlie  wounds  they  feel. 


70 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  AVOIIKS. 


Even  while  iliev  wrillie  bciieatli  the  smart 
Of  civil  coiillict  in  the  heart. 
For  soon  lord  Marniion  ruised  his  head, 
And,  smiliiim,  to  Fitz-Kusiace  said, — 
*'  Is  it  not  strange,  that,  as  ye  sung, 
Seemed  in  mine  car  a  (h-ath-peHl  rung, 
Such  as  in  nunneries  they  toll 
For  some  departing  sister's  soul? 
Say,  what  may  this  portend?" — 

Then  first  the  palmer  silence  broke 
(The  live-long  day  he  had  not  spoke,) 

"  The  death  of  a  dear  friend. "- 

XIV. 

]SIarmion,  whose  steady  heart  and  eye 
Ne'er  changed  in  worst  extremity; 
Marmion,  whose  soul  could  scantly  brook. 
Even  from  his  king,  a  haughty  look; 
Whose  accent  of  command  controlled. 
In  camps,  the  boldest  of  the  bold — 
Thought,  look,  and  utterance,  failed  him  now. 
Fallen  was  his  glance,  and  flushed  his  brow: 

For  eitlK-r  in  the  tone. 
Or  something  in  the  palmer's  look. 
So  full  upon  his  conscience  strook. 

That  answer  he  found  none. 
Thus  oft  it  haps,  that  when  within 
They  shrink  at  sense  of  secret  sin, 

A  feather  daunts  the  brave, 
A  fool's  wild  speech  confounds  the  wise. 
And  proudest  princes  veil  their  eyes 

Before  their  meanest  slave. 

XV. 

Well  might  he  falter! — by  his  aid 

Was  Constance  Beverly  betrayed; 

Not  that  he  augur'd  of  the  doom. 

Which  on  the  living  closed  the  tomb: 

JBut,  tired  to  hear  the  desi)erate  maid 

Threaten  by  turns,  beseech,  upbraid; 

And  wrotli,  because,  in  wild  despair, 

She  practised  on  the  life  of  Clare; 

Its  fugitive  the  church  he  gave, 

Though  not  a  victim,  but  a  slave; 

And  deemed  restraint  in  convent  strange 

Would  hide  her  wrongs  and  her  revenge. 

Himself,  proud  Henry's  favourite  peer, 

Held  Romish  tbundei-s  idle  fear; 

Secure  his  pardon  he  might  hold. 

For  some  slight  mulct  of  penance  gold. 

Thus  judging,  he  gave  secret  way, 

When  the  stern  priests  surprised  their  prey; 

His  train  but  deemed  the  favourite  page 

Was  left  behind,  to  spare  his  age; 

Or  other  if  they  deemed,  none  dared 

To  mutter  wiiat  he  thought  and  heard: 

Wo  to  the  vassal,  wiio  durst  pry 

Into  lord  Marmion's  privacy! 

XVI. 

His  conscience  slept — he  deemed  her  well. 
And  safe  secured  in  distant  cell; 
But,  wakened  by  her  favourite  lay. 
And  that  strange  palmer's  boding  sav, 
That  fell  so  ominous  and  drear, 
Full  on  the  object  of  his  fear, 
To  aid  remorse's  venomed  throes, 
Dark  tales  of  convent  vengeance  rose; 
And  Constance,  late  betrayed  and  scorned 
All  lovely  on  liis  soul  returned; 
Lovely  as  when,  at  treacherous  call. 
She  left  her  convent's  jjeaceful  wall. 
Crimsoned  with  shame,  with  terror  mute, 
Dreading  alike  escape,  pursuit, 


Till  love,  victorious  o'er  alarms, 
Hid  fears  and  blushes  in  his  arms. 

XVll. 

"  Alas!"  he  tlinught,  "  how  changed  that  mien! 

How  changed  these  timid  I'loks  have  been, 

Since  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise. 

Have  steeled  her  brow,  and  armed  her  eyes! 

No  more  of  virgin  terror  speaks 

The  blood  that  mantles  in  her  cheeks; 

Fierce,  and  unfeminine,  are  there. 

Frenzy  for  joy,  for  grief,  despair; 

And  1  the  cause — foi'  whom  were  given 

Her  peace  on  eartii,  her  hopes  in  heaven! 

"  Would,"  thought  he,  as  the  picture  grows, 

"  I  on  its  stalk  had  left  tiie  rose! 

Oh  wiiy  should  man's  success  remove 

The  very  charms  that  wake  his  love! 

Her  convent's  peaceful  solitude 

Is  now  a  prison  harsh  and  rude; 

And,  pent  within  the  narrow  cell. 

How  will  her  spirit  chafe  and  swell! 

How  brook  the  stern  monastic  laws! 

The  penance  how — and  I  the  cause! 

\'igil  and  scourge- — perchance  even  worse!"— 

And  twice  he  rose  to  cry  "to  horse!" 

And  twice  his  sovereign's  mandate  came, 

Like  damp  upon  a  kindling  flame; 

And  tvvice  he  thought,  "  Gave  I  not  charge 

She  should  be  safe,  though  not  at  large' 

They  durst  not,  for  their  island,  shred 

One  golden  ringlet  from  her  head." — 

xvni. 

While  thus  in  IMarmion's  bosom  strove 

Repentance  and  reviving  love. 

Like  whirlwinds,  whose  contending  sway 

I've  seen  Loch  A  eimacliar  obey, 

Tiieir  host  the  palmer's  speech  had  heard, 

And,  talkative,  look  up  the  word: — 

"  Ay,  reverend  pilgrim,  you,  who  stray 

From  Scotland's  simple  land  away. 
To  visit  realms  alar, 

Full  often  learn  tiie  art  to  know 

Of  future  weal,  or  future  wo. 
By  word,  or  sign,  or  star. 
Yet  might  a  knight  his  fortune  hear. 
If,  knight  like,  he  despises  fear. 
Not  far  from  hence; — if  fathers  old 
Aright  our  hamlet-legend  told. " — 
These  broken  Avords  the  menials  move 
(For  marvels  still  the  vulgar  love;) 
And,  Marmion  giving  license  cold. 
His  tale  tiie  host  thus  gladly  told. 

XIX. 

THE  host's  tale. 

"A  clerk  could  tell  wiiat  years  have  flown 
Since  Alexander  filled  our  throne 
(Third  monarch  of  tliat  warlike  name,) 
And  eke  the  time  when  here  he  came 
To  seek  sir  Hugo,  then  our  lord: 
A  braver  never  drew  a  sword; 
A  wiser  never,  at  the  hour 
Of  midnight,  spoke  the  word  of  power; 
The  same,  v^  bom  ancient  records  call 
The  founder  of  the  Goblin-Hall. 3 
I  would,  sir  knight,  your  longer  stay 
Gave  you  that  cavern  to  survey. 
Of  lofty  roof,  and  ample  size. 
Beneath  the  castle  deep  it  lies: 
To  hew  the  living  rock  profound. 
The  floor  to  pave,  the  arch  to  round. 


MARMION. 


71 


There  never  toiled  a  mortal  arm. 
It  all  was  wrought  by  word  and  charm; 
And  I  have  heard  ray  grandsire  say, 
That  the  wild  clamoui-  and  afFi-ay 
Of  those  dread  artisans  of  hell, 
'Who  laboured  under  I  lugo's  spell. 
Sounded  as  loud  as  ocean's  war, 
Among  the  caverns  of  Dunbar. 

XX. 
"  The  king  lord  Giftbrd's  castle  sought. 
Deep  labouring  with  uncertain  thought: 
Even  then  he  mustered  all  liis  host. 
To  meet  upon  the  western  coast; 
P'or  Xorse  aud  Danish  galleys  plied 
Tlieir  oars  within  the  Frith  of  Clyde. 
There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim", 
Above  Norweyan  \\  arriors  grim,^ 
Savage  of  heait,  and  large  of  limb; 
Threatening  both  coutinenl  and  isle, 
Bute,  Arran,  Cunningham,  and  Krle. 
Lord  Gilford,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 
Heard  Alexander's  bugle  sound. 
And  tarried  not  his  garb  to  change. 
But,  in  his  wizard  habit  strange,^ 
Came  forth, — a  quaint  and  fearful  sight  I 
His  mantle  lined  wiih  fox-skins  white; 
His  high  and  wTinkled  forehead  bore 
A  pointed  cap,  such  as  of  yore 
Clerks  say  that  Pharoah's  magi  wore; 
His  shoes  were  marked  with  cross  and  spell. 
Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle;^ 
His  zone,  of  virgin  parchment  tliin. 
Or,  as  some  tell,  of  dead-man's  skin, 
Boi-e  many  a  planetary  sign, 
Combust,  and  retrograde,  and  ti'ine; 
And  in  his  hand  he  held,  prepared, 
A  naked  sword  without  a  guard. 

XXI. 

"  Dire  dealings  with  the  fiendish  race 
Had  marked  strange  lines  upon  his  face; 
Vigil  and  fast  had  worn  him  grim; 
His  eyesight  dazzled  seemed,  and  dim, 
As  one  unused  to  upper  day; 
Even  his  own  menials  with  dismay 
Beheld,  sir  knight,  the  gi-ieslv  sire, 
In  this  unwonted  wild  attire;' 
Unwonted, — for  traditions  run. 
He  seldom  thus  beheld  the  sun. 
'  I  know,'  he  said, — his  voice  was  hoarse. 
And  broken  seemed  its  hollow  force, — 
'  1  know  the  cause,  althougli  untold, 
^\^ly  the  king  seeks  his  vassal's  hold: 
Vainly  from  me  my  liege  would  know 
His  kingdom's  future  weal  or  wo; 
But  yet  if  strong  his  arm  and  heart, 
His  courage  may  do  more  than  art. 

xxu. 

"  '  Of  middle  air  the  demons  proud. 
Who  ride  upon  tlie  racking  cloud, 
Can  read,  in  fixed  or  wandering  star, 
The  issue  of  events  afar. 
But  still  their  sullen  aid  v  ithhold. 
Save  when  by  mightier  force  controlled. 
Such  late  I  summoned  to  my  hall: 
And  though  so  potent  was  the  call. 
That  scarce  the  deepest  nook  of  hell 
1  deemed  a  refuge  from  the  spell; 
Yet,  obstinate  in  silence  still, 
The  haughty  demon  mocks  my  skill. 
But  thou, — who  little  knowest  thv  might, 
As  born  upon  that  blessed  night, ' 


When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan. 

Proclaimed  hell's  e.upire  oveithrown, — ' 

With  untaught  valooi-  shalt  compel 

Res|)onse  denied  to  magic  spell. ' — 

'  Gramercy,'  quoth  our  monarch  tree, 

'  Place  him  but  front  to  front  with  me. 

And,  by  this  good  and  honoured  branil, 

The  gift  of  Ctjeur  de-Lion's  liand, — 

Soothly  I  swear,  that,  tkle  wliat  tide. 

The  di-mon  shall  a  buffet  bide.' 

His  bearing  bold  the  wizard  viewed, 

.\nd  tlius,  well  pleased,  his  speech  renewed:- 

'  There  spoke  the  blood  of  Malcolm  I — aiark: 

Forth  pacing  hence,  at  midniglit  dark, 

Tiie  rampart  seek,  whose  circling  crown 

Crests  the  ascent  of  yonder  down: 

A  southern  entrance  shak  thou  find; 

There  hanlt,  :uid  there  liiy  bugle  wiud. 

And  Uust  thine  elfin  f ;e  t'j  see. 

In  guise  of  thine  worst  enemy: 

Couch  then  tliy  lance,  and  spur  thy  steed — 

Upon  him!  and  Saint  George  to  speed! 

If  he  go  dow  n,  thou  soon  shalt  know 

\y  hate'er  these  airy  sprites  can  show; — 

If  tliy  heart  fail  thee  in  the  strife, 

1  am  no  wiurant  for  tliy  life.' — 

xxm. 

"  Soon  as  the  midnight  bell  did  ring, 
Alone,  and  armed,  forth  rode  the  king 
To  that  old  camp's  deserted  round: 
Sir  knight,  you  well  might  mark  the  mound, 
Left  hand  the  town, — the  Piclish  race, 
I'he  trench,  long  since,  in  blood  did  trace; 
The  moor  around  is  brown  and  bare. 
The  sjiace  within  is  green  and  fair. 
The  spot  cm-  village  children  know. 
For  there  the  earliest  wild  flowers  grow; 
But  wo  betide  the  wandering  wight. 
That  treads  its  circles  in  the  night. 
The  breadth  across,  a  bowsliot  clear. 
Gives  ample  space  for  full  career; 
Opposed  to  the  four  points  of  heaven. 
By  four  deep  gaps  are  entrance  given. 
The  southernmost  our  monarch  past. 
Halted,  and  blew  a  gallant  blast; 
And  on  tlie  north,  within  the  ring, 
Appeared  the  form  of  England's  king. 
Who  tlien,  a  thousand  leagues  afar. 
In  Palestine  waged  holy  war: 
Yet  arms  like  England's  did  he  wield. 
Alike  the  leopards  in  the  shield. 
Alike  his  Syrian  courser's  frame. 
The  rider's  length  of  limb  the  same: 
Long  afterwards  did  Scotland  know. 
Fell  Edward*  was  her  deadliest  foe. 

XXIV. 

"  The  vision  made  our  monarch  start. 
But  soon  he  manned  his  noble  heart, 
And,  in  the  first  career  they  ran. 
The  elfin  knight  fell,  horse  and  man; 
Yet  did  a  splinter  of  his  lance 
Through  Alexander's  visor  glance, 
And  raised  the  skin — a  puny  w  ound. 
The  king,  light  leaping  to  the  ground. 
With  naked  blade  his  phantom  foe 
Compelled  the  future  war  to  show. 
Of  Largs  he  saw  the  glorious  plain, 
Where  still  gigantic  bones  remain. 
Memorial  ot  the  Danish  war; 


Edward  I,  sumamed  Longshfnki. 


72 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Himself  he  saw,  amid  the  field, 
On  high  hih  bi-mdi.shed  war-axe  wield, 
And  stiikc  in'otid  llaco  from  his  car; 
While  all  aiuvuid  ihe  shadowy  kings 
Denmark's  grim  ravens  cowered  their  wings. 
Tis  said,  thai,  in  that  awful  niglu, 
liemoler  visions  met  his  sight, 
Fore-showing  future  conquests  far, 
When  our  sons'  sons  wage  northern  war; 
A  royal  city,  tower,  and  spire, 
lieddened  the  miduiglit  sky  with  fire, 
And  shouting  crews  Tier  navy  bore 
Triumphant  to  the  victor  shore. 
Such  signs  may  learn(;d  clerks  explain, 
They  pass  the  wit  of  simple  swain. 

XXV. 

*'  The  joyful  king  turned  home  again. 
Headed  Ijis  host,\iiid  (juelled  the  Dane; 
But  yearly,  when  returned  the  night 
Of  his  strange  combat  with  the  sprite. 

His  wound  must  bleed  and  smart; 
Lord  CiH'ord  then  would  gibing  say, 
'  Bold  as  ye  were,  my  liege,  ye  pay 

The  penance  of  your  start.' 
Long  since,  beneath  Dunfermline's  nave, 
King  Alexander  tills  his  grave. 

Our  lady  give  him  rest! 
Yet  still  tlie  mighty  spear  and  shield 
The  elfin  warrior  doth  wield. 

Upon  the  brown  lull's  breast;'* 
And  many  a  kniglit  hath  proved  his  chance. 
In  the  charmed  ring  to  breidt  a  lance, 

But  all  have  foully  sped; 
Save  two,  as  legends  tell,  and  they 
Were  Wallace  wiglit,  and  Gilbert  Hay. — 

Gentles,  my  tale  is  said. " — 

XXVI. 

The  quaighs*  were  deep,  the  liquor  strong, 
And  on  the  tale  the  yeoman-throng. 
Had  made  a  comment  sage  and  long. 

But  Marmion  gave  a  sign; 
And,  with  their  lord,  the  squires  retire; 
The  rest,  around  the  hostel  fire. 

Their  drowsy  limbs  recline; 
For  pillow,  underneath  each  head. 
The  quiver  and  the  targe  were  laid. 
Deep  slumbering  on  the  hostel  floor. 
Oppressed  with  toil  and  ale,  they  snore: 
The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change. 
Threw  on  the  group  its  sliadows  strange. 

XXVII. 

Apart,  and  nestling  in  the  hay 
Ot  a  waste  loft,  Fitz-Eustace  lay; 
Scarce,  by  the  |)ale  moonlight,  were  seen 
The  foldings  of  iiis  mantle  green: 
Lightly  he  dreamt,  as  youth  will  dream. 
Of  spoil  by  thicket,  or  by  stream. 
Of  hawk  or  hound,  of  ring  or  glove. 
Or,  lighter  yet,  of  lady's  love. 
A  cautious  tread  his  slumber  broke. 
And  close  beside  him,  when  he  woke. 
In  moonbeam  half,  and  half  in  gloom. 
Stood  a  tall  form, with  nodding  plume; 
But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew. 
His  master  Marmion's  voice  he  knew. 

XXVI IL 

— "  Fitz-Eustacel  rise, — I  cannot  rest; 
Yon  churl's  wild  legend  haunts  my  breast. 


•  A  wooikn  tuj),  coiiipo.-^Lil  of  staves  hooped  togx;thcr. 


And  gra\-er  thoughts  have  chafed  my  mood. 

The  air  must  cool  my  feverish  blood; 

And  fain  would  I  ride  forth,  to  see 

The  scene  of  elfin  chivaliy. 

Arise,  and  saddle  me  my  steed. 

And,  gentle  Eustace,  take  good  heed 

Thou  dost  not  rouse  these  drowsy  slavesi 

I  woidd  not  that  the  prating  knaves 

Had  cause  for  saying,  o'er  their  ale. 

That  I  could  credit  such  a  tale.  *' 

Then  softly  down  tlie  steps  they  slid, 

Eustace  the  stable-door  undid. 

And,  darkling,  Marmion's  steed  arrayed. 

While,  whispering,  thus  the  baron  said: — 

XXIX. 

"  Did'st  never,  good  my  youth,  hear  tell 

That  on  the  hour  when  I  was  born, 
St.  George,  who  graced  my  sii-e's  chapelle, 
Down  from  his  steed  of  marble  fell, 

A  weary  wight  forlorn  ? 
The  flattering  chaplains  all  agree. 
The  champion  left  his  steed  to  me. 
1  would,  the  omen's  truth  to  show, 
That  1  could  meet  this  elfin  foe! 
Blith  would  I  battle,  for  the  right 
To  ask  one  question  at  the  sprite: — 
Vain  thought!  for  elves,  if  elves  there  be, 
An  empty  race,  by  fount  or  sea. 
To  dashing  waters  dance  and  sing. 
Or  round  the  green  nak  wiieel  their  ring."— 
Thus  speaking,  he  his  steed  bestrode, 
And  from  the  hostel  slowly  rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace  followed  him  abroad. 
And  marked  him  pace  the  village  road. 
And  listened  to  his  horse's  tramp, 

Till,  by  the  lessening  soimd, 

He  judged  tl»at  of  the  Pictish  camp 
Lord  Marmion  sought  the  round. 
Wonder  it  seemed,  in  the  squire's  eyes, 
That  one,  so  wary  held,  and  wise,-— 
Of  whom  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 
For  gospel  what  the  church  believed,^ 
Should,  stirred  by  idle  tale. 
Ride  forth  in  silence  of  the  night, 
As  hoping  half  to  meet  a  sprite. 

Arrayed  in  plate  and  mail. 
For  little  did  Fitz-Eustace  know, 
That  passions,  in  contending  flow 

Unfix  the  strongest  mind; 
Wearied  from  doubt  to  doubt  to  flee, 
VVe  welcome  fond  credulity. 

Guide  confident,  though  blind. 

XXXI. 

Little  for  this  Fitz-Eustace  cared, 
But,  patient,  waited  till  he  heard. 
At  distance,  pricked  to  utmost  speed, 
The  foot-tramp  of  a  flying  steed. 

Come  town-ward  rushing  on: 
First,  dead,  as  if  on  turf  it  trod. 
Then  clattering  on  the  village  road, 
In  other  pace  than  forth  he  yode,* 

Returned  lord  Marmion. 
Down  hastily  he  sprung  from  selle. 
And,  in  his  haste,  well  nigh  he  fell; 
To  the  squire's  hand  the  rein  he  threw, 
And  spoke  no  word  as  he  withdrew: 
But  yet  the  moonlight  did  betray, 
The  falcon  crest  was  soiled  with  clay; 


Used  by  old  poets  for  went. 


MARMION. 


75 


And  plainly  might  Fitz-Bustacc  see, 
By  stains  upon  the  charger's  knee, 
And  his  left  side,  that  on  the  moor 
He  had  not  kept  his  tooting  sure. 
Long  musing  on  these  wondrous  signs. 
At  length  to  rest  the  squire  reclines — 
Broken  and  short;  for  still,  between. 
Would  dreams  of  terror  intervene: 
Eustace  did  ne'er  so  blithly  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  morning  lark. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  IV. 
TO  JAMES  SKENE,  Esq.. 

Ashestiel,  EUnck  Forest. 
An  ancient  minstrel  sagely  said, 
"  Where  is  the  life  which  late  we  led.^" 
That  motely  clown,  in  Arden  wood. 
Whom  humorous  Jaques  with  envy  viewed. 
Not  even  that  clown  could  amplify, 
On  this  trite  text,  so  long  as  I. 
Eleven  years  we  now  may  tell. 
Since  we  have  known  each  other  well; 
Since,  riding  side  by  side,  our  hand 
First  drew  the  voluntaiy  brand; 
And  sure,  through  many  a  varied  scene, 
Unkindness  never  came  between. 
Away  these  winged  years  have  flown. 
To  join  the  mass  of  ages  gone; 
And  though  deep  marked,  like  all  below, 
With  chequered  shades  of  joy  and  wo; 
Though  thou  o'er  realms,  and  seas  hast  ranged, 
Alarked  cities  lost,  and  empires  changed, 
While  here,  at  honi^-,  my  narrower  ksn 
Somewhat  of  manners  saw,  and  men; 
Though  varying  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears, 
Fevered  the  progress  of  these  years. 
Yet  now  days,  weeks,  and  months,  but  seem 
The  recollection  of  a  dream; 
So  still  we  glide  down  to  the  sea 
Of  fathomless  eternity. 
Even  now  it  scarcely  seems  a  day. 
Since  first  I  turned  this  idle  lay; 
A  task  so  often  thi-own  aside, 
When  leisure  graver  cares  denied. 
That  now,  November's  dreary  gale. 
Whose  voice  inspired  my  opening  tale. 
That  same  November  gale  once  more 
Whirls  the  Avy  leaves  on  Yan'ow  shore. 
Their  vexed  boughs  streaming  to  the  sky. 
Once  more  our  naked  birches  sigh. 
And  Blackhouse  heiglits,  and  Eia-ick  Pen, 
Have  donn'd  their  wintiy  shrouds  again; 
And  mountain  dark,  and'  tlooded  mead. 
Bid  us  forsake  the  banks  of  Tweed. 
Earlier  than  wont  along  the  sky, 
Mixed  with  the  rack,  the  snow-mists  fly; 
The  shepherd,  who,  in  sunflner  sun. 
Has  something  of  our  envv  won. 
As  thou  with  pencil,  1  with  pen, 
The  features  traced  of  hill  and  glen; 
He  who,  outstretched  the  livelong  day. 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flowers  lay. 
Viewed  the  light  clouds  witii  vacant  look, 
Or  slumbered  o'er  his  tattered  book. 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  lessened  tide; — 
At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labour  for  the  swain. 

When  red  hath  set  the  beaniless  sun, 
Through  heavy  \apoui-s  dank  and  dun; 


When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm. 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail  and  sleeted  rain. 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane; 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox, 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  wai-nings  which  the  shepherd  ask 
To  dismal,  and  to  dangerous  task. 
Oft.  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain. 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain  ; 
Till,  dark  above  and  white  below. 
Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow, 
And  forth  the  hai-dy  swain  must  go. 
Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine. 
To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine; 
\Miistling  and  cheering  tliem  to  aid, 
Around  his  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid; 
His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides 
To  open  downs  and  mountain  sides. 
Where  Sei-cest  though  the  tempest  blow, 
Irf'ast  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 
The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fells, 
Stiftens  his  locks  to  icicles; 
Oft  he  looks  back,  while,  streaming  far. 
His  cottage  window  seems  a  star, — 
Loses  its  feeble  gleam, — and  then 
Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again. 
And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 
Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging  sheep. 
If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail. 
Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale; 
His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown. 
Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own. 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffened  swain:' 
The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale. 
His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail; 
And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow, 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  wo. 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast. 
And  licks  his  cheek,  to  break  his  rest. 

Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  heallhy  fare,  his  rural  cot. 
His  summer  coucli  by  greenwood  tree, 
His  rustic  kirn's*  loud  revelry, 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high. 
To  Mai-ion  of  the  blithsome  eye; 
His  crook,  his  scri|i,  his  oaten  reed, 
And  all  Arcadia's  golden  creed? 

Changes  not  so  w  ith  us,  my  Skene, 
Of  human  life  the  varying  scene? 
Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see 
Dance  by  on  wings  of  game  and  glee, 
\\  hile  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
Ag:iinst  tlie  winter  of  our  age: 
As  he,  the  ancient  chief  of  Troy, 
His  manhood  spent  in  peace  and  joy; 
But  Grecian  fires,  and  loud  alarms, 
Called  ancient  Priam  forth  to  ai-ms. 
Then  happy  those — since  each  must  drain 
His  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain. 
Then  happy  those,  beloved  of  heaven, 
To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given; 
Whose  lenient  son'ows  find  relief. 
Whose  joys  are  chastened  by  their  gi-ief. 
And  such  a  lot,  my  Skene,  was  thine. 
When  thou  of  late  wert  doomed  to  twine, — 
Just  when  thy  bridid  horn-  was  by, — 
The  cypress  with  the  myrtle  tie. 
Just  ou  thy  bride  her  sire  had  smiled, 
And  blessed  the  union  of  his  child. 


•  The  Stutii^h  harvc5t-liome. 


74 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  love  must  change  its  joyous  cheer, 
Anil  wipe  alTcction's  filial  tear. 
Nor  (lid  the  actions,  next  his  end, 
Speak  more  the  father  than  the  friend: 
Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes  paid^ 
The  tribute  to  iiis  minstrel's  sliade; 
The  tide  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 
Ere  the  narrator's  heart  was  cold — 
Far  we  may  search  before  we  find 
A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind ! 
But  not  around  his  honoured  urn. 
Shall  friends  alone  and  kindred  mourn; 
The  thousand  eyes  his  care  had  dried, 
Pour  at  his  name  a  bitter  tide; 
And  frequent  falls  the  grateful  dew, 
For  benefits  the  world  ne'er  knew. 
If  mortal  ciiarity  dare  claim 
The  Almiglily's  attributed  name, 
Inscribe  above  his  mouldering  clay, 
"The  widow's  shield,  the  orphan's  stay." 
Nor,  though  it  wake  tliy  sorrow,  deem 
My  verse  intrudes  on  this  sad  theme; 
For  sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 
"Thy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not;" 
And  grateful  title  may  I  plead, 
For  many  a  kindly  word  and  deed, 
To  bring  my  tribute  to  his  grave: — 
'Tis  litlie — but  'tis  all  1  liave. 

To  thee,  perchance,  this  rambling  strain 
Recalls  our  summer  walks  again; 
When,  doing  nougiit, — and,  to  speak  true. 
Not  anxious  to  find  aught  to  do, — 
Tiie  wild  unbounde<l  hills  we  ranged. 
While  oft  our  talk  its  topic  changed, 
And,  desultory  as  our  way. 
Ranged,  unconfined,  from  grave  to  gay. 
Even  wlien  it  flagged,  as  oft  will  chance. 
No  effort  made  ta  break  its  trance. 
We  could  right  pleasantly  pursue 
Our  sports  in  social  silence  too; 
Thou  gravely  labouring  to  portray 
The  blighted  oak's  fantastic  spray; 
I  spelling  o'er,  with  much  delight. 
The  legend  of  that  antique  knight, 
Tirante  by  name,  ycleped  the  White. 
At  cither's  feet  a  trusty  squire, 
Pandour  and  Camp,  with  eyes  of  fire. 
Jealous,  each  other's  motions  viewed. 
And  scarce  suppressed  their  ancient  feud. 
The  laverock  whistled  from  tlie  cloud; 
The  stream  was  lively,  but  not  loud; 
From  the  white  thorn  the  May-flower  shed 
Its  dewy  fragrance  round  our  head: 
Not  Ariel  lived  more  merrily 
Under  the  blossomed  bough,  than  we. 

And  blithsome  nights,  too,  have  been  ours, 
When  winter  stript  the  summer's  bowers. 
Careless  we  heard,  what  now  1  hear, 
The  wild  blast  sighing  deep  and  drear. 
When  fires  were  bright,  and  lamps  beamed  gay. 
And  ladies  tuned  the  lovely  lay; 
And  he  was  held  a  laggard  soul, 
Wlio  shunned  to  quaff  the  sparkling  bowl. 
Then  he,  whose  absence  we  deplore. 
Who  breathes  the  gales  of  Devon's  shore, 
The  longer  missed,  bewailed  the  more; 

And  thou,  and  I,  and  dear  loved  R , 

And  one  whose  name  I  may  not  say, — 

For  not  Mimosa's  tender  tree 

Shrinks  sooner  from  the  touch  than  he, — 

In  merry  cliorus  well  combined, 

V\"iih  laughu-r  drowned  ihe  whistling  winil. 


Mirth  was  within;  and  care,  without, 

Might  gnaw  her  nails  to  hear  our  shout. 

Not  but  amid  the  buxom  scene 

Some  grave  discourse  might  intervene — 

Of  the  good  horse  that  bore  him  best. 

His  siioulder,  hoof,  and  arching  crest: 

For,  like  mad  Tom's,*  our  chiefest  care, 

Was  horse  to  ride,  and  weapon  wear. 

Such  nights  we've  had;  and,  though  the  game 

Of  manhood  be  iViore  sober  tame. 

And  thougli  the  field  day,  or  the  drill. 

Seem  less  important  now — yet  still 

Such  may  we  hope  to  share  again. 

The  sprightly  thought  inspires  my  strain! 

And  mark,  how,  like  a  horseman  true, 

Lord  Marmion's  march  I  thus  renew. 


I. 

Eustace,  I  said,  did  blithly  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  merry  lark. 
The  lark  sung  shrill,  the  cock  he  crew, 
And  loudly  Marmion's  bugles  blew. 
And,  with  their  light  and  lively  call, 
Brought  groom  and  yeoman  to  the  stall. 

Whistling  they  came,  and  free  of  heart, 
But  soon  their  mood  was  changed; 

Complaint  was  heard  on  every  part 
Of  something  disarranged. 
Some  clamoured  loud  for  armour  lost; 
Some  brawled  and  wrangled  with  the  host; 
"  By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  1  fear 
That  some  false  Scot  has  stolen  my  spear!" 
Young  Blount,  lord  Marmion's  second  squire. 
Found  his  steed  wet  with  sweat  and  mire; 
Although  the  rated  horse-boy  sware, 
Last  night  he  dressed  him  sleek  and  fair. 
While  chafed  the  impatient  squire  like  thunder, 
Old  Hubert  shouts,  in  fear  and  wonder,— 
"  Help,  gentle  Blount!  help,  comrades  all! 
Bevis  lies  dying  in  his  stall: 
To  Marmion  who  the  plight  dare  tell. 
Of  the  good  steed  he  loves  so  well?" — 
Gaping  for  fear  and  ruth,  they  saw 
The  charger  panting  on  his  straw; 
Till  one,  who  would  seem  wisest,  cried, — 
"  What  else  liut  evil  could  betide. 
With  that  cursed  palmer  for  our  guide? 
Better  we  had  tiirough  mire  and  bush 
Been  lantern-led  by  friar  Rush.  "Sf 

II. 

Fitz-Eustace,  who  the  cause  but  guessed, 

Nor  wholly  understood. 
His  comrade'?  clamorous  plaints  suppressed; 

He  knew  lord  Marmion's  mood. 
Him,  ere  he  issued  foHh,  he  sought. 
And  found  deep  plunged^in  gloomy  thought, 

And  did  his  tale  display 
Simply,  as  if  he  knew  of  nought 

To  cause  such  disarray. 
Lord  Marmion  gave  attention  cold, 
Nor  marvelled  at  the  wonders  told, — 
Passed  them  as  accidents  of  course. 
And  bade  his  clarions  sound  to  horse. 

III. 

Young  Henry  Blount,  meanwhile,  the  cost 
Had  reckoned  with  their  Scottish.host; 


•  See  King  Lear. 


t.«'mi  Will o' the  Wisp. 


MARMION. 


75 


And  as  the  charge  he  cast  and  paid, 
"111  thou  deserv'st  thy  hire,"  he  said; 
"  Dost  see,  thou  knave,  my  horse's  plight? 
Fairies  have  ridden  him  all  the  night. 

And  left  him  in  a  foam! 
I  trust  that  soon  a  conjuring  band. 
With  English  cross,  and  blazing  brand. 
Shall  drive  the  devils  from  this  land, 

To  their  infernal  home: 
For  in  this  haunted  den,  I  trow. 
All  nigiit  they  trampled  to  and  fro." — 
The  laughing  host  looked  on  the  hire, — 
"  Gramercy,  gentle  southern  squire, 
And  if  thou  com'si  among  the  rest. 
With  Scottish  broad  sword  to  be  blest. 
Sharp  be  the  brand,  and  sure  the  blow. 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo. " — 
Here  stayed  their  talk, — for  Marmion 
Gave  now  the  signal  to  set  on. 
The  palmer  showing  forth  the  way. 
They  journeyed  all  the  morning  day. 

IV. 

The  green-sward  way  was  smooth  and  good, 

Through  Humbie's  and  through  Saltoun's  wood; 

A  forest  glade,  which,  varying  still, 

Here  gave  a  view  of  dale  and  liill; 

There  naiTOwer  closed,  till  over  head 

A  vaulted  screen  tlic  branches  made. 

"  A  pleasant  path,"  Fitz-Eustace  said; 

"  Such  as  where  en-ant-knights  might  see 

Adventures  of  high  chivalry; 

Might  meet  some  damsel  flying  fast. 

With  hair  unbound,  and  looks  aghast; 

And  smooth  and  level  course  were  here. 

In  her  defence  to  break  a  spear. 

Here,  too,  are  twilight  nooks  and  dells; 

And  oft,  in  such,  the  story  tells. 

The  damsel  kind,  from  danger  freed, 

Did  grateful  pay  her  champion's  meed." — 

He  spoke  to  cheer  lord  Marmion's  mind; 

Perchance  to  show  his  lore  designed; 
For  Eustace  much  had  pored 

Upon  a  huge  romantic  tome. 

In  the  hall-window  of  his  home. 

Imprinted  at  the  antique  dome 
Of  Caxton  or  De  Worde. 

Therefore  he  spoke, — but  spoke  in  vain. 

For  Marmion  answered  nou'j-ht  asrain. 


Now  sudden,  distant  trumpets  shrill, 
In  notes  prolonged  bj'  wood  and  hill, 

W^ere  heard  to  echo  far; 
Each  ready  archer  grasped  his  bow. 
But  by  the  flourish  soon  they  know, 

They  breathed  no  point  of  war. 
Yet  cautious,  as  in  foeman's  land. 
Lord  Marmion's  order  speeds  the  band 

Some  opener  gi-ound  to  gain; 
And  scarce  a  furlong  had  tliey  rode. 
When  thinner  trees,  receding,  showed 

A  little  woodland  plain. 
Just  in  that  advantageous  glade 
The  halting  troop  a  line  had  made, 
As  fortli  from  the  opposing  shade 

Issued  a  gallant  train. 

VI. 

First  came  tVie  trumpets,  at  whose  clang 
So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang; 
On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  pressed, 
With  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest; 


Each  at  his  trump  a  banner  wore. 
Which  Scotland's  royal  scutcheon  bore; 
Heralds  and  pursuivants,  by  name 
Bute,  Islay,  Marehmount,  Ilotlisay,  came, 
In  painted  tabards,  proudly  showing 
Gules,  argent,  or,  and  azure  glowing, 
Attendant  on  a  king-at-arms. 
Whose  hand  the  armorial  truncheon  held, 
That  feudal  strife  had  often  quelled, 
When  wildest  its  alarms. 

VII. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age; 
In  aspect  manly,  grave,  and  sage. 

As  on  king's  errand  come; 
But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 
A  penetrating,  keen,  and  si)' 

Expression  found  its  home; 
The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage. 
Which,  bursting  on  the  eai'ly  stage, 
Branded  the  vices  of  the  age. 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Rome. 
On  milk-white  palfrey  forth  he  paced; 
His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

With  the  proud  heron-plume. 
From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and  breast. 

Silk  housings  swept  the  ground. 
With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest, 

Embroidered  round  and  round. 
The  double  tressure  might  you  see. 

First  by  Achaius  borne. 
The  thistle,  and  the  fleur-de-lis. 

And  gallant  unicorn. 
So  bright  the  king's  armorial  coat. 
That  sciU'ce  the  dazzled  eye  could  note, 
In  living  colours  blazoned  brave. 
The  lion,  which  his  title  gave. 
A  train,  which  well  beseemed  his  state, 
But  all  unarmed,  around  him  wait. 

Still  is  thy  name  in  higli  account. 
And  still  thy  verse  has  charms. 

Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  lion-king-at-arms!'i 

VIII. 

Down  from  his  horse  did  Marmion  spi-mg. 
Soon  as  he  saw  the  lion-king; 
For  well  the  stately  baron  knew 
To  him  such  courtesy  was  due. 

Whom  royal  James  himself  had  crowned, 
And  on  his  temples  placed  the  round 

Of  Scotland's  ancient  diadem; 
And  wet  his  brow  with  hallowed  wine. 
Anil  on  his  finger  given  to  shine 
The  emblematic  gem. 
Their  mutual  greetings  duly  made, 
The  lion  thus  his  message  said: — 
"  Though  Scotland's  king  hath  deeply  swore 
Ne'er  to  knit  faith  with  Henry  more, 
And  strictly  hath  forbid  resort 
From  England  to  his  roj-al  court; 
Yet,  for  he  knows  lord  Marmion's  name. 
And  honours  much  his  warlike  fame. 
My  liege  hath  deemed  it  shame,  and  lack 
Of  courtesy,  to  turn  him  back; 
And,  by  his  order,  I,  your  guide, 
Must  lodging  fit  and  fair  provide. 
Till  finds  king  James  meet  time  to  see 
The  flower  of  English  chivalry." 

IX. 

Though  inly  chafed  at  this  delay, 
Lord  Marmion  bears  it  as  he  may, 


76 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  "WORKS. 


The  ii.iliiicr,  liis  mysti'rious  5;ui(lo, 
llelinldiitg  tliiis  his  plucc  stippliod. 

Sought  to  take  U-:ive  in  vain: 
Strict  was  the  lion-king's  command. 
That  none  wlio  rode  in  Marmion's  band 

ShouUl  sever  from  ihe  train: 
"  Kni^land  has  liere  en  )\v  of  spies 
In  hilly  Heron's  w  itching  eyes:" 
To  Marclimount  thus,  a|)art,  he  said, 
Tint  fair  pretext  to  M;u-mion  made, 
'i'he  right  hand  path  they  now  decline. 
And  trace  against  the  stream  the  Tyne. 

X. 
At  length  up  that  wild  dale  they  wind. 

Where  Crichtonn-castlc''  crowns  the  bank; 
For  there  the  lion's  care  assigned 

A  lodging  meet  for  Marmion's  rank. 
That  castle  rises  on  the  steep 

Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne; 
And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  ci'cep 
From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 
Where  alders  moist,  and  willows  weep, 

You  hear  her  streams  repine. 
The  towers  in  difterent  ages  rose; 
Their  various  architecture  shows 

The  builders'  various  hands; 
A  mighty  mass  that  could  opjiose. 
When  deadliest  hatrt'd  fired  its  foes. 

The  vengeful  Douglas  bands. 
XI. 
Crichtoun !  though  now  thy  miry  court 

But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep. 

Thy  turrets  rude  and  tottered  keep 
Have  been  the  minstrel's  loved  resort. 
Oft  have  I  tr;iced,  within  thy  fort, 

Of  mouldering  shields  the  mystic  sense. 

Scutcheons  of  honour,  or  pretence, 
Quartered  in  old  armorial  sort, 

Remains  of  rade  nwgnificence. 
Nor  wholly  yet  hath  time  defaced 

Thy  lordly  gallery  fair; 
Nor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced, 
Whose  twisted  knots,  with  roses  laced, 

Adorn  thy  ruined  stair. 
Still  rises  unimpaired,  below, 
'I'he  court-yard's  graceful  portico; 
Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row 
Of  fair-hewn  facets  richly  show 

Their  ])ointed  diamond  form, 
Though  there  but  houseless  cattle  go 

To  shield  them  from  the  storm. 
And,  shuddering,  still  may  we  explore, 

Where  oft  whilome  were  captives  pent, 
The  darkness  of  thy  massy-more:* 

Or,  from  thy  grass-giown  battlement. 
May  trace,  in  undulating  line. 
The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 

XII. 
Another  aspect  Crichtoun  showed. 
As  through  its  portal  Marmion  rode; 
Hut  yet  'twas  melancholy  stato 
Received  him  at  the  outer  gate; 
For  none  were  in  tiie  castle  then 
But  women,  boys,  or  aged  men. 
With  eyes  scarce  dried,  the  sorrowing  dame, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion,  came; 
Her  son,  a  stripling  twelve  years  old, 
Proftered  the  baron's  rein  to  hold; 
Fw  eacii  man  that  could  draw  a  sword 
Had  marched  that  morning  with  their  lord, 


•  Tlif  pit,  iir  juison  vault.— See  Note. 


F.arl  Ad.am  Hepburn," — he  who  died 

On  Flodden  by  his  sovereign's  side. 

Long  may  his  lady  look  in  vain! 

She  ne'er  shall  see  his  gallant  train 

Come  sweeping  back  through  Crichtoun-deaii. 

'  Twas  a  brave  race,  bei'ore  the  name 

Of  hated  Bothwcll  stained  their  fame. 

XIII. 

And  here  two  days  did  Marmion  rest, 
With  every  i-ile  that  honour  claims. 
Attended  as  tiie  king's  own  guest; — 
Such  the  command  of  royal  James, 
Who  marshalleil  then  his  land's  array, 
Upon  the  Borough-moor  that  lay. 
Perchance  he  would  not  foeman's  eye 
Upon  his  gathering  hi)St  should  pry, 
Till  full  prepared  was  every  band 
To  march  against  the  English  land. 
Here  while  they  dwelt,  did  Lindesay's  wit 
Olt  cheer  the  baron's  moodier  fit: 
And,  in  his  turn,  he  knew  to  prize 
Lord  Marmion's  powerful  mind,  and  wise,— 
Trained  in  the  lore  of  Rome  and  Greece, 
And  policies  of  war  and  peace. 

XIV. 

It  chanced,  as  fell  the  second  night. 

That  on  the  battlement  they  walked, 
And,  by  the  slowly  failing  light, 

On  varying  tojiics  t;ilked; 
And,  unaware,  the  herald-bard 
Said,  Marmion  might  his  toil  have  spared, 

In  travelling  so  tar; 
For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 

Against  the  English  war:" 
And,  closer  questioned,  thus  he  told 
A  tale  which  chronicles  of  old 
In  Scottish  story  have  enrolled: — • 
XV. 

SIR    DAVID    LISDKSAT'S    TALE. 

"  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair. 

Built  for  the  royal  dwelling. 
In  Scotland,  far  beyond  compare 

Linlithgow  is  excelling; 
And  in  its  park,  in  jovial  June, 
How  sweet  the  merry  linnet's  tune, 

How  bliththe  blackbird's  lay! 
The  wild  buck  bells*^  from  ferny  brake. 
The  cool  dives  merry  on  the  lake. 
The  saddest  heart  might  pleasure  take 

To  see  all  nature  gay. 
But  June  is  to  our  sovereign  dear 
The  heaviest  month  in  all  the  j'ear; 
Too  well  his  cause  of  grief  you  know, — 
June  saw  his  father's  overthrow. 9 
Wo  to  the  traiiors  who  could  bring 
The  princely  boy  against  his  king! 
Still  in  his  conscieTice  burns  the  sting. 
In  ofiices  as  strict  as  lent. 
King  James's  June  is  ever  spent. 

XVI. 

"  When  last  this  ruthful  month  was  come, 
And  in  Linlithgow's  holy  dome 

The  king,  as  wont,  was  praying; 
While  for  his  royal  father's  soul, 
The  chanters  sung,  the  bells  did  toll. 

The  bishop  mass  was  saying — 
For  now  the  year  brought  round  again 
The  day  the  luckless  king  was  slain— 


An  uncieut  word  for  tl»e  cry  of  deer.— See  Note. 


MARMION. 


77 


111  Katharine's  aisle  the  mon:<T-ch  knelt, 
With  sackcloth-shirt,  and  iron  belt, 

And  eyes  with  sorrow  streaming; 
Around  him,  in  their  stalls  of  state. 
The  thistle's  knight-companions  sate, 

Their  banners  o'er  them  beaming. 

I  too  was  there,  and,,  sooth  to  tell, 

Bedeafened  with  the  jangling  knell. 

Was  watching  where  the  sunbeams  fell. 
Through  the  stained  casement  gleaming; 

But,  while  I  marked  what  next  befell, 
It  seemed  as  I  were  (heaming. 
Stepped  from  the  crowd  a  ghostly  wight. 
In  azure  gown,  with  cincture  white. 
His  forehead  bald,  his  head  was  bare, 
Down  hung  at  length  his  yellow  hair. — 
Now  mock  me  not  when,  good  my  lord, 
I  pledge  to  you  ray  knightly- word, 
That,  when  I  saw  his  placid  grace. 
His  simple  majesty  of  face. 
His  solemn  bearing,  and  his  pace 

So  stately  gliding  on, — 
Seemed  to  me  ne'er  did  limner  paint 
So  just  an  image  of  the  saint 
WIjo  propped  the  virgin  in  her  faint, — 

Tile  loved  apostle  John. 

XVII. 

"  He  stepped  before  the  monarch's  chair, 
And  stood  with  rustic  plainness  there, 

And  little  reverence  made; 
Nor  head,  nor  body,  bowed  nor  bent. 
But  on  the  desk  bis  arm  he  leant, 

And  words  like  these  he  said. 
In  a  low  voice, — but  never  tone 
So  tlirilled  through  vein,  and  nerve,  and  bone : 

'  My  mother  sent  me  from  afar. 
Sir  king,  to  warn  thee  not  to  war, — 

Wo  waits  on  thine  array; 
If  war  thou  wilt,  of  woman  fair. 
Her  witching  wiles  and  wanton  snare, 
James  Stuart,  doubly  warned,  beware: 

God  keep  thee  as  he  may!' 
The  wondering  monarch  seemed  to  seek 

For  answer,  and  found  none; 
And  when  he  raised  his  head  to  speak, 

The  monitor  was  gone. 
The  marshal  and  myself  had  cast 
To  stop  him  as  he  outward  past; 
But,  lighter  than  the  whirlwind's  blast 

He  vanished  from  our  eyes. 
Like  sunbeam  on  the  billow  cast. 

That  glances  but,  and  dies." — 

xvm. 

^Vhile  Lindesay  told  this  marvel  strange, 

The  twilight  was  so  pale, 
He  marked  not  3Iarmion's  colour  change, 

While  listening  to  the  tale: 
But,  after  a  suspended  pause. 
The  baron  spoke : — "  Of  nature's  laws 

So  strong  I  held  the  force, 
That  never  super-human  cause 

Could  e'er  control  their  course; 
And,  three  days  since,  had  judged  your  aim 
Was  but  to  make  your  guest  your  game, 
j         But  I  have  seen,  since  past  the  Tweed, 

What  much  has  changed  my  sceptic  creed, 
And  made  mc  credit  aught." — He  staid, 
1        And  seemed  to  wish  his  words  unsaid : 
\  But,  by  that  strong  emotion  pressed, 

'  Wliich  prompts  us  to  unload  our  breast. 

Even  when  discovery's  pain, 


'I'o  Lindesay  did  at  length  unfold 
The  tale  liis  village  host  had  told 
At  Gilford,  to  his  train. 
Nought  of  the  palmer  says  he  there, 
And  nought  of  Constance  or  of  Clare: 
The  thoughts  which  broke  his  sleep,  he  seeoos 
To  mention  but  as  feverish  dreams. 

XIX. 

"  la  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  1  spread 
My  burning  limbs,  and  couched  my  bead: 

Fantastic  thoughts  returned; 
And,  by  their  wild  dominion  led. 

My  heart  within  me  burned. 
So  sore  was  the  delirious  goad, 
1  took  my  steed,  -and  forth  I  rode. 
And,  as  the  moon  shone  bright  and  cold. 
Soon  reached  the  camp  upon  the  wold. 
The  southern  entrance  I  past  through. 
And  halted,  and  my  bugle  blew. 
Methought  an  answer  met  my  ear, — 
Yet  was  the  blast  so  low  and  drear. 
So  hollow,  and  so  faintly  blown, 
It  might  be  echo  of  my  own. 
XX. 

"  Thus  judging,  for  a  little  space 

I  listened,  ere  1  left  the  place; 

But  sc;u-ce  could  trust  my  eyes. 

Nor  yet  can  think  they  served  me  true. 

When  sudden  in  the  ring  I  view. 

In  form  distinct  of  shape  and  hue, 
A  mounted  champion  rise. — 
I've  fought,  lord  lion,  many  a  day, 
In  single  fight  and  mixed  affray, 
And  ever,  1  myself  may  say. 

Have  borne  me  as  a  knight; 
But  when  this  unexpected  foe 
Seemed  starting  from  the  gulf  below,-— 
I  care  not  though  the  trutli  1  show, — 

I  trembled  with  affright; 
And  as  I  placed  in  rest  my  spear. 
My  hand  so  shook  for  vciy  fcai-, 

1  scarce  could  couch  it  riglit. 

XXI. 

"  Why  need  my  tongue  the  issue  tell? 
We  ran  our  course, — ray  charger  fell; — 
What  could  he  'gainst  the  shock  of  hell' — 

I  rolled  upon  the  plain. 
High  o'er  niy  head,  with  threatening  hand. 
The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — 

Yet  did  tiie  worst  remain: 
My  dazzled  eyes  I  U[)ward  cast, — 
Not  opening  hell  itself  could  blast 
Their  sight  like  what  I  saw  ! 
Full  on  his  face  the  moonbeam  strook, — 
A  face  could  never  be  mistook ! 
I  knew  the  stern  vindictive  look. 
And  held  ray  breath  for  awe. 
I  saw  the  face  of  one  who,  fled 
To  foreign  cl-mes,  has  long  been  dead, — 
I  well  believe  the  last; 
For  ne'er,  from  visor  raised,  did  stare         % 
A  human  warrior,  with  a  glare 

So  grimly  and  so  ghast. 
Thrice  o'er  my  head  he  shook  the  blade  : 
But  when  to  good  saint  George  I  prayed, 
(The  first  time  e'er  I  asked  his  aid,) 

He  plunged  it  in  the  sheath , 
And,  on  his  courser  mounting  light, 
He  seemed  to  vanish  from  my  sight : 
The  moonbeam  drooped,  and  deepest  night 
Sunk  down  upon  the  heath. — 


78 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Twei-e  long  to  tell  what  cause  I  have 
To  know  liis  face  that  met  me  there, 

Called  by  his  hatred  from  tlie  grave, 
To  cumber  upper  air; 

Dead  or  alive,  good  cause  had  he 

To  be  my  mortal  enemy." — 

xxir. 

Marvelled  sir  David  of  llie  mount; 
Then,  learned  in  story,  'gaii  recount 

Such  chance  iiuil  ha'p'd  ofold. 
When  once,  near  Noriiam,  there  did  fight 
A  spectre  fell,  of  fiendish  might, 
In  likeness  of  a  Scottish  knight, 

A\'ith  Brian  Bulmer  bold, 
And  trained  him  nigh  to  disallow' 
'I'he  aid  of  his  baptismal  vow. 

"  And  such  a  phaniom  too,  'tis  said. 

With  higldand  broail-sword,  targe,  and  plaid. 
And  fingers  red  with  gore. 
Is  seen  in  Kothieniurclius'  glade. 
Or  where  the  sable  pine-trees  shade 
Dark  Tomantoul,  and  Achnaslaid, 

Dromouchty,  or  Glenmore.* 
And  yet,  what'er  such  legends  say. 
Of  warlike  demon,  host,  or  fav. 

On  mountain,  moor,  or  plain. 
Spotless  in  faiiii,  in  bosom  bold. 
True  son  of  cliivalry  should  hold 

These  midnight  terrors  vain; 
For  seldom  have  such  spirits  power 
To  harm,  save  in  the  evil  hour. 
When  guilt  we  meditate  within, 
Or  harbour  unrepented  sin." — 
Lord  Marraion  turned  him  half  aside. 
And  twice  to  clear  his  voice  he  tried. 

Then  pressed  sir  David's  hand, — 
Hut  nought,  at  length,  in  answer  said; 
And  here  tlieir  farther  converse  staid. 

Each  ordering  that  his  band 
Should  bowne  them  with  the  rising  day". 
To  Scotland's  camp  to  take  their  way,— 

Such  was  the  king's  command. 
XXIII. 
Early  they  took  Dim-Edin's  road. 
And  I  could  trace  each  step  they  trode; 
Hill,  brook,  nnr  dell,  nor  rock,  nor  stone. 
Lies  on  the  path  to  me  unknown. 
Much  might  it  boast  of  storied  lore; 
But,  passing  such  digression  o'er. 
Suffice  it  that  their  route  was  laid 
Across  the  furzy  hills  of  Braid. 
They  passed  the  glen  and  scanty  rill. 
Anil  climbed  the  "opposing  bank,  until 
They  gained  the  top  of  Blackford  Hill. 

XXIV. 
Blackford !  on  whose  uncultured  breast. 

Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  wliin, 
A  truant-boy,  1  sought  the  nest. 
Or  listed,  as  1  lay  at  rest, 

Wbj^  rose,  on  breezes  thin. 
The  murmur  of  tiie  city  crowd. 
And,  from  his  steeple  jangling  loud. 

Saint  Giles's  mingling  din — 
Now,  from  the  summit  of  the  plain. 
Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain; 

And,  o'er  the  landscape  as  I  look. 
Nought  do  I  see  unchanged  remain. 

Save  the  rude  cliffs  and  chiming  brook: 


*  See  the  traditions  concerning  Kulmer,  and  the  spHcti-e 
called  L/iam-rlearg,  or  Bloody-hand,  in  note  8.  on  c.iiito 


To  me  they  make  a  heavy  moan 
Of  early  friendships  past  and  gone. 
XXV. 

But  different  far  the  change  has  been, 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

Upon  tiie  bent  so  brown: 
Thousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow, 
Spread  all  the  I?orough-nioor  below, i" 

Upland,  and  ilale,  and  down: — 

A  thousand  did  I  say?  I  ween, 
Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  chequered  all  the  heath  between 

The  streamlet  and  the  town: 
In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 
Forming  a  camp  irregular; 
Oft  giving  way  where  still  there  stood 
Some  relics  of  the  old  oak  wood. 
That  darkly  huge  ilid  intervene. 
And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green: 
In  these  extended  lines  there  lay 
A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

XXVI. 
For  from  llebudes,  dark  with  rain, 
To  eastern  Lodon's  fertile  plain. 
And  from  the  southern  Redswire  edge 
To  farthest  Rosse's  rocky  ledge; 
From  west  to  east,  from  south  to  north, 
Scotland  sent  all  her  warriors  forth. 
Marmion  might  hear  the  mingled  hum 
Of  myriads  up  the  mountain  come; 
The  horses'  tramp,  and  tingling  clank 
Where  chiefs  reviewed  their  vassal  rank, 

And  charger's  shi-illing  neigh; 
And  see  the  shifting  lines  advance. 
While  frequent  flashed,  from  shield  and  lance, 

The  sun's  reflected  ray. 

XXVII. 
Thin  curling  in  the  morning  air. 
The  wreathes  of  falling  smoke  declare 
To  embers  now  the  brands  decayed, 
Where  the  night-watch  their  fires  had  made. 
They  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain. 
Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  wain, 
And  dire  artillery's  clumsy  car, 
By  sluggish  oxen  tugged  to  war; 
And  there  were  Borthwick's  sisters  seven,* 
And  culverins  which  France  had  given. 
Ill-omened  gift!  the  guns  remain 
The  conqueror's  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

XXVIII. 
Nor  marked  they  less,  where  in  the  air 
A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair; 

Various  in  shape,  device,  and  hue, 

Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red,  and  blue. 
Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tailed,  and  square, 
Scroll,  pennon,  pensil,  bandrol,t  there 

O'er  the  pavilions  flew." 
Highest  and  midmost,  was  descried 
The  royal  banner  floating  wide: 

The  staff  a  pine-tree  strong  and  straight. 
Pitched  deeply  in  a  massive  stone. 
Which  still  in  memory  is  sliown. 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight. 

Whene'er  the  western  wind  unrolled, 

With  toil,  the  huge  and  cumbrous  foltl. 
And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field. 
Where,  in  ])roud  Scotland's  royal  siiield. 

The  ruddy  lion  ramped  in  gold. '2 

*  Sevi-ii  culverins,  so  called,  cast  by  one  Borthwick. 
t  Each  of  these  feudal  en'^igiis  intimated  the  different 
rank  of  those  entitled  to  display  them. 


MARMION. 


79 


XXIX. 

Lord  Mantiion  viewed  the  landscape  bright, — 
He  viewed  it  with  a  chief's  delight, — 

Until  within  him  hurned  his  heart, 

And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  pait, 
As  on  the  battle-day; 

Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart, 
When  stooping  on  his  prey. 

"Oh!  well,  lord-lion,  hast  thou  said. 

Thy  king  from  warfare  to  dissuade 
Were  but  a  vain  essay; 
For,  by  St.  George,  were  that  host  mine, 
INot  power  infernal,  nor  divine. 
Should  once  to  peace  my  soul  incline, 
Till  I  had  dimmed  their  armour's  shine 

In  glorious  battle-fray!" — 
Answered  the  bard,  of  milder  mood: 
"Fair  is  the  sight, — and  yet  'twere  good. 

That  kings  would  think  withal, 
AVhen  peace  and  wealth  their  land  has  blessed, 
'Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest. 

Than  rise,  perchance  to  fall. " 

XXX. 

Still  on  the  spot  lord  Marmion  stayed. 
For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  surve3-ed. 

When  sated  witli  the  martial  show 

That  peopled  all  the  plain  below. 

The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go. 

And  mark  the  distant  city  glow 
With  gloomy  splendour  red; 

For  on  tlie  smoke- wreaths,  huge  and  slow, 

Tliat  round  her  sable  turrets  flow. 
The  morning  beams  were  shed. 

And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud. 

Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 

Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height, 

Where  tiie  huge  castle  holds  its  state, 
And  all  the  steep  slope  down. 

Whose  ridgy  back  lieaves  to  the  sky. 

Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 
Mine  own  i-omantic  town! 
But  northward  far,  with  purer  blaze. 
On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays. 
And,  as  each  heathy  top  they  kissed, 
It  gleamed  a  purple  amethyst. 

Vonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw; 

Here  Preston-bay,  and  lierwick-law; 
And,  broad  between  them  rolled. 
The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 
Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  tioat 
Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 

Fitz-Eustace'  heart  felt  closely  pent; 

As  if  to  give  his  rapture  vent. 
The  spur  he  to  his  ciiarger  lent. 

And  raised  his  bridal-hand, 
And,  making  <lemi-vaidt  in  air. 
Cried,  "  Where's  the  coward  that  would  not  dare 

To  fight  for  sucli  a  land!" 
The  lion  smiled  his  joy  to  see; 
Nor  Marmion 's  frown  repressed  his  glee. 

XXXI. 

Thus  while  the)'  looked,  a  flourish  proud. 
Where  mingled  trump  and  clarion  loud, 

And  fife,  and  kettle-drum. 
And  sackbut  deep,  and  psaltery. 
And  war-pipe  with  discordant  crj', 
And  cymbal  clattering  to  the  sky, 
Making  wild  music  bold  and  high. 

Did  up  the  mountain  come; 
The  whilst  the  bells,  with  distant  cliime, 
Merrily  tolled  the  hour  of  prime, 


And  thus  the  lion  spoke: — 
"Thus  clamoured  still  tlie  war-notes  when 
The  king  to  mass  his  way  has  ta'en, 
Or  to  St.  Chatherine's  of  Sienne, 

Or  chapel  of  St.  Rocque. 
To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame; 
But  me  remind  of  peaceful  game, 

When  blither  was  their  cheer. 
Thrilling  in  Falkland  woods  the  air, 
In  signal  none  his  steed  should  spare. 
But  strive  which  foremost  might  repair 

To  the  downfall  of  the  deer. 

XXXII. 

"  Nor  less,"  he  said, — "  when  looking  forth, 
I  view  you  empress  of  the  north 

Sit  on  her  hilly  throne; 
Her  palace's  imperial  bowers, 
Her  castle,  jH'oof  to  hostile  powers. 
Her  stately  halls  and  iioly  towers — 

Nor  less,"  he  said,  "  1  moan 
To  think  wliat  wo  inisehance  may  bring, 
.\nd  how  these  merry  bells  may  ring 
The  death  dirge  of  our  gallunt  king; 

Or,  M  ith  their  lannn,  c:dl 
The  burghers  foith  to  watch  and  ward, 
'Gainst  soitthern  sack  and  fires  to  guard 

Dun-Edin's  leaguered  wall. — 
But  not  for  my  presaging  thought. 
Dream  conquest  sure,  or  cheaply  bought! 

Lord  Marmion,  1  say  nay: — 
God  is  the  guider  of  the  field. 
He  breaks  the  champion's  spear  and  shield. 

But  thou  thyself  shall  say, 
Wlien  joins  yon  host  in  deadly  stowi-e. 
That  England's  dames  must  weep  in  bower. 

Her  monks  the  death-mass  sing; 
For  never  saw'st  thou  such  a  power 

Led  on  by  such  a  king." 
And  now,  down  winding  to  the  plain, 
The  barriers  of  the  camp  they  gain, 

And  there  they  make  a  stay. — 
There  staj's  the  minstrel,  till  lie  fling 
His  hand  o'er  every  border  string. 
And  fit  his  harp  the  pomp  to  sing 
Of  Scotland's  ancient  court  and  king. 

In  the  succeeding  lay. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  V. 

TO  GEORGE  ELLIS,  Es*. 

Edinbttrgh. 
Whex  dark  December  glooms  the  day. 
And  takes  our  autumn  joys  away; 
When  short  and  scant  the  sunbeam  throws, 
Upon  the  weary  waste  of  snows, 
A  cold  and  profitless  regard. 
Like  patron  on  a  needy  bard; 
Wiien  sylvan  occupation's  done. 
And  o'er  the  chimney  rests  the  gun, 
And  hang,  in  idle  trophy,  near, 
The  game-pouch,  fishing-rod,  and  spear; 
When  wiry  terrier,  rougli  and  grim, 
And  greyhound,  with  his  length  of  limb, 
And  pointer,  now  employed  no  more, 
Cumber  our  parlour's  narrow  floor; 
When  in  his  stall  the  impatient  steed 
Is  long  condemned  to  rest  and  feed; 
When  from  our  snow-encircled  home, 
Scarce  cares  the  hardiest  step  to  roam. 
Since  path  is  none,  save  that  to  bring 
The  needful  water  from  the  spring; 


80 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


\Vhcn  wiiiikli'il  ni:\vs-pagc,  thrice  conn'd  o'er, 

Ili'guilrs  llii'  droaiy  hour  no  more, 

And  diirklina;  polilicirin,  crossed, 

Inveiglis  against  the  lirigoriiip;  post, 

And  answering  housewile  sore  complains 

Of  carrier's  snow-impeded  wains: 

When  such  tlie  country  cheer,  I  come. 

Well  pleasi'd,  to  seek  our  city  home; 

For  converse,  and  for  books  to  change 

The  forest's  melancholy  range. 

And  welcome,  witli  renewed  deliglit, 

The  busy  d.n  and  social  night. 

Not  here  need  my  desponding  rhyme 
Lament  tiie  ravages  of  time. 
As  ei-st  by  Newark's  riven  towers. 
And  Etii'ick  sU'ip\)ed  of  forest  bowers.* 
True, — Caledonia's  riiieen  is  changed,' 
Since,  on  her  dusky  summit  ranged, 
Witiiin  its  steepy  limits  pent, 
Bj'  bulwark,  line,  and  battlement. 
And  flanking  towers,  and  laky  flood, 
(jiiarded  and  garrisoned  she  stood. 
Denying  entrance  or  resort, 
Save  at  each  tall  embattled  ]>or(; 
Above  wliose  ai'ch,  suspended,  hung 
F(irlcullis  s|)iked  witli  iron  prong. 
That  long  is  gone, — but  not  so  long. 
Since,  early  closed,  and  opening  late. 
Jealous  revolved  the  studded  gate, 
Wliose  task,  from  eve  to  morning  tide, 
A  wicket  churlishly  supplied. 
Stern  then,  and  steel-girt  was  thy  brow, 
Dun-Edin!  O,  how  altered  now, 
When  safe  amid  thy  mountain  court 
Thou  sit'st,  like  empress  at  tier  sport. 
And,  lilieral,  unconfined,  and  free. 
Flinging  thy  white  arms  to  tlie  sea,- 
For  thy  dark  cloud  with  umbered  lower. 
That  hung  o'er  clifT,  and  lake,  and  tower. 
Thou  gleam'st  against  the  western  ray 
Ten  thousand  lines  of  lirighter  day. 
Not  she,  the  championess  of  old. 
In  Spenser's  magic  tale  enrolled, — 
She  for  the  charmed  spear  renowned, 
Which  forced  each  knight  to  kiss  the  ground, — 
Not  she  more  changed,  when  placed  at  rest, 
Wliat  time  she  was  Malbecco's  guest,t 
She  gave  to  flow  her  maiden  vest; 
When  from  the  corslet's  grasp  relieved. 
Free  to  the  sight  her  bosom  heaved; 
Sweet  was  her  lilue  eye's  modest  smile, 
Erst  hidden  by  the  avenlayle; 
And  down  her  shoulders  graceful  rolled 
Her  locks  profuse,  of  paly  gold. 
They  who  whilome,  in  midnight  fight. 
Had  marvelled  at  iier  matchless  niiglu. 
No  less  her  maiden  charms  approved. 
Hut  looking  liked,  and  liking  loved.^; 
The  sight  could  jealous  pangs  beguile, 
And  charm  Malbecco's  cares  awhile; 
And  he,  the  wandering  s(piire  of  dames. 
Forgot  his  Columbella's  claims, 
And  passion,  erst  unknown,  could  gain 
The  breast  of  blunt  sir  Satyrane; 
Nor  durst  light  Paridel  advance, 
Bold  as  he  was,  a  looser  glance. — 
She  cliarmed,  at  once,  and  tamed  the  heart, 
Incomparable  Britomarte ! 

*  Sec  Inlroduction  to  Canto  II. 

t  Sci^  "The  Fairy  Qutin,"  Hook  III,  Canto  [X. 

t  "  For  every  one  Iici-  liked,  anil  cvury  mw  hi  r  loved." 

■Sjirnrcr,  iix  itlnn'r. 


So  thou,  fail-  city  !  disarrayed 
Of  battled  wall,  and  rampart's  aid. 
As  stately  secm'st,  but  lovelier  far 
Than  in  that  panoply  of  war. 
Nor  deem  that  from  thy  fenceless  Ihroae 
Strength  and  security  are  ilown; 
Still,  as  of  yore,  queen  of  the  north! 
Still  canst  thou  send  thy  children  forth. 
Ne'er  readiei-  at  alarm-bell's  call 
Thy  burghers  rose  to  man  thy  wall, 
Tlian  now,  in  danger,  shall  be  thine. 
Thy  dauntless  voluntary  line; 
For  fosse  and  turret  proud  to  stand. 
Their  breasts  the  bulwarks  of  tlie  land. 
Thy  thousands,  trained  to  martial  toil, 
Full  red  would  stain  their  native  soil, 
Ere  from  thy  mural  crown  there  fell 
The  slightest  knosp,  or  pinnacle. 
And  if  it  come, — as  come  it  may, 
Dun-Edin!  that  eventful  day, 
Kenowned  for  hospitable  deed. 
That  virtue  much  with  heaven  may  plead, 
In  patriarchal  times  whose  care 
Descending  angels  deigned  to  share;  ' 
That  claim  may  wrestle  blessings  down 
On  those  who  fight  for  tlie  good  town, 
Destined  in  every  age  to  be 
Uefuge  of  injured  royalty; 
Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose. 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose,^ 
Till  late,  with  wonder,  grief,  and  awe, 
Great  Bourbon's  relics,  sad  she  saw. 

Truce  to  these  thoughts! — for,  us  they  rise, 
How  gladly  I  avert  mine  eyes, 
Bodings,  or  true  or  false,  to  change, 
For  fiction's  fair  romantic  range, 
Or  for  tradition's  dubious  light. 
That  jiovers  'twixt  the  day  and  night: 
Dazzling  .dternately  and  dim, 
Her  wavei'ing  lamp  I'd  rather  trim, 
Knights,  squires,  and  lovely  dames  to  sec. 
Creation  of  my  fantasj-. 
Than  gaze  abroad  on  reeky  fen. 
And  make  of  mists  invading  men. — 
Who  loves  not  more  the  night  of  June 
Than  dull  December's  gloomy  noon ' 
The  moonlight  than  the  fog  of  frost? 
And  can  we  say,  which  cheats  the  most ' 

But  who  shall  teach  my  harp  to  gain 
A  sound  of  the  romantic  strain. 
Whose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilerc 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear,< 
Famed  Beauclerc  called,  for  that  he  lovctl 
The  minstrel,  and  his  lay  approved? 
Who  shall  these  lingering  notes  redeem. 
Decaying  on  oblivion's  stream; 
Sucli  notes  as  from  tlie  Breton  tongue 
Marie  translated,  Blondel  sung' — 
O!  born,  time's  ravage  to  repair. 
And  make  the  dying  muse  thy  care; 
Wiio,  when  his  scythe  her  hoary  foe 
Was  poising  for  the  final  blow. 
The  weapon  from  his  hand  could  wring 
And  break  his  glass,  and  shear  his  wing, 
And  bid,  reviving  in  his  strain. 
The  gentle  poet  live  again; 
Thou,  who  canst  give  to  lightest  lay 
An  unpedantic  moral  gay. 
Nor  less  the  dullest  theme  bid  flit 
On  wings  of  unexpected  wit; 
In  letters,  as  in  life,  approved. 
Example  honoured,  and  beloved. 


MARMION. 


81 


Dear  Ellis!  to  the  bard  impart 
A  lesson  of  thy  magic  art, 
To  win  at  ouce  the  head  and  heart, — 
At  once  to  charm,  instruct,  and  mend, 
My  guide,  my  pattern,  and  my  friend ! 
Such  minstrel  lesson  to  bestow 
Be  long  thy  pleasing  task, — but,  O! 
N'o  more  by  thy  example  teach 
What  few  can  practise,  all  can  preach, 
With  even  patience  to  endure 
Lingering  disease,  and  painful  cure. 
And  boast  affliction's  pangs  subdued 
Uy  mild  and  manly  fortitude. 
Enough,  the  lesson  has  been  given; 
Forbid  the  repetition,  Heaven  ! 

Come  listen,  then!  for  thou  hast  known, 
And  loved  the  minstrel's  varying  tone, 
Who,  like  his  border  sires  of  old, 
Waked  a  wild  measure,  rude  and  bold. 
Till  Windsor's  oaks,  and  Ascot  plain, 
With  wonder  heard  the  northern  strain. 
Come,  listen! — bold  in  thy  applause, 
l"he  bard  shall  scorn  pedantic  laws, 
And,  as  the  ancient  art  could  stain 
Achievements  on  the  storied  pane. 
Irregularly  traced  and  planned, 
But  yet  so  glowing  and  so  grand; 
So  shall  he  strive,  in  changeful  hue, 
Field,  feast,  and  combat,  to  renew. 
And  loves,  and  arms,  and  harpers'  glee, 
And  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry. 


THE  COURT. 

I. 

Thk  train  has  left  the  hills  of  Braid; 
The  barrier  guard  have  open  made 
(So  Lindesay  bade)  the  palisade. 

That  closed  the  tented  ground. 
Their  men  the  warders  backward  drew, 
And  carried  pikes  as  they  rode  through. 

Into  its  ample  bound. 
Fast  ran  the  Scottish  waiTiors  there. 
Upon  the  southern  band  to  staie; 
Aod  envy  with  their  wonder  rose. 
To  see  such  well-appointed  foes; 
Such  length  of  shafts,  such  mighty  bows, 
So  huge,  that  many  simply  thought. 
But  for  a  vaunt  such  weapons  wrought; 
And  little  deemed  their  force  to  feel 
Through  links  of  mail,  ajid  plates  of  steel. 
When,  rattling  upon  Floden  vale. 
The  cloth-yard  arrows  tiew  like  hail.3 

U. 
Nor  less  did  .Marmion's  skilful  view 
Glance  every  line  and  squadron  through; 
And  much  he  marvelled  one  small  land 
Could  marshal  forth  such  various  band; 

For  men-at-arms  were  here. 
Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate, 
Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 
On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height. 

With  battle-axe  and  spear. 
Young  knights  and  squires,  a  lighter  train. 
Practised  their  chargers  on  the  plain. 
By  aid  of  leg,  of  hand,  and  rein. 
Each  warlike  feat  to  show; 
To  pass,  to  wheel,  tlie  croupe  to  gain. 
And  high  curvett,  that  not  in  vain 
The  sword-sway  might  descend  amain 
On  foemau's  casque  below. 6 


He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 
March  armed,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare," 

For  visor  they  wore  none. 
Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight; 
But  burnished  were  their  corslets  bright. 
Their  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light, 

Like  verj'  silver  slione. 
Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight. 

Two-handed  swords  tliey  wore. 
And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight. 

And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 

III. 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too,'^  but  dressed 
In  his  steel  jack,  a  swailhy  vest, 

\^'ith  iron  quilted  well; 
Each  at  his  back,  (a  slender  store,) 
His  forty  days'  pro\ision  bore. 

As  feudal  statutes  tell. 
His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear, 
A  cross-bow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 

A  dagger-knife,  and  brand — 
Sober  he  seemed,  and  sad  of  cheer. 
As  loth  to  leave  his  cottage  dear. 

And  march  to  foreign  strand; 
Or  musing,  who  would  guide  liis  steer. 

To  till  the  fallow  land. 
Yet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 
Did  aught  of  dastard  terror  lie; — 

iMore  dreadful  far  his  ire 
Than  tiieirs,  who,  scorning  danger's  name. 
In  eager  mood  to  battle  came. 
Their  valour  like  liglit  straw  on  flame, 

A  fierce  but  fading  lire. 

IV. 

Not  so  the  borderer: — bred  to  war, 
He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar. 

And  joyed  to  hear  it  swell. 
His  peaceful  day  was  slothful  ease; 
Nor  harp,  nor  pipe,  his  ear  could  please. 

Like  the  loud  slogan  yell. 
On  active  steed,  vviili  lance  and  blade. 
The  light  armed  pricker  plied  his  trade, — 

Let  nobles  tight  for  fame; 
Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead. 
Burghers,  to  guard  liieir  townships,  bleed. 

But  war's  the  borderers'  game. 
Their  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight. 
To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  tiie  night. 

O'er  mountain,  moss,  and  moor; 
Joyful  to  fight  they  look  their  way. 
Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  day, 

Their  booty  was  secure. 
These,  as  lord  Marmion's  train  passed  by. 
Looked  on,  at  first,  with  careless  eye. 
Nor  marvelled  aught,  well  taught  to  know 
The  form  and  force  of  English  bow. 

But  when  they  saw  the  lord  arrayed 
In  splendid  arms,  and  rich  brocade. 
Each  borderer  to  his  kinsman  said, 
"  Hist,  Ringan !  seest  thou  there ! 

Canst  guess  which  road  they'll  iiome ward  ride.' 

O!  could  we  but,  on  borckr  side. 

By  Eusdale  glen,  or  Liildell's  tide. 
Beset  a  prize  so  fair ! 

That  fangless  lion,  too,  their  guide. 

Might  chance  to  lose  his  glistering  hide; 

Brown  .Maudlin,  of  that  doublet  pied. 
Could  make  a  kirtle  rare. " 

V. 

Next,  Marmion  marked  tiie  Celtic  race 
Of  different  language,  form,  and  face, 


82 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  various  race  ot'inan; 
Just  llieii  llie  chiefs  llieir  tribes  nrrayed. 
And  w  ihl  iind  pjarisli  simhlance  made, 
The  ch('(|ncred  trews,  and  heUed  plaid; 
And  vai'ving  notes  the  war-pipes  brayed, 

To  i-very  varying  clan; 
Wild  through  tiieir  red  or  sable  hair 
Looked  out  their  eyes,  with  savage  stai-e. 

On  Marmion  as  lie  past; 
Their  legs  above  the  knee  were  bare; 
Their  fi-ame  was  sinewy,  short,  and  spare. 

And  hardened  to  the  Idast; 
Of  taller  race,  the  ciiiefs  they  own 
Wei-e  bv  the  eagle's  pliuiiage  known. 
The  liunted  red-deer's  undressed  hide 
Their  hairy  buskins  well  supplied; 
The  graceful  bonnet  decked  their  head; 
Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid; 

A  broad-sword  of  unwieldy  lengtli, 
A  dagger  proved  for  edge  and  strength, 

A  studded  targe  they  wore. 
And  quivers,  bows,  and  shafts, — but,  O! 
Short  was  the  slval't,  and  weak  the  bow. 

To  that  which  England  bore. 
The  Isles-nii'n  carried  at  their  backs 
The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 
Tiiev  raised  a  wild  and  wondei-ingcry. 
As  with  Ids  guide  rode  Marmion  l)y. 
Loud  were  their  clamouring  tongues,  as  when 
The  clanging  sea-fowl  leave  the  fen. 
And,  witli  their  cries  discordant  mixed, 
Grumbled  and  yelled  the  pipes  betwixt.   ' 

VT. 

Thus  through  the  Scottish  camp  they  passed. 
And  reached  the  city  gate  at  las^, 
Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard. 
Armed  burgliers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 
Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear. 
When  lay  encamped,  in  field  so  near. 
The  borderer  and  the  mountaineer. 
As  througli  the  bustling  streets  they  go. 
All  was  alive  with  martial  show; 
At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clang, 
Tlie  armom-er's  anvil  clashed  and  rang. 
Or  toiled  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 
The  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel; 
Or  axe,  or  falchion  to  the  side 
Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 

Page,  groom,  and  squire,  with  hun-ying  pace, 

Tiirougli  street,  and  lane,  and  market-place, 
Bore  lance,  or  casque,  or  sword; 

While  burghers,  with  important  face. 
Described  each  new-come  lord, 

Discussed  his  lineage,  told  his  name. 

His  following,*  and  liis  warlike  fame. — 
The  lion  led  to  lodging  meet, 
Which  high  o'erlooked  the  crowded  street; 

There  must  the  baron  rest. 
Till  past  the  hour  of  vesper  tide. 
And  then  to  Holy-Rood  must  ride, — 

Such  was  the  king's  beiiest. 
Meanwliile  the  lion's  care  assigns 
A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines,'J 

To  Alarmion  and  his  train; 
And  when  the  appointed  hour  succeeds, 
The  baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds, 
And  following  Lindes-iy  as  he  leads, 

The  palace  halls  they  gain. 


•  Follo7ehig—Fe\i<ln\  retainers. 


VH. 

Old  Holy-Rood  rung  merrily, 

That  night,  witli  wassel,  mirth,  and  glee: 

King  James  within  her  princely  bower 

Feasted  the  chiefs  of  Scotland's  power, 

Summoned  to  si)end  tiie  parting  hour; 
For  he  had  charged,  tiiat  his  array 
Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 
Well  loved  th:it  splendid  monarch  aye 

The  banquet  and  tiie  song, 
Hy  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 
The  merry  dance,  traced  fast  and  light, 
The  masquers  quaint,  tiie  pageant  bright. 

The  revel  loud  ancl  long. 
This  feast  outshone  his  banquets  past; 
It  was  his  blithest,— and  his  last. 

The  dazzling  lamps,  from  galleiy  gay, 

Cast  on  the  court  a  dancing  ray; 

Here  to  tlie  harp  did  minstrels  sing; 

Tlierc  ladies  touched  a  softer  string; 

With  long-eared  cap,  and  motley  vest, 

Tiie  lic'-nsed  fool  retailed  his  jest; 

His  magic  tricks  the  juggler  plied; 

At  dice  and  draughts  tiie  gallants  vied; 
While  some,  in  close  recess  apart, 
Coiu'ted  the  ladies  of  their  iieart. 

Nor  courted  tlieni  in  vain; 
For  often,  in  tlie  iiarting  hour, 
Victorious  love  asserts  his  power 

O'er  coldness  and  disdain; 

And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 

To  battle  march  a  lover  true, — 

Can  bear,  perchance,  his  last  adieu, 

Nor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

VUI. 

Through  this  mixed  crowd  of  glee  and  game, 
The  king  to  g 'eet  lord  Marmion  came, 

While,  reverend,  all  made  room. 
An  easy  task  it  was,  1  trow, 
King  .lames's  manly  form  to  know, 
Althougli,  his  courtesy  to  show, 
He  dotted,  to  Marmion  bending  low. 

His  broidered  cap  and  plume. 
For  royal  were  his  garb  and  mien, 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  piled. 
Trimmed  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild; 
His  vest  of  changeful  satin  sheen, 

The  dazzled  eye  beguiled; 
His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown, 
Wrouglit  with  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown, 
The  thistle  brave,  of  oldj-enown; 
His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right. 
Descended  from  a  baldric  bright; 
White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 
His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel; 
His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair. 
Was  buttoned  with  a  ruby  rare: 
And  Marmion  deemed  he  ne'er  had  seen 
A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

IX. 

The  monarch's  form  was  middle  size; 
For  feat  of  strength,  or  exercise. 

Shaped  in  proportion  fair; 
And  hazel  was  his  eagle  eye, 
And  auburn  of  the  deepest  dye 

His  short  curled  beard  and  hair. 
Light  was  his  footstep  in  the  dance. 
And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lists; 
And,  oh!  he  had  that  merry  gl.ance 
That  seldom  lady's  heart  resists. 


MARMION. 


83 


Lightly  from  fair  to  fair  he  flew, 
And  loved  to  plead,  lament,  and  suej — 
Suit  lightly  won,  and  short-lived  pain, 
For  Monarchs  seldom  sigh  in  vain. 
1  said  he  joyed  in  banquet-bower; 
But,  mid  his  mirth,  'twas  often  strange. 
How  suddenly  his  eheer  would  change, 
His  look  o'ercast  and  lower. 
If,  in  a  sudden  turn,  he  felt 
The  pressure  of  his  iron  belt, 
That  bound  his  breast   in  penance  pain, 
lu  memory  of  his  father  slain.  'O 
Even  so  'twas  strange  how  evermore. 
Soon  as  the  passing  pang  was  o'er. 
Forward  he  rushed,  witli  double  glee, 
Into  the  stream  of  revelry: 
Thus,  dim-seen  object  of  affright 
Startles  the  courser  in  his  flight, 
And  lialf  he  halts,  half  springs  aside; 
But  feels  the  quickening  spur  applied. 
And,  straining  on  the  tightened  rein. 
Scours  doubly  swift  o'er  hill  and  plain. 

X. 

O'er  James's  heart,  the  courtiers  say, 
Sir  Hugh  the  heron's  wife  held  sway:'-' 

To  Scotland's  court  she  came, 
To  be  a  hostage  for  her  lord. 
Who  Cessford's  gallant  heart  had  gored. 
And  with  the  king  to  make  accord. 

Had  sent  his  lovely  dame. 
Nor  to  that  lady  free  alone 
Did  the  gay  king  allegiance  own; 

For  the  fair  queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  Turquois  ring,  and  glove, 
And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love. 

For  her  to  break  a  lance;'^ 
And  strike  three  strokes  with  Scottish  brand, 
And  march  three  miles  on  southron  land, 
And  bid  the  banners  of  his  band 

In  English  breezes  dance. 
And  thus,  for  France's  queen  he  drest 
His  manly  limbs  in  mailed  vest; 
And  thus  admitted  English  fair. 
His  inmost  counsels  still  to  share; 

And  thus,  for  both,  he  madly  planned 

The  ruin  of  himself  and  land! 
And  yet,  tiie  sooth  to  tell. 

Nor  England's  fair,  nor  France's  queen, 

Were  worth  one  pearl-drop  bright  and  sheen, 
From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell, — 
His   own   queen    Margaret,   who,    in   Lithgow's 

bower. 
All  lonely  sat,  and  wept  the  weary  hour. 

XL 

The  queen  sits  lone  in  Lithgow  pile, 

And  weeps  the  weary  day. 
The  war  against  her  native  soil. 
Her  raonarcli's  risk  in  battle  broil; — 
And  in  gay  Holy  Rood,  the  while. 
Dame  Heron  rises  with  a  smile 

Upon  the  harp  to  play. 
Fair  was  her  rounded  arm,  as  o'er 

The  strings  her  fingers  flew; 
And  as  she  touched,  and  tuned  them  all. 
Ever  her  bosom's  rise  and  fall 
Was  plainer  given  to  view; 
For  all,  for  heat,  was  laid  aside. 
Her  wimple,  and  her  hood  untied. 
And  first  she  pitched  her  voice  to  sing, 
Then  glanced  her  dark  eye  on  the  king, 
And  then  around  the  silent  ring; 


And  laughed,  and  blushed,  and  oft  did  say 
Her  pretty  oaih,  by  yea  and  nay. 
She  could  not,  would  not,  durst  not  play ! 
At  length,  upon  the  harp,  with  glee. 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 
A  soft,  yet  lively  air  she  rung. 
While  thus  the  wily  lady  sung. 
XU. 

tOCHI>TAH. 

LADY  HERON'S  SONG. 

O,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west. 
Through  all  the  wide  border  his  steed  was  the  best; 
And  save  his  good  broadsAvord  he  weapons  had 

none. 
He  rode  all  unarmed,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war. 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He   staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopped  not  for 

stone. 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was 

none; 
But,  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late: 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war. 
Was  to  Aved  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  entered  the  Netherby  hall. 
Among  bride's-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers, 

and  all: 
Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his 

sword, 
(For   the   poor   craven  bridegi-oom  said  never  a 

word, ) 
"  O  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war. 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  lord  Lochinvar?" 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied; 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide; 
And  now  am  1  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine. 
To  lead  but  oiie  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland,  more  lovely  by  far. 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochin- 
var." 

The  bride  kissed  the  goblet;  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaffed  off  the  wine,  and  he  tlirew  down  the 

cup. 
She  looked  down  to  blush,  and  she  looked  up  to 

sigh. 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar,  — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure  I"  said  young  Lochin- 
var. 
So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  his  face, 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace; 
While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 

plume; 
And  the  bride-maidens  whispered,  "  'T were  bet- 
ter by  far 
To   have  matched    our  fair   cousin  with   yoimg 

Lochinvar." 
One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear. 
When  they  reached  the  hall-door,  and  tlie  chai-ger 

stood  near; 
So  liglit  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung! — 
"  She  is  won!  we  ai-e  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and 

scaur; 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,  "quoth  young 
Lochinvar. 


84 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


There  was  mounting  'inong  Grxmcs  of  the  Ncth- 

erby  clan; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and 

they  ran: 
There  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 
Hut  the  lost  bride  of  Nctherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar  ? 

Xlll. 

The  monarch  o'er  the  syren  hung. 

And  beat  the  measure  as  she  sung; 

And,  pressing  closer,  and  more  near. 

He  whispered  praises  in  her  ear. 

In  loud  applause,  the  courtiers  vied; 

And  ladies  winked,  and  si)oke  aside. 

The  witching  dame  to  Marmion  threw 
A  glance,  where  seemed  to  reign 

The  ])ride  that  claims  ajjplauses  due. 

And  of  her  royal  conquest,  too, 
A  real  or  feigned  disdain: 
Familiar  was  the  look,  and  told, 
Marmion  and  she  were  friends  of  old. 

The  king  observed  their  meeting  eyes. 

With  something  like  displeased  surprise; 

For  monarchs  ill  can  rivals  brook. 

Even  in  a  word,  or  smile,  or  look. 

Straight  took  he  forth  the  parchment  broad. 

Which  Marmion's  high  commission  showed; 
"  Our  borders  sacked  bj-  many  a  raid, 
Our  peaceful  liegemen  robbed,"  he  said; 
"  On  day  of  truce  our  warden  slain. 
Stout  Barton  killed,  his  vessels  ta'en — 

Unworthy  were  we  here  to  reign. 

Should  these  for  vengeance  cry  in  vain; 

Our  full  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn, 

Our  herald  has  to  Henry  borne. " 

XIV. 

He  paused,  and  led  where  Douglas  stood, 
And  with  stern  eye  the  pageant  viewed: 

I  mean  that  Douglas,  sixth  of  yore, 

Who  coronet  of  Angus  bore. 
And,  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  high, 
Did  the  third  James  in  camp  defy. 
And  all  his  minions  led  to  die 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat: 
Princes  and  favourites  long  grew  tame. 
And  trembled  at  the  jjomely  name 

Of  Archibald  Bell-lhe-cat;'3 
The  same  wlio  left  the  dusky  vale 
Of  Hermitage  in  Liddesdule, 

Its  dungeons,  and  its  towers. 
Where  Both  well's  turrets  brave  the  air. 
And  Bothwell  bank  is  blooming  fair. 

To  fix  ills  princely  bowers. 
Though  now,  in  age,  he  had  laid  down 
His  armour  for  the  peaceful  gow  n. 

And  for  a  stall' his  bi'an<l; 
Yet  often  would  flash  forth  the  fire. 
That  could,  in  youth,  a  monarch's  ire 

And  minion's  pride  withstand; 
And  even  that  day,  at  coiuicil  board, 

Unapt  to  sooth  bis  sovereign's  mood, 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood. 
And  chafed  his  royal  lord.'-* 

XV. 
His  giant-form,  like  ruined  tower. 

Though  fallen  its  muscles'  brawny  vaunt. 

Huge-boned,  and  tall,  and  grim,  and  gaunt, 
Seemed  o'er  the  gaudy  scene  to  lower: 

His  locks  and  beard  in  silver  grew; 

His  eyebrows  kept  their  sable  hue. 


Near  Douglas  when  the  monarch  stood, 
His  bitter  speech  he  thus  pursued: — 
"  Lord  Marmion,  since  these  letters  say, 
That  in  the  north  you  needs  must  stay. 

While  slightest  hopes  of  peace  remain, 
Uncourteous  speech  it  were,  and  stern, 
To  say — Return  to  I^indisfarn, 
Until  my  iierald  come  again. — 
Then  rest  you  in  Tantallon  hold;''' 
Vour  host  shall  be  li»e  Douglas  bold,— 
A  chief  unlike  his  sires  of  old. 
He  wears  their  motto  on  his  blade,"' 
'{"lieir  blazon  o'er  his  tfiwers  displayed; 
Yet  loves  bis  sovereign  to  oppose. 
More  tiian  to  face  his  country's  foes. 
And,  I  betliink  nie,  by  St.  Stephen, 
But  e'en  Ibis  morn  to  me  was  given 
A  prize,  the  first  fruits  of  the  war, 
Ta'en  by  a  g:dley  from  Dunbar, 
A  bevy  of  the  maids  of  heaven. 
Under  your  guard,  these  holy  maids 
Shall  safe  return  to  cloister  shades. 
And,  while  they  at  Tantallon  stay, 
Requiem  for  Cochran's  soul  may  say." 
And,  with  the  slaughtered  favourite  name. 
Across  the  monarch's  brow  there  came 
A  cloud  of  ire,  remorse,  and  shame. 

XVI. 

In  answer  nought  could  Angus  speak; 

His  proud  heart  swelled  well  nigh  to  break 

He  turned  aside,  and  down  his  cheek 

A  burning  tear  there  stole. 
His  hand  the  monarch  sudden  took, 
That  sight  his  kind  heart  could  not  brook; 

"Now,  by  the  Bruce 's  soul, 
Augus,  my  hasty  speech  forgive! 
For  sure  as  doth  his  spirit  live, 
As  he  said  of  tlie  Douglas  old, 

I  well  may  say  of  you, — 
That  never  king  did  subject  hold, 
In  speech  more  free,  in  war  more  bold, 

More  tender,  and  more  true;* 
Forgive  me,  Douglas,  once  .again."— 
And,  while  the  king  his  hand  did  strain. 
The  old  man's  tears  fell  doun  like  rain. 
To  sieze  the  moment  Marmion  tried, 
And  whispered  to  the  king  aside: 
"  Oh!  let  such  tears  unwonted  plead 
For  respite  short  from  dubious  deed ! 
A  child  will  weep  a  bramble's  smart, 
A  maid  to  see  her  spari'ow  part, 
A  stripling  for  a  woman's  heart- 
But  wo  awaits  a  country,  when 
She  sees  the  tears  of  bearded  men. 
Then,  oh !  what  omen,  dark  and  high, 
When  Douglas  wets  his  manly  eye!"— 

XVII. 
Displeased  was  James,  that  stranger  viewed 
And  tampered  with  his  changing  mood. 
"  Laugh  those  that  can,  weep  those  that  may,'' 
Thus  did  the  fiery  nnuarch  say, 
"Southward  I  march  by  break  of  day; 
And  if  within  Tantallon  sti-ong. 
The  good  lord  Marmion  tarries  long. 
Perchance  our  meeting  next  may  fall 
At  Tamwortii,  in  his  castle-hall." — 
The  haughty  Marmion  felt  the  taunt. 
And  answered,  grave,  the  royal  vaunt: 


'  O,  Dowglas!  Dowglas! 
TcnJir  and  trcw.        Tltc  Huulale. 


MARJkOON. 


85 


"  Much  honoured  were  my  humble  home, 

If  in  its  halls  king  James  should  come; 

But  Nottingham  has  archers  good, 

And  Yorkshire  men  are  stern  of  mood; 

Northumbrian  prickers  wild  and  rude. 

On  Derby  hills  the  paths  are  steep; 

In  Ouse  and  Tyne  the  fords  are  deep: 

And  many  a  banner  will  be  torn. 

And  many  a  knight  to  earth  be  borne, 

And  many  a  sheaf  of  arrows  spent, 

Ere  Scotland's  kino;  shall  cross  the  Trent: 

Yet  pause,  brave  \)rincc,  while  yet  you  may 

The  monarch  lightly  turned  away. 

And  to  his  nobles  loud  did  call, — 

"Lords,  to  the  d;(nce, — a  hall!  a  hall!"* 

Himself  his  cloak  and  sword  flung  by, 

And  led  dame  Heron  gallantly; 

And  minsti-els,  at  the  royal  order, 

Rung  out — "  Blue  bonnets  o'er  the  border." 

xvm. 

Leave  we  these  revels  now,  to  tell 
What  to  St.  Hilda's  maids  befel. 
Whose  galley,  as  they  sailed  again 
To  Whitby,  by  a  Scot  was  ta'en. 
Now  at  Dun-Edin  did  they  bide. 
Till  James  should  of  their  fate  decide; 

And  soon,  by  his  command, 
Were  gently  summoned  to  prepare 
To  journey  under  Marmion's  care. 
As  escort  honoured,  safe,  and  fair. 

Again  to  English  land. 
The  abbess  told  her  chaplet  o'er, 
Nor  knew  which  saint  she  should  implore; 
For,  when  she  thought  of  Constance,  sore 

She  feared  lord  Marmion's  mood. 
And  judge  what  Clara  must  have  felt ! 
The  sword,  that  hung  in  Marmion's  belt. 

Had  drunk  De  Wilton's  blood. 
Unwittingly,  king  James  had  given. 

As  guai-il  to  Whitby's  shades. 
The  man  most  dreaded  under  heaven 

By  these  defenceless  maids; 
Yet  what  petition  could  avail. 
Or  who  would  listen  to  the  tale 
Of  woman,  prisoner,  and  nun, 
Mid  bustle  of  a  war  begun  ? 
They  deemed  it  hopeless  to  avoid 
The  convoy  of  their  dangerous  guide. 

XIX. 

Their  lodging,  so  the  king  assigned. 
To  Marmion's,  a^i  their  guardian,  joined; 
And  thus  it  fell,  that,  passing  nigh. 
The  palmer  caught  tlie  abbess'  eye. 

Who  warned  him  by  a  scroll. 
She  had  a  secret  to  reveal, 
That  much  concerned  the  church's  weal, 

And  health  of  sinner's  soul; 
And  with  deep  charge  of  secrecy, 

She  named  a  place  to  meet. 
Within  an  open  balcony. 
That  hung  from  dizzy  pitch,  and  high, 

Above  the  stately  street; 
To  which,  as  common  to  each  home. 
At  night  they  might  in  secret  come. 

XX. 

At  night,  in  secret,  there  they  came. 
The  palmer  and  the  holy  dame. 
The  moon  among  the  clouds  rode  high. 
And  all  the  city  hum  was  by. 


•  Tile  ancicut  cry  to  make  room  for  a.  dance,  or  pageant. 


ITpon  the  street,  where  late  before 
Did  din  of  war  and  warriors  roar, 

You  might  have  heard  a  pebble  fall, 
A  beetle  hum,  a  cricket  sing. 
An  owlet  flap  his  boding  wing 
On  Giles's  steeple  tall. 
The  antique  buildings,  climbing  high. 
Whose  Gothic  frontlets  sought  the  sky. 

Were  here  wrapt  deep  in  shade; 
There  on  their  brows  the  moonbeam  broke 
Thi-ough  the  faint  wreaths  of  silveiTf  smoke, 

And  on  the  casements  played. 
And  other  light  was  none  to  see, 

Save  torches  gliding  far. 
Before  some  chieftain  of  degree, 
Who  left  the  royal  revelry 

To  bowne  him  for  the  war. — 
A  solemn  scene  the  abbess  chose ! 
A  solemn  hour,  her  secret  to  disclose. 

XXL 
"  O,  holy  palmer!"  she  began, — 
"  For  sure  he  must  be  sainted  man, 
AMiose  blessed  feel  have  trod  the  ground 
WTiere  the  Redeemer's  tomb  is  found;— 
For  his  dear  church's  sake,  my  tsde 
Attend,  nor  deem  of  light  avail. 
Though  I  must  spe.-tk  of  worldly  love, — 
How  vain  to  those  who  wed  above! 
De  Wilton  and  lord  Marmion  woo'd 
Clara  de  Clare,  of  Gloster's  blood; 
(Idle  it  were  of  W'hilby's  dame. 
To  say  of  that  same  blood  I  came;) 
And  once,  when  jealous  rage  was  high. 
Lord  Marmion  said  despiteously, 
Wilton  was  traitor  in  his  heart. 
And  had  made  league  with  Martin  Swai-t," 
When  he  came  here  on  Simnel's  part; 
And  only  cowardice  did  resti'ain 
His  rebel  aid  on  Stokefield's  plain, — 
And  down  he  threw  his  glove: — the  thing 
Was  ti'ied,  as  wont,  before  tlie  king; 
^\^lere  frankly  did  De  Wilton  own, 
Tliat  Swart  in  Guelders  he  had  known; 
And  that  between  them  then  there  went 
Some  scroll  of  courteous  compliment. 
For  this  he  to  his  castle  sent; 
But  when  his  messenger  returned. 
Judge  how  De  Wilton's  fury  burned! 
For  in  his  packet  there  were  laid 
Letters  that  claimed  disloyal  aid. 
And  proved  king  Heniy's  cause  betrayed. 
His  fame  thus  blighted,  in  the  field 
He  strove  to  clear,  by  spear  and  shield; — 
To  clear  his  fame  in  vain  he  strove. 
For  wondrous  are  His  ways  above! 
Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved : 
Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved;'^ 
Else  how  could  guiltless  champion  quail. 
Or  how  the  blessed  ordeal  fail? 

XXH. 
"  His  squire,  who  now  De  Wilton  saw 
As  recreaut  doomed  to  suffer  law. 

Repentant,  owned  in  vain. 
That,  while  he  had  the  scrolls  in  care, 
A  stranger  maiden,  jjassing  fair. 
Had  drenched  him  with  a  Ijeverage  rare; 

His  words  no  faith  coiUd  gain. 
With  Clare  alone  he  credence  won, 
Who,  rather  tlian  wed  Marmion, 
Did  to  Saint  Hilda's  shrine  repair. 
To  give  our  house  her  livings  fair. 
And  die  a  vestal  vot'ress  there— 


86 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  impulse  from  the  earth  was  given, 
But  bent  her  to  tiie  paths  of  heaven. 
A  purer  lieart,  a  Io>elier  niaiil, 
Ne'er  sheltered  her  in  Whitby's  shade, 
No,  not  since  Saxon  Edelfled; 

Only  one  trace  of  eartlily  slain, 
That  for  her  lover's  loss 

She  cherishes  a  sorrow  vain. 
And  murmurs  at  the  cross. — 
Ami  llien  her  lieritage, — it  goes 

Aloiis;  llie  banks  of  Tame; 
Deep  fields  of  i^rain  the  reaper  mows. 
In  meadows  rich  the  heifer  lows, 
The  falconer,  and  imntsman,  knows 

Its  woodlands  for  the  game. 
Shame  were  it  to  saint  Hilda  dear, 
And  I,  her  liuml)le  vol'ress  here, 
V"^  Should  do  a  deadly  sin. 

Her  temple  spoiled  before  mine  eyes. 
If  lliis  false  Marmion  such  a  prize 

By  my  consent  should  win; 
Yet  hath  our  boisterous  monarch  sworn. 
That  Clare  shall  from  our  house  be  torn: 
And  grievous  cause  have  I  to  fear, 
Such  mandate  doth  lord  Marmion  bear. 

XXIII. 

"  Now,  prisoner,  helpless,  and  betrayed 
To  evil  power,  I  claim  thine  aid, 

By  every  step  that  thou  hast  trod 
To  iioly  shrine,  and  grotto  dim. 
By  everv  martyr's  tortured  limb, 
By  angel,  saint,  and  scapbim. 

And  by  the  church  of  God! 
For  mark: — When  Wilton  was  betrayed, 
And  with  his  squire  foi-gcd  letters  laid. 
She  was,  alas!  that  sinful  maid. 

By  whom  the  dee<l  was  done, — 
O!  shame  and  horror  to  be  said. 

She  vvas — a  perjured  nun! 
No  cltrk  in  all  the  land,  like  her. 
Traced  quaint  and  varying  character. 
Perchance  you  may  a  marvel  deem, 

That  Marmion's  pararaom- 
(For  such  vile  thing  she  was)  should  scheme 

Her  lover's  nuptial  hour; 
But  o'er  him  thus  she  hoped  to  gain. 
As  privy  to  his  honour's  stain, 

Illimitable  power. 
For  this  she  secretly  retained 

Each  proof  that  might  the  plot  reveal. 
Instructions  with  bis  band  and  seal: 
And  thus  saint  Hilda  deigned. 
Through  sinner's  perfidy  impure, 
Her  house's  glory  to  secure. 
And  Clare's  immortal  weal. 

XXIV. 

"  'Twere  long,  and  needless,  here  to  tell, 
How  to  my  hanil  these  papers  fell; 

With  nie  they  nmst  not  stay. 
Saint  Hilda  keep  lier  abbess  true! 
Who  knows  what  outrage  be  might  do. 

While  journeying  by  the  way? — 

0  blessed  saint,  if  e'er  again 

1  venturous  leave  thy  calm  domain. 
To  travel  or  by  land  or  main. 

Deep  penance  may  1  pay ! 
Now,  saintly  iiaUuer,  mark  my  prayer; 
1  give  this  packet  to  thy  care, 
Ibr  tliee  to  stop  they  will  not  dare; 

And,  O!  with  cautious  speed! 


To  Wolsey's  hand  the  papers  bring. 
That  he  may  show  them  to  the  king; 

And,  for  thy  well-earned  meed. 
Thou  holy  man,  at  Whitby's  shrine 
A  weekly  mass  shall  still  be  thine, 

While  i)riests  can  sing  and  read. — 
What  ail'st  thou? — Speak!" — For  as  he  took 
The  charge,  a  strong  emotion  shook 

His  frame;  and,  ere  reply. 
They  heard  a  faint,  yet  shrilly  tone. 
Like  distant  clarion  feebly  blown. 

That  on  the  breeze  diil  die; 
And  loud  the  aljbess  shrieked  in  fear, 
"  Saint  ^\  iUiold  save  us! — What  is  here? 

Look  at  yon  city  cross  ! 
.See  on  its  battled  tower  appear 
Phantoms,  lliat  scutcheons  seem  to  rear, 

And  blazoned  banners  toss!" 
XXV. 
Dun-Edin's  cross, '^  a  pillared  stone. 
Rose  on  a  turret  octagon; 

(But  now  is  razed  that  monument. 
Whence  i-oyal  edict  rang. 

And  voice  of  Scotland's  law  was  sent 
In  glorious  trumpet  clang. 
O!  be  his  tomb  as  lead  to  lead. 
Upon  its  dull  destroyer's  head! — 
A  minstrers  malison*  is  said. — ) 
Then  on  its  battlements  they  saw 
A  vision,  passing  nature's  law. 

Strange,  wild,  and  dimly  seen; 
Figures  that  seemed  to  rise  and  die, 
Gibber  and  sign,  advance  and  fly. 
While  nought  confirmed  could  ear  or  eye 

Discern  of  sound  or  mien. 
Yet  darkly  did  it  seem,  as  there 
Heralds  and  pursuivants  prepare. 
With  trumpet  sound,  ami  blazoned  fair, 

A  summons  to  proclaim; 
But  indistinct  the  pageant  proud. 
As  fancy  forms  of  midnight  cloud. 
When  flings  the  moon  upon  her  shroud 

A  wavering  tinge  of  flame; 
It  flits,  expands,  and  shifts,  till  loud, 
From  midmost  of  the  spectre  crowd, 

This  awful  summons  came;2o 
XXVI. 
"  Prince,  prelate,  potentate,  and  peer, 

Whose  names  I  now  shall  call, 
Scottish,  or  foreigner,  give  ear! 
Subjects  of  him  who  sent  me  here, 
At  his  tribunal  to  appear, 

1  summon  one  and  all: 
1  cite  you  by  each  deadly  sin, 
That  e'er  hath  soiled  your  hearts  within; 
I  cite  you  by  each  brutal  lust, 
That  e'er  defiled  your  earthly  dust, — 

By  wrath,  by  pride,  by  fear. 
By  each  o'er-mastering  passion's  tone. 
By  the  dark  grave,  and  dying  groan ! 
When  forty  days  are  i)ast  and  gone, 
I  cite  you,  at  your  monarch's  throne. 

To  answer  and  appear." — 
Then  thundered  forth  a  roll  of  names: 
The  first  was  thine,  unhappy  James! 

Then  all  thy  nobles  came; 
Crawford,  Glencairn,  Montrose,  Argyle, 
lioss,  Bothwell,  Forbes,  Leimox,  Lyle, — 
Why  should  I  tell  their  separate  style? 
Each  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 

•  /.  e.  Cuise. 


MARMION. 


87- 


Of  lowland,  highland,  border,  isle, 
Fore-doomed  to  Flodden's  carnage  pile. 

Was  cited  there  by  name; 
And  Marmion,  lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbay, 
De  Wilton,  erst  of  Aberley, 
The  self-same  thundering  voice  did  say, — 

But  then  another  spoke: 
"  Th)'  fatal  summons  I  deny, 
And  tliine  infernal  lord  defy. 
Appealing  me  to  Him  on  high. 

Who  burst  the  sinner's  yoiie." 
At  that  (h-ead  accent,  with  a  scream. 
Parted  the  pageant  like  a  dream. 

The  summoner  was  gone. 
Prone  on  her  face  tlie  abbess  fell. 
And  fast,  and  fast,  her  beads  did  tell; 
Her  nuns  came,  startled  by  the  yell. 

And  found  her  there  alone. 
She  marked  not,  at  the  scene  aghast. 
What  time,  or  how,  the  palmer  passed. 

XX  VII. 

Shift  we  the  scene. — The  camp  doth  move, 

Dun-Edin's  streets  are  empty  now. 
Save  when,  for  weal  of  those  thev  love. 

To  pray  the  prayer,  and  vow  the  vow, 
The  tottering  child,  the  anxious  fair. 
The  gray-haired  sire,  with  pious  care. 
To  chapels  and  to  slirines  repair. — 
Where  is  the  i)almer  now?  and  where 
The  abbess,  Marmion,  and  Clare  I — 
Bold  Douglas!  to  Tantallon  fair 

They  journey  in  thy  cliarge: 
Lord  Marmion  rode  on  his  right  hand. 
The  palmer  still  was  with  the  band; 
Angus,  like  Lindesay,  did  command, 

Tliat  none  should  roam  at  large. 
But  in  that  palmer's  altered  mien 
A  wonderous  change  might  now  be  seen; 

Freely  he  spoke  (jf  war. 
Of  marvels  wrought  by  single  hand, 
When  lifted  for  a  native  land; 
And  still  looked  high,  as  if  he  planned 

Some  desperate  deed  afar. 
His  courser  would  lie  feed  and  stroke, 
And,  tucking  up  liis  sable  frock, 
Would  first  liis  metal  bold  provoke, 

Then  sooth  or  quell  his  pride. 
Old  Hubert  said,  that  never  one 
He  saw,  except  lord  Marmion, 

A  steed  so  fairly  ride. 

XXMII. 

Some  half-hour's  march  behind,  there  came. 
By  Eustace  governed  fair, 

A  troop  escorting  Hilda's  dame. 
With  all  her  nuns,  and  Clare. 

No  audience  had  lord  Marmion  sought; 
Ever  he  feared  to  aggravate 
Clara  de  Clare's  suspicious  hate; 

And  safer  'twas,  he  thought, 

To  wait  till,  from  the  nuns  removed. 
The  influence  of  kinsmen  loved, 
And  suit  by  Henry's  self  ajjproved. 

Her  slow  consent  had  wcoughl. 

His  was  no  flickering  flame,  that  dies 
Unless  when  fanned  by  looks  and  sighs, 
And  liglited  ofi  at  lady's  eyes; 
He  longed  to  stretch  liis  wide  command 
O'er  luckless  Clara's  ample  land: 

s 


Besides,  when  Wilton  with  him  vied, 

Although  the  pang  of  humbled  pride 

The  place  of  jealousy  supplied. 

Yet  conquest,  by  that  meanness  won, 

He  almost  lothed  to  think  upon. 

Led  him,  at  times,  to  hate  the  cause 

Whicli  made  him  burst  through  honour's  laws. 

If  e'er  he  loved,  'twas  her  alone. 

Who  died  within  that  vault  of  stone. 

XXIX. 

And  now,  when  close  at  hand  they  saw 
North-Berwick's  town,  and  lofty  Law, 
Fitz-Eustace  bade  them  pause  awhile 
Before  a  venerable  pile,^' 

Whose  turrets  viewed  afar 
The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lambie  Isle, 

The  ocean's  peace  or  war. 
At  tolling  of  a  bell,  forth  came 
The  convent's  venerable  dame. 
And  prayed  saint  Hilda's  abbess  rest 
With  her,  a  loved  and  honoui-ed  guest, 
Till  Douglas  should  a  bark  prepare. 
To  waft  her  back  to  Whitby  fair. 
Glad  was  the  abbess,  you  may  guess. 
And  thanked  the  Scottish  prioress: 
And  tedious  'twere  to  tell,  I  ween. 
The  courteous  speech  that  passed  between. 

O'erjoyed  the  nuns  their  palfreys  leave; 
But  when  fair  Clara  did  intend. 
Like  them,  from  horseback  to  descend, 

Fitz-Eustace  said, — "I  grieve. 

Fair  lady,  grieve  e'en  from  my  heart. 

Such  gentle  company  to  part;— 
Think  not  discourtesy, 

But  lords'  commands  must  be  obeyed; 

And  Marmion  and  tlie  Douglas  said, 
That  you  must  wend  with  me. 
Lord  Marmion  hath  a  letter  broad. 
Which  to  the  Scottish  earl  he  showed. 
Commanding,  that  beneath  his  care, 
Without  delay,  you  shall  repair 
To  your  good'  kinsman,  lord  Fitz-CIare." 

XXX. 

The  startled  abbess  loud  exclaimed; 
But  she,  at  whom  the  blow  was  aimed. 
Grew  jjale  as  death,  and  cohi  as  lead; — 
She  deemed  she  heard  her  death-doom  read 
"Cheer  thee,  my  child!"  the  abbess  said, 
"They  dare  not  tare  thee  from  my  hand. 
To  ride  alone  with  armed  band." — 

"Nay,  holy  mother,  nay," 
Fitz-Eustace  said,  "  the  lovely  Clare 
Will  be  in  lady  Angus'  care. 

In  Scotland  while  we  stay; 
And,  when  we  move,  an  easy  ride 
Will  bring  us  to  the  English  side. 
Female  attendants  to  provide 

Befitting  Gloster's  heir; 
Nor  thinks,  nor  dreams,  ray  noble  lord, 
By  slightest  look,  or  act,  or  word, 

To  harass  lady  Clare; 
Her  faithful  guardian  he  will  be, 
Nor  sue  for  slightest  courtesy 

That  even  to  stranger  falls, 
Till  he  shall  place  her,  safe  and  free, 

Within  her  kinsman's  halls." 
He  spoke,  and  blushed  with  earnest  grace; 
His  faith  was  painted  on  his  face, 

And  Clare's  worst  fear  relieved. 
The  lady  abbess  loud  exclaimed 
On  Henry,  and  the  Douglas  blamed, 


88 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Entreated,  threatened,  grieved^ 
To  martyr,  saint,  and  prophet  prayed, 
Against  lord  Murmion  inveighed. 
And  called  the  prioress  to  aid, 
To  curse  with  candle,  bell,  and  book. — 
Her  head  the  grave  Cistertian  shook: 
"The  Douglas  and  the  kin^,"  she  said, 
"  In  their  commands  w  ill  be  obeyed; 
Grieve  not,  nor  dream  tiiat  iiarm  can  fall 
The  maiden  in  Tantallon  hall." 

XXXI. 

The  abbess,  seeing  strife  Mas  vain, 
Assumed  her  wonted  state  again, — 

For  much  of  state  she  had, — 
Composed  lier  veil,  and  raised  lier  head, 
And — "  Hid,"  in  solemn  voice  she  said, 

*'  Thy  master,  bold  and  bad, 
The  records  of  his  house  turn  o'er. 

And,  when  he  there  shall  written  see. 

That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 

Drove  the  monks  forth  of  Goventry,22 
Bid  him  his  fate  explore! 

Prancing  in  pride  of  earthly  trust, 

His  charger  hurled  iiim  to  the  dust, 

And,  by  a  base  plebeian  thurst. 
He  died  his  band  before. 

God  judge  'twixt  Marmion  and  me; 
He  is  a  chief  of  high  degree. 
And  1  a  poor  recluse; 

Yet  oft,  in  holy  writ,  we  see 
Even  sucli  weak  minister  as  me 
May  the  oppressor  bruise: 

For  thus,  inspired,  did  Judith  slay 
The  mighty  in  his  sin. 

And  Jael  thus,  and  Deborah," — 
Here  hasty  Blount  broke  in: 
"  Fitz-Eustace,  we  must  march  our  band; 
St.  Anton'  fire  thee!  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day,  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand, 

To  hear  the  lady  preach? 
Hv  this  good  light!  if  thus  we  stay, 
Lord  Marmion,  for  our  fond  delay. 

Will  sharper  sermon  teach. 
Come,  don  thy  cap,  and  mount  thy  horse; 
The  dame  must  patience  take  perforce." — 

XXXII. 

"  Submit  we  then  to  force,"  said  Clare; 
"  But  let  this  barbarous  lord  despair 

His  purposed  aim  to  win; 
Let  him  take  living,  land,  and  life; 
But  to  be  Marmion's  wedded  wife 

In  me  were  deadly  sin: 
And  if  it  be  the  king's  decree. 
That  I  must  find  no  sanctuary. 
Where  even  a  homicide  might  come, 

And  safely  rest  his  head. 
Though  at  its  open  portals  stood. 
Thirsting  to  pour  forth  blood  for  blood, 

The  kinsman  of  the  dead, — 
Yet  one  asylum  is  ray  own, 

Against  the  dreaded  hour; 
A  low,  a  silent,  and  a  lone. 

Where  kings  have  little  power. 
One  victim  is  before  me  there. — 
Mother,  your  blessing,  and  in  prayer 
Kemember  your  unhappy  Clare!" — 
Loud  weeps' tlie  abbess,  and  bestows 

Kind  blessings  many  a  one; 
Weeping  and  wailing  loud  arose 
Round  patient  Clare,  the  clamorous  woes 

Of  every  simple  nun. 


His  eyes  the  gentle  Eustace  dried, 

And  scarce  rude  Blount  the  sight  could  bide. 

Then  took  the  squire  her  rein, 
And  gently  led  away  her  steed. 
And,  by  each  courteous  word  and  deed, 

To  cheer  her  strove  in  vain. 

xxxni. 

But  scant  three  miles  tlie  band  had  rode, 

MTien  o'er  a  height  they  passed. 
And,  sudden,  close  before  them  showed 

His  towers,  Tantallon  vast; 
Broad,  massive,  high,  am]  stretching  far. 
And  held  impregnable  in  war. 
On  a  projecting  rock  tliey  rose, 
And  roimd  three  sides  llie  ocean  flows; 
The  fourtli  did  battled  walls  enclose, 

And  double  mound  and  fosse. 
By  narrow  draw-bridge,  outworks  strong. 
Through  studded  gates,  an  entrance  long 

To  the  main  court  they  cross. 
It  was  a  wide  and  stately  square: 
Around  were  lodgings  fit  and  fair, 

And  towers  of  various  form, 
W^hich  on  the  court  projected  far, 
And  broke  its  lines  quadrangular. 
Here  was  square  keep,  there  turret  high, 
Or  pinnacle  that  souglit  the  sky. 
Whence  oft  the  warder  should  descry 

The  gathering  ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 
Here  did  they  rest. — Tiie  princely  care 
Of  Douglas,  why  should  I  declare. 
Or  say  they  met  reception  fair? 

Or  why  the  tiding  say, 
Which,  varying,  to  Tantallon  came, 
By  hurrying  posts  or  fleeter  fame. 

With  every  varying  day  ? 
And,  first,  they  heard  king  James  had  won 

Etal,  and  Wark,  and  Ford;  and  then. 

That  Norham  castle  strong  was  ta'en. 
At  that  sore  marvelled  Marmion; — 
And  Douglas  hoped  his  monarch's  hand 
Would  soon  subdue  Northumberland: 

But  whispered  news  there  came. 
That,  while  his  host  inactive  lay. 
And  melted  by  degrees  away. 
King  James  was  dallying  off  the  day 

With  Heron's  wily  dame. 
Such  acts  to  chronicles  I  }  ield; 

Go  seek  them  there,  and  see: 
Mine  is  a  tale  of  Flodden  field. 

And  not  a  history. — 
At  length  they  heard  the  Scottish  host 
On  that  high  ridge  had  made  their  post, 

Which  frowns  o'er  Millfield  plain; 
And  that  brave  Surrey  many  a  band 
Had  gathered  in  the  southern  land, 
And  marched  into  Xorthumberland, 

And  camp  at  Wooler  ta'en. 
Marmion,  like  cliarger  in  the  stall. 
That  hears,  without,  the  trumpet-call. 

Began  to  chafe  axid  swear: 
"  A  sorry  tiling  to  hide  my  head 
In  castle  like  a  fearful  maid. 

When  such  a  field  is  near! 
Xeeds  must  I  see  this  battle-day: 
Death  to  my  fame,  if  such  a  fray 
Were  fought,  and  Marmion  away! 

The  Douglas  too,  I  wot  not  why, 

Hath  'bated  of  his  courtesy: 
No  lonsrer  in  his  halls  I'll  stav." — 


MARMION. 


89 


Tlicn  bade  his  band  they  should  array 
For  mai-ch  against  the  dawning  day. 

INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  Yl. 

TO  RICHARD  HEBER,  Esa. 

^Mertoun-House,  Christmas. 
Heap  on  more  wood! — the  wind  is  chill; 
But,  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 
We'll  keep  uur  Christmas  merry  still. 
Each  age  has  deemed  tlie  new-born  year 
The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer: 
Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 
At  loU  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain; 
High  on  the  beach  his  galleys  drew, 
And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew; 
Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  liall, 
Where  shields  and  axes  decked  the  wall, 
Thev  gorged  upon  the  half-dressed  steer; 
Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer; 
While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 
The  half-gnawed  rib,  and  marrow-bone; 
Or  listened  all,  in  grim  delight, 
While  scalds  yelled  out  the  joys  of  fight. 
Then  forth,  in  frenzy,  would  they  hie. 
While  wildly  loose  their  red  locks  fly, 
And,  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile. 
They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while, 
As  best  might  to  the  mind  recal 
The  boisterous  joys  of  Odin's  hall. 

And  well  our  christian  sires  of  old 
Loved  when  tlie  year  its  course  had  rolled, 
And  brought  blith  Christmas  back  again, 
With  all  his  hospitable  train. 
Domestic  and  religious  rite 
Gave  honour  to  the  holy  night: 
On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rung; 
On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  simg:'^ 
That  only  night,  in  all  the  year. 
Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear. 
The  damsel  donned  her  kirtle  sheen; 
The  hall  was  dressed  with  holy  green; 
Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry -men  go, 
To  gather  in  the  misletoe. 
Tiien  opened  wide  the  baron's  hall 
To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all; 
Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 
And  ceremony  doffed  her  pride. 
The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 
That  night  might  village  partner  choose; 
The  lord,  undcrogaling,  share 
The  vulgar  game  of"  post  and  pair." 
All  hailed,  witli  uncontrolled  deliglit. 
And  general  voice,  the  happy  night, 
That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  crown, 
13rouglu  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied, 
Went  roaring  up  the  chimney  wide; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face. 
Scrubbed  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace. 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
B)-  old  blue-coated  serving-man; 
Then  the  grim  boar's-head  frowned  on  high, 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
\\  ell  CRn  the  green-garbed  ranger  tell, 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore. 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar. 
The  wassL-l  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnished  with  ribbons,  blilhlv  trowls. 


There  the  liuge  sirloin  reeked;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie; 
Nor  failed  old  Scotland  to  produce, 
At  such  higli-tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  masquers  in, 
And  carols  roared  with  blithsome  din; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song. 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  myslei'y;^ 
\\  hile  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made; 
But,  O !  what  masquers,  richly  (light 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light! 
England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 
'Twas  Christmas  broached  the  mightiest  ale; 
'Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale; 
A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger  in  our  noithern  clime 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  time; 
And  still,  within  our  valleys  here 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear. 
Even  V  hen,  perchance,  its  far-fetched  claim 
To  southern  ear  sounds  emptj'  name; 
For  course  of  blood,  our  proverbs  deem. 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain-stream.* 
And  thus  my  Christmas  still  1  hold 
Where  my  gi-eat-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair,^ 
And  reverend,  apostolic  air, 
The  feast  and  holy-tide  to  share. 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine. 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine; 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time. 
E'er  to  be  hitched  into  a  rhyme. 
The  simple  sire  could  only  boast 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost; 
The  banished  race  of  kings  revered. 
And  lost  his  land, — but  kept  his  beard. 

In  these  dear  halls,  wliere  welcome  kind 
Is  with  fair  liberty  combined; 
Where  cordial  friendshij)  gives  the  hand, 
And  flies  constraint  the  magic  wand 
Of  the  fair  dame  that  rules  the  huid, 
Little  we  heed  the  tempest  drear. 
While  music,  mirth,  and  social  clieer. 
Speed  on  their  wings  tlie  passing  year. 
And  Mertoun's  halls  are  fair  e'en  now, 
When  not  a  leaf  is  on  the  bough. 
Tweed  loves  them  well,  and  turns  again, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  sweet  domain, 
And  holds  his  mirror  to  her  tace, 
And  clasps  her  with  a  close  embrace: — 
Gladly  as  he,  we  seek  the  dome. 
And  as  reluctant  turns  us  home. 
How  just,  that,  at  this  time  of  glee, 
My  thoughts  should,  Heber,  turn  to  thee! 
For  many  a  merry  hour  we've  known. 
And  heard  the  chimes  of  midnight's  tone. 
Cease,  then,  my  friend  I  a  moment  cease, 
And  leave  these  classic  tomes  in  peace! 
Of  Roman  and  of  Grecian  lore 
Sure  mortal  brain  can  hold  no  more. 
These  ancients,  as  Noll  Blurt' might  say, 
"  Were  pretty  fellows  in  their  d:iy:"t 


*  "  Blood  is  warmer  than  wat«?r,"— a  proverb  meant  to 
vindicate  our  familv  predilfCtiiiMs. 

t  "  Hannibal  was  a  pnitj-  Ccll.iw,  sir— a  r  \r\  pretly 
ftllow  in  his  day."— Ok/  Bac/ieloi: 


90 


SCOTT'S  POETICAI,  WORKS. 


But  time  aiul  liile  o'er  all  prevail — 
On  Christinas  eve  a  Christinas  tale — 
Of  wonder  and  of  war. — "  I'rofane! 
What!  leave  the  loftv  Lalian  strain, 
Her  stately  prose,  her  verse's  charms, 
To  hear  the  clasli  of  rusty  arms; 
In  fairy  land  or  limbo  lost, 
To  jostle  conjuror  and  ghost, 
(Joblin  and  witch!"— Nifv,  lleber  dear. 
Before  you  touch  my  charter,  hear; 
Though  Ley(U-n  aids,  alas!  no  more 
My  cause  with  many-languaged  lore, 
This  may  1  say: — in  realms  of  death 
Ulysses  meets  Alcides'  ivrait/i; 
JEneas,  upon  Thracia's  sliore, 
The  gliost  of  inui-dered  Polydore; 
For  omens,  we  in  I.ivy  cross. 
At  every  turn,  Incutus  bos. 
As  gi'ave  and  truly  speaks  that  ox. 
As  if  he  told  the  price  of  stocks; 
Or  held,  in  Home  republican, 
The  place  of  common-councilman. 

All  nations  have  their  omens  drear. 
Their  legends  wild  of  wo  and  fear. 
To  Cambria  look — the  peasant  see, 
Bethink  him  of  Glendowerdy, 
And  shun  "the  spirit's  blasted  tree. "5 
The  highlander,  whose  red  claymore 
The  battle  turned  on  Maida's  shore. 
Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale. 
If  asked  to  tell  a  fairy  tale;« 
He  fears  the  vengeful  elfin  king. 
Who  leaves  that  day  his  grassy  ring: 
Invisible  to  human  ken, 
He  walks  among  the  sons  of  men. 

Didst  e'er,  dear  lleber,  pass  along 
Beneath  the  towers  of  Franchemont,'' 
Which,  like  an  eagle's  nest  in  air. 
Hangs  o'er  the  stream  and  hamlet  fair? — 
Deep  in  their  vaults,  the  peasants  say, 
A  mighty  treasure  bm-ied  lay, 
Amassed,  through  rapine  and  through  wrong. 
By  the  last  lord  of  Franchemont. 
The  iron  chest  is  bolted  hard, 
A  huntsman  sits,  its  constant  guard; 
Around  his  neck  his  horn  is  hung, 
His  hanger  in  his  belt  is  slung; 
Before  his  feet  his  bloodhounds  lie: 
An  'twere  not  for  his  gloomy  eye, 
AATiose  withering  glance  no  heart  can  brook, 
As  true  a  huntsman  doth  he  look. 
As  bugle  e'er  in  brake  did  sound. 
Or  ever  hoUoo'd  to  a  hound. 
To  chase  the  fiend,  and  win  tlie  prize, 
In  that  same  dungeon  ever  tries 
An  aged  Necromantic  priest; 
It  is  an  hundred  years,  at  least. 
Since  'twixt  them  first  the  strife  begun, 
And  neither  yet  has  lost  or  won. 
And  oft  the  conjuror's  words  will  make 
The  stubborn  demon  groan  and  quake; 
And  oft  the  bands  of  iron  break. 
Or  bursts  one  lock,  that  still  amain, 
Fast  as  'tis  opened,  shuts  again. 
That  magic  strife  within  tl»e  tomb 
May  last  until  the  day  of  doom. 
Unless  the  adept  shall  learn  to  tell 
The  very  word  that  clenched  the  spell. 
When  Franch'mont  locked  the  treasure -cell. 
An  hundre<l  years  are  past  and  gone. 
And  scarce  three  letters  has  he  won. 


Such  general  superstition  may 
Excuse  tor  old  Filscottic  say; 
Whose  gossip  history  has  given 
My  song  the  messenger  from  heaven, 
That  warned,  in  Lilhgow,  Scotland's  king. 
Nor  less  the  infernal  summoning; 
May  pass  tlie  monk  of  Durham's  tale. 
Whose  demon  fougiit  in  Gothic  mail; 
May  pai'don  plead  for  Fordon  grave. 
Who  told  of  Cifford's  goblin-cave. 
But  wliy  such  instances  to  you. 
Who,  in  an  instant,  can  review 
Your  treasured  hoards  of  various  lore. 
And  furnish  twenty  thousand  more.' 
Hoards,  not  like  theirs  whose  volumes  rest 
Like  treasures  in  the  Franch'mont  chest; 
While  gripple  owners  still  refuse 
To  others  what  they  cannot  use,^ 
Give  them  tlie  priest's  whole  century. 
They  shall  not  spell  you  letters  three; 
Their  pleasure  in  the  books  the  same 
The  magpie  takes  in  pilfered  gem. 
Thy  volumes,  open  as  thy  heart. 
Delight,  amusement,  science,  aft. 
To  every  ear  and  eye  impart; 
Yet  who,  of  all  who  thus  employ  them, 
Can,  like  the  owner's  self,  enjoy  them' — 
But,  hark!  I  hear  the  distant  drum: 
The  day  of  Floddcn  field  is  come. — 
Adieu,  dear  Heljer!  life  and  health. 
And  store  of  literary  wealth. 


THE  BATTLE. 
I. 

While  great  events  were  on  the  gale. 

And  each  hour  brought  a  varying  tale. 

And  the  demeanor,  changed  and  cold. 

Of  Douglas,  frettecl  Marmion  bold. 

And,  like  the  impatient  steed  of  war. 

He  snuffed  the  battle  from  afar; 

And  hopes  were  none,  that  back  again 

Herald  should  come  from  Terouenne, 

Where  England's  king  in  leaguer  lay. 

Before  decisive  batlle-day; — 

While  these  things  were,  the  mournful  Clare 

Did  in  the  dame's  devotions  share: 

For  the  good  countess  ceaseless  prayed, 

To  heaven  and  saints,  her  sons  to  aid. 

And,  with  short  interval,  did  pass 

From  pra)  er  to  book,  from  book  to  mass, 

And  all  in  high  baronial  pride,^ 

A  life  both  dull  and  dignified; — 

Yet  as  lord  Marmion  nothing  pressed 

Upon  her  intervals  of  rest. 

Dejected  Clara  well  could  bear 

The  formal  slate,  the  lengthened  prayer. 

Though  dearest  to  her  wounded  heart 

The  hours  that  she  might  spend  apart. 

II. 

1  said,  Tantallon's  dizzy  steep 

Hung  o'er  the  margin  of  the  deep. 

Many  a  rude  tower  and  rampart  there 

Repelled  the  insult  of  the  air, 

Which,  wlien  the  tempest  vexed  the  sky. 

Half  breeze,  half  spray,  came  whistling  by. 

Above  the  rest,  a  turret  square 

Did  o'er  its  Gothic  entrance  bear. 

Of  sculpture  rude,  a  stony  shield; 

The  Bloody  Heart  was  in  the  field. 


MAUMION. 


91 


And  in  the  chief  thi-ee  mullets  stood. 

The  cognizance  of  Douglas  blood. 

The  turret  held  a  narrow  stair, 

Which,  mounted,  gave  you  access  where 

A  parapet's  embattled  row 

Did  seaward  round  the  castle  go. 

Sometimes  in  dizzy  steps  descending, 

Sometimes  in  narrow  circuit  bending. 

Sometimes  in  platform  broad  extending, 

Its  varying  circle  did  combine 

Bulwark,  and  bartizan,  and  line. 

And  bastion,  tower,  and  vantage-coign; 

Above  the  booming  ocean  leant 

The  far-projecting  battlement; 

The  billows  burst,  in  ceaseless  flow, 

Upon  the  precipice  below. 

Wliere'er  Tantallon  faced  the  land. 

Gate-works,  and  walls,  were  strongly  manned; 

No  need  upon  the  sea-girt  side; 

The  steepy  rock  and  frantic  tide. 

Approach  of  human  step  denied; 

And  thus  these  lines  and  ramparts  rude, 

Were  left  in  deepest  solitude. 

III.  . 

And,  for  they  were  so  lonely,  Clare 
Would  to  these  battlements  repair. 
And  muse  upon  her  sorrows  there, 

And  list  the  sea-bird's  cry; 
Or,  slow  like  noontide  ghost,  would  glide 
Along  the  dark-graj'  bulwark's  side. 
And  ever  on  the  heaving  tide 

Look  down  with  weary  eye. 
Oft  did  the  cliff,  and  swelling  main, 
Recal  the  thoughts  of  Whitby's  fane, — 
A  home  she  ne'er  might  see  again: 

For  she  had  laid  adown, 
So  Douglas  bade,  the  hood  and  veil, 
And  frontlet  of  the  cloister  pale. 

And  Benedictine  gown: 
It  were  unseemly  sight  he  said, 
A  novice  out  of  convent  shade. — 
Now  lier  bright  locks,  with  sunny  glow, 
Again  adorned  her  brow  of  snow; 
Her  mantle  ricli,  wtiose  borders,  round, 
A  deep  and  fretted  broidery  bound, 
In  golden  foldings  sought  the  ground; 
Of  holy  ornament,  alone 
Remained  a  cross  of  ruby  stone; 

And  often  did  she  look 
On  that  which  in  her  hand  slie  bore, 
W^ith  velvet  bound,  and  broidered  o'er 

Her  breviary  book. 
In  such  a  place,  so  lone,  so  grim. 
At  dawning  pale,  or  twilight  dim. 

It  fearful  would  have  been. 
To  meet  a  form  so  richly  dressed. 
With  book  in  hand  and  cross  on  breast, 

And  such  a  woful  mien. 
Fitz-Eustace,  loitering  with  his  bow, 
To  practice  on  the  gull  and  crow. 
Saw  her,  at  distance,  gliding  slow, 

And  did  by  Mary  swear, — 
Some  love-lorn  fay  she  might  have  been, 
Or,  in  romance,  some  spell-bound  queen; 
Tor  ne'er,  in  work-day  world,  was  seen 

A  form  so  witching  fair. 

IV. 

Once  walking  thus,  at  evening  tide, 

It  chanced  a  gliding  sail  she  spied, 

And,  sighing,  thought — "The  abbess  there, 

Perchance,  does  to  her  home  repair; 


Her  peaceful  rule,  where  duty,  free, 

Walks  hand  in  hand  with  charity; 

Where  oft  devotion's  tranced  glow 

Can  such  a  glimpse  of  heaven  bestow. 

That  the  enraptured  sisters  see 

High  vision,  and  deep  mystery; 

The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air,8 

And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer. 

O !  wherefore,  to  my  duller  eye. 

Did  still  the  saint  her  form  deny ! 

Was  it,  that,  seared  by  sinful  scorn, 

My  heart  could  neither  melt  nor  burn? 

Or  lie  my  warm  affections  low 

With  him,  that  taught  them  first  to  glow? 

Yet,  gentle  abbess,  well  I  knew, 

To  pay  thy  kindness  grateful  due. 

And  well  could  brook  the  mild  command, 

That  rule  thy  simple  maiden  band. — 

How  different  now!  condemned  to  bide 

My  doom  from  this  dai-k  tyrant's  pride. 

But  Marmion  has  to  learn,  ere  long. 

That  constant  mind,  and  hate  of  wrong, 

Descended  to  a  feeble  girl 

From  red  De  Clare,  stout  Gloster's  earl: 

Of  such  a  stem  a  sapling  weak. 

He  ne'er  shall  bend,  although  he  break. 

V. 

"  But  see! — what  makes  this  armour  here?" 

For  in  her  path  tliere  lay 
Targe,  corslet,  lielm; — she  viewed  them  near.- 
"  The  breast-plate  pierced  ! — Ay,  much  1  fear. 
Weak  fence  wert  thou  'gainst  foeman's  spear, 
That  hath  made  fatal  entrance  here. 

As  these  dark  blood-gnnts  say. — 
Thus  Wilton ! — 0\\ !  not  cirski's  ward, 
Not  truth,  as  diamond  pure  and  hard, 
Could  be  thy  mnily  bosom's  guard 

On  yon  disastrous  day!" — 
She  raised  her  eyes  in  mournful  mood, — 
WiLTOx  himself  before  her  stood! 
It  might  have  seemed  his  passing  ghost, 
For  every  youthful  grace  was  lost; 
And  jo)-  unwonted,  and  surprise. 
Gave  ttieir  strange  w  ildness  to  his  eyes. 
Expect  not,  noble  dames  and  lords, 
That  I  can  tell  such  scene  in  words: 
What  skilful  limner  e'er  would  choose 
To  paint  tlie  rainbow's  varying  hues. 
Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given 
To  dip  his  brush  in  dies  of  heaven' 

Far  less  can  my  weak  line  declare 
Each  changing  passion's  shade; 

Brightening  to  rapture  from  despair. 

Sorrow,  surprise,  and  pity  there, 

And  joy,  with  her  angelic  air. 

And  hope,  that  paints  the  future  fair, 
Their  varying  hues  displayed: 
Each  o'er  its  rival's  gi'ound  extending. 
Alternate  conquering,  shifting,  blending. 
Till  all,  fatigued,  the  conflict  yield. 
And  miglity  love  retains  the  field. 
Shortly  I  tell  what  then  lie  said. 
By  many  a  tender  word  delayed. 
And  modest  blush,  and  bursting  sigh. 
And  question  kind,  and  fond  reply. 
VI. 
DE  Wilton's  history, 
"Forget  we  that  disastrous  day. 
When  senseless  in  the  lists  I  lay. 
Thence  dragged, — but  how  I  cannot  know, 


92 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


For  sense  and  recollection  fled, 

1  foiiiul  me  on  u  pallet  low, 

AViliiin  my  iincifut  bca<isman's  shed. 

Ausliii, — rcmeml)ti-'st  lliou,  my  Clare, 
How  tliou  didst  blush,  wlion  the  old  man, 
When  tirst  our  infant  love  began. 

Said  we  wovdd  make  a  matchless  pair' 
Menials,  and  friends,  and  kinsmen  fled 
From  the  degraded  traitor's  bed. — 
He,  only,  held  my  burning  head, 
And  leiuied  nie  for  many  a  day; 
A\'hile  wounds  and  fever  held  their  sway. 
Rut  far  more  needful  was  his  care, 
When  sense  returned,  to  wake  despair; 
For  1  did  tear  the  closing  wound, 
And  dash  me  frantic  on  the  ground, 
If  e'er  I  heard  the  name  of  Clare. 

At  length,  to  calmer  reason  brought, 

Much  by  his  kind  attendance  wrought, 
With  him  1  left  my  native  strand, 

And,  in  a  palmer's  weeds  arrayed. 

My  hated  name  and  form  to  shade, 
i  journeyed  many  a  land; 

T^o  more  a  lord  of  rank  and  birth, 

But  mingled  with  the  dregs  of  earth. 

Oft  Austin  for  my  reason  feared, 

When  I  w  ould'  sit,  and  deeply  brood 
On  dark  revenge,  and  deeds  of  blood, 

Or  wild  mad  schemes  upreared. 

My  friend  at  length  fell  sick,  and  said, 

God  would  remove  him  soon; 
And,  while  upon  his  dying  bed. 

He  begged  of  me  a  boon — 
If  ere  my  deadliest  enemy 
Beneath  my  brand  should  conquered  lie, 
Even  then  my  mercy  should  awake, 
And  spare  his  life  for  Austin's  sake. 

VII. 

"  Still  restless  as  a  second  Cain, 
To  Scotland  next  my  route  was  ta'en. 

Full  well  the  paths  I  knew. 
Fame  of  my  fate  made  various  sound, 
That  death  in  pilgrimage  I  found. 
That  1  had  perislied  of  my  wound,— 

None  cared  which  tale  was  true: 
And  living  eye  could  never  guess 
De  Wilton  in  his  palmer's  dress: 

For,  now  that  sable  slough  is  shed, 

And  trimmed  my  shaggy  beard  and  head, 

I  scarcely  know  me  in  the  glass. 

A  chance  most  wondrous  did  provide. 

That  1  should  be  that  baron's  guide — 
1  will  not  name  his  name! — 

Vengeance  to  God  alone  belongs; 

But,  when  1  think  on  all  my  wrongs, 
My  blood  is  liquid  dame! 
And  ne'er  the  time  shall  I  forget, 
"When,  in  a  Scottish  hostel  set. 

Dark  looks  we  did  exchange; 
What  were  his  thoughts  I  cannot  tell; 
But  in  my  bosom  mustered  hell 

Its  plans  of  dark  revenge. 
Vlll. 
"  A  word  of  vulgar  augury. 
That  broke  from  me,  1  scarce  knew  why, 

Brought  on  a  village  tale; 
\Abich  wrought  upon  his  moody  sprite, 
And  sent  hin'i  armed  forth  by  night. 

I  bon-owed  steed,  and  mail. 
And  weapons,  from  his  sleeping  band; 

And,  passing  from  a  postern  door. 


We  met,  and  'countered,  hand  to  hand, — 

He  fell  on  Giffbrd  moor. 
For  I  he  death  stroke  my  brand  I  drew, 
(O  then  my  helmed  iiead  he  knew, 

The  palmer's  cowl  was  gone,) 
Then  had  three  inches  of  my  blade 
Tiie  lioavy  debt  of  vengeance  paid, — 
INIy  liand'lhe  thought  of  Austin  staid 

I  lef;  iiim  tliere  alone. — 
O,  good  old  man !  even  from  the  grave. 
Thy  spirit  could  thy  master  save: 
If  L  had  slain  my  foeman,  ne'er 
Had  Whitby's  abbess,  in  her  fear. 
Given  to  my  hand  this  packet  dear. 
Of  power  to  clear  my  injured  fame. 
Ami  vindicate  De  Wilton's  name. — 
Percliance  you  heard  the  abbess  tell 
Of  the  strange  pageantry  of  hell, 

That  broke  our  secret  speech — 
It  rose  from  the  infernal  shade. 
Or  featly  was  some  juggle  played, 

A  tale  of  peace  to  teach. 
A\)peal  to  heaven  I  judged  was  best, 
When  my  name  came  among  the  rest. 

IX. 

"  Now  iiere,  within  Tantallon  hold, 

To  Douglas  late  my  tale  I  told. 

To  whom  my  house  was  known  of  old. 

Won  by  my  proofs,  his  falchion  bright 

This  eve  anew  shall  dub  me  knight. 

These  were  the  arms  that  once  did  turn 

The  tide  of  fight  on  Otterburne, 

And  Hariy  Hotspur  forced  to  yield, 

Wlien  the  dead  Douglas  won  the  field. 

These  Angus  gave — his  armourer's  care. 

Ere  morTi,  shall  eveiy  breach  repair; 

For  nought,  he  said,  was  in  his  halls, 

But  ancient  armour  on  the  walls. 

And  aged  chai'gers  in  the  stalls. 

And  Women,  priests,  and  gray-haired  men; 

The  rest  were  all  in  Twisel  glen.* 

And  now  I  watch  my  armour  here. 

By  law  of  arms,  till  midnight's  near; 

Then,  once  again  a  belted  knight. 

Seek  Surrey's  camp  with  dawn  of  light. 

X. 

"There  soon  again  we  meet,  my  Clare! 
This  baron  means  to  guide  thee  there: 
Douglas  revei-es  his  king's  command. 
Else  would  he  take  thee  from  his  band. 
And  there  thy  kinsman,  Surrey,  too. 
Will  give  De  Wilton  justice  due. 
Now  meeter  far  for  martial  broil, 
Firmer  my  limbs,  and  strung  by  toil. 

Once  more" "  O,  W^ilton!  must  we  then 

Risk  new-found  happiness  again. 

Trust  fate  of  arms  once  more ' 

And  is  there  not  an  humble  glen, 

W  here  we,  content  and  poor. 
Might  build  a  cottage  in  the  shade, 
A  shepherd  thou,  and  I  to  aid 

Thy  task  on  dale  and  moor? — 
That  reddening  bi-ow  ! — too  well  I  know. 
Not  even  thy  Clare  can  peace  bestow. 

While  falsehood  stains  th)'  name: 
Go  tlien  to  fight!  Clare  bids  thee  go! 
Clare  can  a  warrior's  feelings  know. 
And  weep  a  warrior's  shame; 

I  •  Where  James  encamped  before  taking  po.n  at  Flodden. 


MARMION. 


93 


Can  red  earl  Gilbert's  spirit  feel, 
Buckle  the  spurs  upon  thy  heel, 
And  belt  thee  with  thy  brand  of  steel, 
And  send  thee  forth  to  fame!" — 

XI. 

That  night,  upon  the  rocks  and  bay, 
The  midnight  moonbeam  slumbering  lay, 
And  poured  its  silver  light,  and  pure. 
Through  loop  hole,  and  through  embrazure, 

Upon  Tantallon  tDwer  and  hall; 
But  chief  where  arched  windows  wide 
Illuminate  the  chapel's  pride, 

The  sober  glances  fall. 
Much  was  there  need;  though,  seamed  with  sears. 
Two  veterans  of  the  Douglas'  wars, 

Though  two  gray  priests  were  there. 
And  each  a  blazing  torch  held  high. 
You  could  not  by  their  blaze  descry 

The  chapel's  carving  fair. 
Amid  that  dim  and  smoky  light, 
Chequering  the  silvery  moonshine      'ght, 

A  bishop  by  the  altar  stood, ^ 

A  noble  lord  of  Douglas'  blood. 
With  mitre  sheen,  and  rocquet  white. 
Yet  sliowed  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 
But  little  pride  of  prelacy; 
More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 
He  gave  rude  Scotland  Virgil's  page. 
Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 
The  bishopric  of  fair  Dunkeld. 
Beside  him  ancient  Angus  stood, 
Doffed  his  furred  gown,  and  sable  hood; 
O'er  his  huge  form,  and  visage  pale. 
He  wore  a  cap  and  shirt  of  mail; 
And  leaned  his  large  and  wrinkled  hand 
Upon  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 
Which  wont,  of  yore,  in  battle-fray, 
His  foemen's  limbs  to  shred  away. 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray. '" 
He  seemed,  as  from  the  tombs  around, 

Rising  at  judgment-day. 
Some  giant  Douglas  may  be  found 

In  all  his  old  array; 
So  pale  his  face,  so  huge  his  limb, 
So  old  his  arms,  his  look  so  grim. 

xn. 

Then  at  the  altar  Wilton  kneels. 
And  Clare  the  spurs  bound  on  his  heels; 
And  think  what  next  he  must  have  felt, 
At  buckling  of  the  falchion  belt, 

And  judge  how  Clara  changed  her  hue, 
While  fastening  to  her  lover's  side 
A  friend,  which,  though  in  danger  tried, 

He  once  had  found  untrue ! 
Then  Douglas  struck  him  with  his  blade: 
"  Saint  Michael  and  saint  Andrew  aid, 

I  dub  thee  knight. 
Arise,  sir  Ralph,  De  Wilton's  heir! 
For  king,  for  church,  for  lady  fair. 

See  tiiat  thou  figlit." — 
And  bishop  Gawain,  as  he  rose. 
Said — "  Wilton!  grieve  not  for  thy  woes. 

Disgrace,  and  trouble; 
For  he,  who  honour  best  bestows, 

Mav  give  thee  double." — 
Dij  Wilton  sobbed,  for  sob  he  must—" 
"  Where'er  I  meet  a  Douglas,  trust 

That  Douglas  is  my  brother!" 
"Xay,  nay,"  old  Angus  said,  "not  so; 
To  Surrey's  camp  thou  now  must  go, 

Thy  wrongs  no  longer  smother. 


I  have  two  sons  in  yonder  field; 
And,  if  thou  meet'st  them  under  shield, 
Upon  them  bravely^do  thy  worst; 
And  foul  fall  him  that  blenches  first!" 

xni. 

Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day. 
When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride; 
He  had  safe-conduct  for  his  band, 
Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand. 

And  Douglas  gave  a  guide: 
The  ancient  earl,  with  stately  grace, 
Would  Clara  on  her  palfrey  place, 
And  whispered,  in  an  under  tone, 
"  Let  the  hawk  stoop,  his  prey  is  flown." 
The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew. 
But  Marmion  stopped  to  bid  adieu: — 

"Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said, 
"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest. 
Sent  hither  by  your  king's  behest. 

While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  staid; 

Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land. 

And,  noble  earl,  receive  my  hand." 
But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak. 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke: — 

"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers,  shall  still 

Be  open,  at  my  sovereign's  will, 

To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 

Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer. 

My  castles  are  my  king's  alone. 

From  turret  to  foundation  stone — ■ 

The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own; 

And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 

The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." 

XIY. 

Burned  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire. 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And — "This  to  me!"  he  said, — 
"  An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas'  head  ! 
And,  first,  1  tell  thee,  haughty  peer. 
He,  who  does  England's  message  here. 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state. 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate: 
And,  Douglas,  more  1  tell  thee  here. 

E'en  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 
Here,  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near, 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord. 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword,) 

1  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied! 
And  if  ihou  said'st,  1  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here. 
Lowland  or  highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied!" 
On  the  earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age: 
Fierce  he  broke  forth:  "  And  darest  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den. 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall? 
And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  f 
No,  by  St.  Bride  of  Both  well,  no! — 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms — wliat,  warder,  ho! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall."'i 
Lord  Marmion  turned, — well  was  his  need. 
And  diished  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 
Like  arrow  tlirough  the  arch-way  sprung, 
The  ponderous  gate  behind  him  rung: 
To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room. 
The  bars,  descending,  i-azed  his  plume. 


94 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XV. 

The  steed  along  the  ih-awbridge  flies, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise; 

Ni)t  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

Along  liie  stnootli  lake's  level  brim: 

And  when  lord  Miirtnion  renciied  his  band, 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  cleiiebed  hand, 

And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 

"  Horse !  horse ! "  the  Douglas  cried,  "  and  chase !' 

But  soon  he  reined  his  fury's  pace; 

"A  royal  messenger  he  came, 

Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name.— 

A  letter  forged!  St.  Juile  to  speed! 

Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed ''2 

Ai  lirsl  in  iieail  it  liked  me  ill, 

A\  hen  the  king  praised  his  clerkly  skill. 

I'hanks  to  St.  Bothan,  son  of  mine. 

Save  (iawain,  ne'er  could  pen  a  line: 

So  swore  1,  and  I  swear  it  still. 

Let  my  boy-bishop  fret  his  fill. — 

•St.  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood ! 

Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas'  blood, 

1  tiiought  to  slay  him  where  he  stood. — 

'Tis  pity  of  him,  too,"  he  cried; 

"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride: 

1  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." — 

With  this  his  mandate  he  recals. 

And  slowly  seeks  his  castle's  halls. 

XVI. 

The  day  in  Marmion's  journc)'  wore; 

Yet,  ere  his  passion's  gust  was  o'er, 

They  crossed  the  heights  of  Stanrig-moor. 

His  troop  more  closely  there  he  scann'd, 

And  missed  the  palmer  from  the  band. 

"  Palmer  or  not,"  young  Blount  did  say, 

"  Me  parted  at  the  peep  of  day; 

Good  sooth  it  was  in  strange  aiTav. " — 

♦'  In  what  array?"  said  Marmion,"  quick. 

"  My  lord,  I  ill  can  spell  the  trick; 

But  all  niglit  long,  with  clink  and  bang. 

Close  to  my  couch  did  hammers  clang; 

At  dawn  tiie  falling  drawbridge  rang, 

And,  from  a  loop-hole  while  1  peep. 

Old  Bell-lhe-cat  came  from  the  keep. 

Wrapped  in  a  gown  of  sables  fair, 

As  fearful  of  the  morning  air; 

Beneatii,  when  that  was  blown  aside, 

A  rusty  shirt  of  mail  I  spied, 

By  Archibald  won  in  bloody  work, 

Against  the  Saracen  and  Turk: 

Last  night  it  hung  not  in  the  hall; 

I  thought  some  mai-vel  would  befal. 

And  next  I  saw  them  saddled  lead 

Old  Cheviot  forth,  the  earl's  best  steed; 

A  matchless  horse,  though  something  old, 

Prompt  to  his  paces,  cool  and  bold. 

I  heard  the  sherift'  Sholto  say, 

The  earl  did  much  the  master*  pray 

To  use  him  on  the  battle  day; 

But  he  preferred" — "  Xay,  Heniy,  cease! 

Thou  sworn  horse-courser,  hohl  thy  peace. — 

Eustace,  thou  bear'st  a  brain — I  pray, 

What  did  Blount  see  at  break  of  day?" 

XVII. 

"  In  brief,  my  lord,  we  both  descried 
(For  I  then  stood  by  Henry's  side) 
The  palmer  mount,  and  outward  ride. 
Upon  the  earl's  own  favourite  steed; 


His  eldest  son,  the  mastrr  of  Angus. 


All  sheathed  he  was  in  armour  bright, 
And  much  resembled  that  same  knight, 
.Subdued  by  you  in  Cotswold  fight: 

Lord  Angus  wished  him  speed." — 
The  instant  that  Fitz-Eustace  spoke, 
A  sudden  light  on  Marmion  broke; — 
"  Ail!  dastard  fool,  to  reason  lost!" 
He  muttered;  "  'Twas  not  fay  nor  ghost, 
I  met  upon  the  mooidight  wold. 
Bat  living  man  of  earthly  mould. — 

O  <l()t;ige  blind  and  gross! 
Had  I  but  fought  as  wont,  one  thrust 
Had  laid  De  \V  ilton  in  the  dust, 

My  path  no  more  to  cross. — 
How  stand  we  now? — he  told  his  tale 
To  Douglas;  and  with  some  avail; 

'Twas  therefore  gloomed  his  rugged  brow.— 
Will  Surrey  dare  to  entertain, 
'Gainst  .Marmion,  charge  disproved  and  vain? 

Small  risk  of  that,  I  trow. 
Yet  Clare's  sharp  questions  must  1  shun; 
Must  separate  Constance  from  the  nun — 

0  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave, 
When  first  we  practise  to  deceive!— 
A  palmer  too! — -no  wonder  why 

1  felt  rebuked  beneath  his  eye; 

I  might  iiave  known  there  was  but  one 
W  hose  look  could  quell  lord  Max'mion." 

XMU. 

Slung  with  these  thouglits,  he  urged  to  speed 
His  troop,  and  reached,  at  eve,  the  Tweed, 
Where  Lennel's  convent  closed  their  march.'S 
(There  now  is  left  but  one  frail  arch. 

Yet  mourn  thou  not  its  cells; 
Our  time  a  lair  exchange  has  made; 
Hard  bj",  in  hospitable  shade, 

A  reverend  pilgrim  dwells, 
Well  w  orth  the  whole  Bernardine  brood. 
That  e'er  wore  sandal,  frock,  or  hood.) 
Yet  did  saint  Bernard's  abl)ot  there 
Give  Marmion  entertainment  fair. 
And  lodging  for  his  train,  and  Clare. 
Next  morn  the  baron  climbed  the  tower, 
To  view  afar  the  Scottish  power, 

Encamped  on  Plodden  edge: 
The  while  pavilions  made  a  show, 
Like  remnants  of  the  winter  snow. 

Along  tiie  dusky  ridge. 
Long  >larinion  looked: — at  length  his  eye 
Unusu;il  movement  might  desciy, 

Amid  the  shifting  lines: 
The  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears. 
For,  Hashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears 

The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 
Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending, 
'I'heir  tiank  inclining,  wlieeliug,  bending. 
Now  drawing  back,  and  now  descending. 
The  skilful  .NIarmion  well  could  know 
They  watched  the  motion  of  some  foe. 
Who  tra\ersed  on  the  plain  below. 

XIX. 

Even  so  it  was; — From  Flodden  ridge 
The  Scots  beheld  the  English  host 
Leave  Barmore-wood,  their  evening  post, 
And  heedfxd  watched  them  as  they  crossed 

The  'i'ill  by  Twisel  bridge. '^ 

High  sight  it  is,  and  haughty,  while 

They  dive  into  the  deep  defile; 

Beneath  the  caverned  clift"they  fall. 

Beneath  the  castle's  airy  wall. 


MARMION. 


95 


By  rock,  by  oak,  by  hawthorn  tree, 
Troop  after  troop  are  disappearing; 
Troop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing 

Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 
Still  pouring  down  the  rocky  den. 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till, 
And  rising  from  the  dim  wood  glen, 
Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men. 

In  slow  succession  still, 
And  sweeping  o'er  the  Gothic  arch. 
And  pressing  on,  in  ceaseless  march. 

To  gain  the  opposing  hill. 
That  morn,  to  man)'  a  trumpet-clang, 
Twisel!  thy  rock's  deep  echo  rang; 

And  many  a  chief  of  birth  and  rank. 

Saint  Helen!  at  thy  fountain  drank. 

Thy  hawthorn  glade,  which  now  we  see 

In  spring-tide  bloom  so  lavishly, 

Had  then  from  many  an  axe  its  doom, 

To  give  the  marching  columns  room. 

XX. 

And  why  stands  Scotland  idly  now. 
Dark  Flodden !  on  thy  airy  brow. 
Since  England  gains  the  pass  the  while. 
And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile? 
What  checks  the  fiery  soul  of  James? 
Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Inactive  on  his  steed. 
And  sees,  between  him  and  his  land, 
Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand. 

His  host  lord  Surrey  lead? 
What  vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand! — ■ 
O,  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand  ! 

Fierce  Randolph,  for  thy  speed! 
O  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight, 
Or  well-skilled  13ruce,  to  rule  the  fight, 
And  cry — "  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right!" 
Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn, 
F^rom  fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn. 
And  Flodden  had  been  Bannock-bourne! — 
The  precious  hour  has  passed  in  vain. 
And  England's  host  has  gained  the  plain; 
Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still. 
Around  the  base  of  Flodden-hill. 

XXI. 
Ere  yet  the  bands  met  Marmion's  eye, 
Fitz-Eustace  shouted  loud  and  high, — 
"  Hark!  hark!  my  lord,  an  English  drum! 
And  see,  ascending  squadrons  come 

Between  Tweed's  river  and  the  hill. 
Foot,  horse,  and  cannon: — hap  what  hap. 
My  basnet  to  a  'prentice  cap. 

Lord  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till!  — 
Yet  more!  yet  more! — how  fair  arrayed 
They  file  from  out  the  hawthorfi  shade, 

And  sweep  so  gallant  by ! 
With  all  their  banners  bravely  spread. 

And  all  their  armour  flashing  high. 
Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead, 

To  see  fair  England's  standards  fly." — 
"  Stint  in  thy  prate,"  quoth  Blount,  "  tliou'dst 

best, 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest." — 
With  kindling  brow  lord  Marmion  said — 
"  This  instant  be  our  band  arrayed; 
The  river  must  be  quickly  crossed. 
That  we  may  join  lord  Surrey's  host. 
If  fight  king  James — as  well  1  trust, 
That  fight  he  will,  and  fight  he  must, — 
The  lady  Clare  behind  our  lines 
Shall  tarry,  while  the  battle  joins." 


XXII. 

Himself  he  swift  on  horseback  threw, 
Scarce  to  the  abbot  bade  adieu, 

Far  less  would  listen  to  his  prayer, 

To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 
Down  to  the  Tweed  his  band  he  drew, 
And  muUered,  as  the  flood  tliey  view, 
"  The  pheasant  in  the  falcon's  claw. 
He  scarce  will  vield  to  please  a  daw: 
Lord  Angus  may  the  abbot  awe. 

So  Clare  shall  bide  with  me." 
Then  on  that  dangerous  ford,  and  deep. 
Where  to  the  Tweed  Leat's  eddies  creep, 

He  ventured  desp.^i-ately : 
And  not  a  moment  vviU  lie  bide. 
Till  squire,  or  gi-oom,  before  him  ride; 
Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide, 

And  stems  it  gallantly. 
Eustace  held  Clare  upon  her  horse. 

Old  Hubert  led  her  rein, 
Stoutly  tliey  braved  the  current's  course, 
And,  though  far  downward  driven  per  force, 

l"he  southern  bank  they  gain; 
Behind  them,  straggling,  came  to  shore, 

As  best  they  miglit,  the  train: 
Each  o'er  his  head  his  yew-bow  bore, 

A  caution  not  in  vain; 
Deep  need  that  da}-  that  every  string, 
By  wet  unharmed  should  sharply  ring. 
A  moment  then  lord  Marmion  staid, 
And  breathed  his  steed,  his  men  arrayed, 

Then  forward  moved  his  band. 
Until,  lord  Surrey's  rear-guard  won, 
He  halted  by  a  cross  of  stone. 
That,  on  a  hillock  standing  lone. 

Did  all  the  field  command. 

XXIIl. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray;i5 

Their  marshalled  line  stretched  east  and  west. 

And  fronted  north  and  south. 
And  distant  salutation  past 

F'rom  the  loud  cannon  mouth: 
Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle. 
That  breathes  the  voice  of  modem  battle, 

But  slow  and  far  between. — 
The  hillock  gained,  lord  Marmion  staid: 
"  Here,  by  this  cross,"  he  gently  said, 

"You  well  may  view  the  scene. 
Here  shalt  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare: 
O  think  of  Marmion  in  thy  prayer! 
Thou  wilt  not! — well, — no  less  m)'  care 
Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  weal  prepare. — 
You,  Blount  and  Eustace,  are  her  guard, 

With  ten  picked  ai-chers  of  my  train; 
With  England  if  the  day  go  hard. 

To  Berwick  speed  amain. — 
But,  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid  ! 
My  spoils  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid, 

Wiien  here  we  meet  again." — 
He  waited  not  for  answer  tliere; 
And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair, 

Nor  heed  the  discontented  look 
From  either  squire;  but  spurred  amain, 
And,  dashing  through  the  battle  plain, 

His  way  to  Surrey  took. 
XXIV. 
«' The  good  lord  Marmion,  by  my  life! 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour ! — 
Short  greeting  serves  in  time  of  strife: — 

Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power: 


96 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Myself  will  rule  tliis  central  host, 
Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right, 
Mv  sons  conimund  the  va'u'ard  post, 
Witii  JJrian  Tunstall,  stainless  kni.e;ht;'6 
Lord  Uacrc,  witii  his  horsemen  light. 
Shall  be  in  rearward  of  the  fight. 
And  succour  those  that  need  it  most. 
Now,  gallant  Mui-mion,  well  1  kn6w, 
Would  gladly  to  the  vanguard  go; 
FLdniund,  the  admii-al,  Tunstall  there. 
With  thee   their  charge  will  blithly  share; 
There  figlit  thine  own  retainers  too, 
Beneath  De  Burgli,  thy  steward  true." — 
"Thanks,  noble" Surrey !"  Marmion  said. 
Nor  fui-ther  gi-eetii\g  there  he  paid; 
But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt, 
First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt. 

Where  such  a  shout  there  rose 
Of"  Marmion!  Marmion!"  that  the  cry 
Up  Flodden  mountain  shrilling  high, 
Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 
XXV. 
Blount  and  Fitz-Eustace  rested  still 
With  lady  Clare  upon  tiie  hill; 
On  whicli  (for  far  t!ie  day  was  spent) 
The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent; 
The  cry  they  beard,  ils  meaning  knew. 
Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view; 
Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say, 
"  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay. 
No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day. — 
But,  see!  look  up — on  Hodden  bent. 
The  Scoltish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

And  sudden,  as  he  spoke, 
From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill. 
All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till, 

W^as  wreathed  in  sable  smoke; 
Volunied  and  vast,  and  rolling  far. 
The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war. 

As  down  the  hill  they  broke; 
Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone. 
Announced  their  march;  their  tread  alone, 
At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown, 

At  times  a  stifled  hum. 
Told  England,  from  his  mountain  throne 

King  James  did  rushing  come. — 
Scarce  could  the}'  hear,  or  see  tlieir  foes, 
Until  at  weapon  point  they  close. — 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust, 
With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust; 

And  such  a  yell  was  there. 
Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth. 
As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth. 

And  fiends  in  upper  air; 
O!  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout, 
Recoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout, 

And  triumph  and  despair. 
Long  looked  the  anxious  squires;  their  eye 
Could  in  the  darkness  nought  desciy. 

XXYL 
At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 
Aside  tlie  shroud  of  battle  cast; 
And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears 
Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears; 
And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  tiew, 
As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 
Then  marked  tiiey,  dashing  broad  and  far, 
The  broken  billows  of  the  war. 
And  plumed  crest  of  cliieftains  brave, 
Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave. 
But  nou<rlit  distinct  they  see: 


Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flashed  amain; 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain; 
Crests  rose,  and  stooped,  and  rose  again, 

M'ild  and  disorderly. 
Amid  the  scene  of  tumult,  high 
They  saw  lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly: 
And  stainless  Tunstall's  banner  white, 
And  Edmund  Howard's  linn  bright. 
Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  fight; 

Although  against  them  come. 
Of  gallant  (iordons  many  a  one. 
And  many  a  stubborn  highlandman, 
And  many  a  rugged  border  clan, 

With  Huntley,  and  with  Home. 

XXMI. 

Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  l^ennox  and  Argyle; 
Thoug'h  there  the  western  mountaineer 
Rushed  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear. 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  botli  hands  the  broad  sword  plied: 
'Twas  vain: — But  fortune,  on  the  right. 
With  fickle  smile,  cheered  Scotland's  fight. 
Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white,— 

The  Howard's  lion  fell; 
Yet  still  lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

Around  the  battle  yell. 
The  border  slogan  rent  the  sky! 
A  Home!  a  Gordon!  was  the  crv'; 

Loud  were  the  clanging  blows; 
Advanced, — forced  back, — now  low,  now  high, 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose; 
As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale. 
When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail. 

It  wavered  'mid  tiie  foes. 
No  longer  Blount  the  sight  could  bear:— 
"  By  heaven,  and  all  its  saints,  I  swear, 

I  will  not  see  it  lost! 
P'itz-Eustace,  vou  with  lady  Clai-e 
May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter_ prayer, — 

I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain. 
Followed  by  all  the  archer  train. 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 
Made,  for  "a  space,  an  opening  large, — 

The  rescued  banner  rose, — 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around. 
Like  pine-tree,  rooted  from  the  ground, 

It  sunk  among  the  foes. 
Then  Eustace  mounted  too; — ^yet  staid, 
As  loth  to  leave  the  helpless  maid. 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly. 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread. 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head. 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red. 

Lord  Marmion's  steed  rushed  by; 
And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 
A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast. 
To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste. 
Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 
XXYIII. 
Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone: 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own, 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone. 
The  scattered  van  of  England  wheels; — 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 
The  tumult  i-oared,  "  Is  Wilton  there'" 


^lARMION. 


97 


They  fly,  or,  maddened  by  despair. 

Fight  but  to  die, — "Is  Wilton  there '" 
With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen  drenched  with  gore. 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strained  the  broken  brand; 
His  arms  were  smeared  with  blood  and  sand: 
Dragged  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat. 
The  falcon  crest  and  plumage  gone. 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion ! — 
Young  Blount  his  armour  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face. 

Said — "  By  saint  George,  he's  gone! 
That  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head! 

Good  night  to  Marmion." 
"Unnurtured  Blount!  thy  brawling  cease: 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace;  "peace!" 

XXIX. 

^^"hen,  doffed  his  casque,  he  felt  free  air. 
Around  'gan  .Marmion  wildly  stare: 
"  Where's  Harry  Blount  i'  Fitz-Eustace  whei'e? 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare? 
Redeem  mj'  pennon, — charge  again! 
Cry — '  Marmion  to  the  rescue!' — Vain! 
Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again! — 
Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's: — fly, 
To  Dacre  bear  my  signet-ring: 
Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring: — 
Pitz-Eustace,  to  lord  Surrey  hie; 
Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field, 
His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield: 
Edmund  is  down: — my  life  is  I'eft; — 
The  admiral  alone  is  left. 
Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 
With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, 
Full  upon  Scotland's  centra!  host. 
Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 
Must  1  bid  twice? — hence,  varlets,  fly! 
Leave  Marmion  here  alone — to  die." — 
They  parted,  and  alone  he  lav; 
Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away. 
Till  pain  ^Tung  forth  a  lowly  moan. 
And  half  he  murmured, — "  Is  there  none. 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst. 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring, 
To  slake  my  dying  thirst!" — 

XXX. 

O,  woman!  in  our  hours  of  ease. 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please. 

And  variable  as  tlie  shade 

By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made, — 

AVTien  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 

A  ministering  angel  thou! — 

Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 

When,  with  the  baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran: 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears, 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears. 

Sees  but  the  dying  man. 
She  stooped  her  by  the  runnel's  side. 

But  in  abhoirence  backward  drew; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
AVhere. shall  she  tm-n? — behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain  cell, 


Where  water,  clear  as  diamond-spark. 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
Drink,  ivearif  pilgrim,  drink  and  pray 
For  the  kind  soul  of  Sybil  Grey, 

Who  bnilt  t/iis  cross  and  xvell. 
She  filled  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied. 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  monk  supporting  >Iarmion's  head; 
A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 

To  shrieve  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep  drank  lord  Marmion  of  the  wave. 
And  as  she  stooped  his  brow  to  lave — 
"Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 
"Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head?" 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose, — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer! 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words  are  mine,  to  spare: 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare!" — 

"  Alas!"  she  said,  "the  while, — 
O  think  of  your  immortal  weal! 
In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal; 

She died  at  Holy  Isle." 

Lord  Marmion  staited  from  the  ground. 
As  light  as  if  he  felt  no  wound; 
Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 
In  ton-ents,  from  his  wounded  side.  . 
"  Then  it  was  trutli!" — he  said — "  I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true. — 

1  would  tlie  fiend,  to  wliom  belongs 

The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  ^vTongs, 
Would  spare  me  but  a  day ! 

For  wasting  fire,  and  dying  groan, 

And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 
Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 
It  may  not  be! — this  dizzy  trance — 
Curse  on  yon  base  marauder's  lance, 
And  doubly  cursed  my  failing  brand! 
A  sinful  heart  makes  "feeble  hand." 
Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sriiik, 
Supported  by  the  trembling  mor.k. 

XXXIL 

With  fruitless  labour,  Clara  bound. 
And  strove  to  standi,  the  gushing  wound: 
The  monk,  with  unavailing  cares. 
Exhausted  all  the  church's  prayers. 
Ever,  he  said,  that,  close  and  near, 
A  lady's  voice  was  on  his  ear. 
And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear. 

For  that  she  ever  sung, 
"  In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  thejiying. 
Where  mingles  ioar''s  rattle  luith  groans  of  the  dy- 
ing!'''' 

So  the  notes  rung: — 
"  Avoid  thee,  fiend! — with  cruel  hand. 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand! 
O  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine; 

O  think  on  faith  and  bliss! — 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been. 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen. 

But  never  aught  like  this." — 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail. 
Now  trebly  thundering  swelled  the  gale, 

And— Stanley!  was  the  ciy; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye: 
Willi  dying  hand,  ;ibove  his  liead. 


98 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He  shook  tlie  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "Victory! — 
Charge,  Ctiester,  charj;e!  On,  Stanley,  on!"~ 
■\Vcre  the  last  words  of  Mamiion. 

XXXIII. 

By  this,  though  deep  tlie  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  "battle's  deadly  swell. 
For  still  the  Scots,  around  their  king. 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring. 
Where's  now  their  victor  va'ward  wing, 

Where  Huntley,  and  where  Home' — 
O  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne. 

That  to  king  Charles  did  come, 
When  Howland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  \)eer. 

On  Roncesvalles  died! 
S\ich  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain. 
To  rpiit  the  plunder  of  the  slain. 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again. 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side, 
Afar  the  royal  standard  flies. 
And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies, 

Oiu-  Caledonian  pride! 
In  vain  the  wish — for,  far  away, 
While  s]>'iil  and  havoc  mark  their  way. 
Near  Sybil's  cross  the  plunderers  stray. — 
"O,  lady,"  cried  the  monk,  "away!" — 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed. 
And  led  her  to  the  ciiapel  fair 

Of  Tilmouth  upon  Tweed. 
There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 
And,  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kinsman,  lord  Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 

But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  heath. 
More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  dealh. 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hailed. 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assailed; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep, 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

That  fought  around  their  king. 
But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow. 
Though  chaiging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghastly  blow, 

Unbroken  was  the  ring; 
The  stubborn  spearmen  still  made  good 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood. 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight; — 
Linked  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight. 
Groom  fought  like  nolile,  squire  like  knight. 

As  fearlessly  and  well; 
Till  utter  darkncs  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  thin  host  aiid  wounded  king. 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shattered  bands; 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew. 
As  mountain- waves,  from  wasted  lands. 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foeman  know; 
Their  king,  their  lords,  their  mightiest,  low, 
Tiiey  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
"When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  de«'. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash, 

While  many  a  broken  band. 
Disordered,  through  her  currents  dash,     . 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land; 
To  town  an<l  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 


To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail. 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song. 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong; 
Still  from  tlie  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  st'>rn  strife  and  carnage  drear 

OfFlodden'sLatal  field. 
Where  shivered  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  broken  was  her  shield! 

XXXV. 

Day  dawns  upon  the  mountain's  side: — 
There,  Scotland!  lay  thy  bravest  pride, 
Chiefs,  knights,  and  nobles,  many  a  one, 
The  sad  survivors  all  are  gone. — 
View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully. 
Defaced  and  mangled  though  it  be; 
Nor  to  yon  border  castle  high 
Look  northward  with  upbraiding  eye;'^ 

Nor  cherish  hope  in  vain. 
That,  journeying  far  on  foreign  strand, 
Tlie  royal  pilgrim  to  his  land 

May  yet  return  again. 
He  saw,the  wreck  his  rashness  wrought; 
Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought. 

And  fell  on  Flodden  ()lain: 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clenched  witliin  his  manlj'  hand. 

Beseemed  the  monarch  slain. 
But,  O!  how  changed  since  j'on  blith  night! — 
Gladly  I  turn  me  from  the  sights 

Unto  my  tale  ag^in. 

XXXVT. 
Short  is  my  tale: — Fitz-Eustace'  care  * 

A  pierced  and  mangled  body  bare 
To  moated  Lichfield's  lofty  pile; 
And  there,  beneath  the  southern  aisle, 
A  tomb,  with  Gothic  sculpture  fair. 
Did  long  lord  Marmion's  image  bear. 
(Now  vainly  for  its  site  you  look; 
'Twas  levelled,  when  fanatic  Brook 
The  fair  cathedral  stormed  and  took;'* 
But,  thanks  to  heaven,  and  good  saint  Chad, 
A  guerdon  meet  the  spoiler  had ! ) 
There  erst  was  martial  Marmion  found. 
His  feet  upon  a  couchant  hound. 

His  hands  to  heaven  upraised; 
And  all  around,  on  scutcheon  rich. 
And  tablet  carved,  and  fretted  niche, 

His  arms  and  feats  were  blazed. 
And  yet,  though  all  was  carved  so  fair, 
And  priests  for  Marmion  breathed  the  prayer, 
The  last  lord  Marmion  lay  not  there. 
From  Ettrick  woods,  a  peasant  swain 
Followed  his  lord  to  Flodden  plain, — 
One  of  those  flowers,  whom  plaintive  lay 
In  Scotland  niourns  as  "  wede  away." 
Sore  wounded,  Sybil's  cross  he  spied. 
And  dragged  him  to  its  foot  and  died, 
Close  by  the  noble  Marmion's  side. 
The  spoilers  stripped  and  gashed  the  slain, 
And  thus  their  corpses  w-ere  mista'en; 
And  thus,  in  the  proud  baron's  tomb. 
The  lowly  woodsman  took  tlie  room. 

XXXVII. 
Less  easy  task  it  were,  to  show 
Lord  Marmion's  nameless  grave,  and  low. 

They  dug  his  grave  e'en  where  he  lay. 
But  evei-y  mark  is  gone; 

Time's  wasting  hand  has  done  away 

The  simple  cross  of  Sybil  Grey, 
And  broke  her  font  of  stone- 


MARMION. 


99 


But  yet  from  out  the  little  hill 
Oozes  tl»e  slender  springlet  still. 

Oft  halts  the  stranger  there, 
For  thence  may  best  his  curious  eye 
The  memorable  field  descry; 
And  shepherd  boys  repair 
To  seek  the  water-flag  and  rush, 
And  rest  them  by  the  hazel  bush, 

And  plait  their  garlands  fair; 
Nor  dream  they  sit  upon  the  grave 
That  holds  the  bones  of  Marmion  brave.— 
When  thou  shalt  find  the  little  hill, 
With  thy  heart  commune,  and  be  still. 
If  ever,  in  temptation  strong. 
Thou  leffst  the  right  path  for  the  wrong: 
If  every  devious  step,  tlius  trod, 
Still  lead  thee  further  from  the  road; 
Dread  thou  to  speak  presumptuous  doom 
On  noble  Mai-mion's  lowly  tomb; 
But  say,  "  He  died  a  gallant  knight. 
With  sword  in  hand,  for  England's  right." 

XXXYIII. 
I  do  not  rhyme  to  that  dull  elf, 
Who  cannot  image  to  himself. 
That  all  through  Flodden's  dismal  night, 
AVilton  was  foremost  in  the  fight; 
That,  when  brave  Surrey's  steed  was  slain, 
'Twas  Wilton  mounted  him  again; 
'Twas  Wilton's  brand  that  deepest  hewed. 
Amid  the  spearmen's  stubborn  wood, — 
Unnamed  by  Hollinshed  or  Hall, 
He  was  the  living  soul  of  all; 
That,  after  fight,  his  faith  made  plain, 
He  won  his  rank  and  lands  again; 
And  charged  his  old  paternal  shield 
With  bearings  won  on  Flodden  field. — 
Nor  sing  I  to  that  simple  maid. 
To  whom  it  must  in  terms  be  said. 
That  king  and  kinsmen  did  agree 
To  bless  fair  Clara's  constancy; 
WTio  cannot,  unless  I  relate. 
Faint  to  her  mind  the  bridal's  state; 
That  Wolsey's  voice  the  blessing  spoke, 
More,  Sands,  and  Denny,  passed  the  joke; 
That  bluff  king  Hal  the  curtain  drew, 
And  Catherine's  hand  the  stocking  threw: 
And  afterwards,  for  many  a  day. 
That  it  was  held  enough  to  say, 
In  blessing  to  a  wedded  pair, 
"  Love  they  like  Wilton  and  like  Clare!" 

l'exvoy  to  the  reader. 
WTiy,  then,  a  final  note  prolong. 
Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  song, 
Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed, 
Who  long  have  listed  to  my  rede?* — 
To  statesman  grave,  if  such  may  deign 
To  read  the  minstrel's  idle  strain, 
Sound  head,  clean  hand,  and  piercing  wit. 
And  patriotic  heai-t — as  Pitt  I 
A  garland  for  the  hero's  crest. 
And  twined  by  her  he  loves  the  best; 
To  e\err  lovely  lady  bright, 
AVhat  can  I  wish  but  faithful  knight? 
To  every  faithful  lover  too. 
What  cat)  I  wish  but  lady  true? 
And  knowledge  to  the  studious  sage, 
And  pillow  to  the  head  of  age. 
To  thee,  dear  schoolboy,  whom  mv  lay 
Has  cheated  of  thy  hour  of  play, 
Light  task  and  merry  holiday! 

*  Used  generally  for  taie,  or  discourse. 


To  all,  to  each,  a  fair  good  night, 

And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light! 


NOTES   TO    CAjrTO   I. 

1.  As  when  the  champion  of  tlie  lake 
Enters  Morgana's  tattd  house. 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force, 
Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  coree.— P.  55. 

The  Romance  of  the  Morte  Arthur  contains  a 
sort  of  abridgement  of  the  most  celebrated  adven- 
tures of  the  Round  Table;  and,  being  written  in 
comparatively  modent  language,  gives  the  general 
reader  an  excellent  idea  ot  what  romances  of  chi- 
valry actually  were.  It  has  also  the  merit  of  being 
written  in  pure  old  English;  and  many  of  the  wild 
adventures  which  it  contains  are  told  "with  a  sim- 
plicity bordering  upon  the  sublime.  Several  of 
these  are  referred  to  in  the  text;  and  I  would  have 
illustrated  them  by  more  full  extracts,  but  as  this 
curious  work  is  about  to  be  published,  I  confine 
myself  to  the  tale  of  the  Chapel  Perilous,  and  of 
the  quest  of  sir  Launcelot  after  the  Sangreal. 

'•  Right  so  sir  Launcelot  departed;  and  when  he 
came  to  the  Chapell  Perilous,  he  alighted  downe, 
and  tied  his  horse  to  a  little  gale.  And  as  soon  as 
he  was  within  the  chuicli-yard,  he  saw,  on  the 
front  of  the  chapell,  many  fa'ire  rich  shields  turned 
upside  downe,  and  many  of  the  shields  sir  Launce- 
lot had  seene  knights  have  before;  with  that  he 
saw  stand  by  him  thirtie  great  knights;  more,  by 
a  yard,  than  any  man  that  ever  he  had  seene,  and 
all  those  grinned  and  gnashed  at  sir  Launcelot: 
and  when  he  saw  their  countenance,  hoe  dread 
them  sore,  and  so  put  his  shield  afore  him,  and 
tooke  Ills  sword  in  his  hand,  ready  to  dne  baltaile; 
and  they  were  all  armed  in  black  harneis,  ready, 
with  their  shields  and  swords  drawn.  And  when 
sir  Launcelot  woidd  have  gone  tlirough  them,  they 
scattered  on  every  side  of  him,  and  gave  him  the 
way;  and  therewith  he  waxed  all  bold,  and  enter- 
ed into  the  chapell,  and  then  hee  saw  no  light  but 
a  dimme  larape  burning,  and  then  was  hee  ware  of 
a  corps  covered  with  a  cloath  of  silke;  then  sir 
Launcelot  stooped  downe,  and  cut  a  piece  of  that 
cloath  away,  and  then  it  fared  under  liim  as  if  the 
earth  had  quaked  a  little,  whereof  he  was  afeared, 
and  then  he  saw  a  faire  sword  lye  by  the  dead 
knight,  and  that  he  gat  in  his  hand,  and  hied  him 
out  of  the  chapell.  As  soon  as  he  was  in  the  chap- 
pell-yerd,  all  the  knights  spoke  to  him  with  a 
grimly  voice,  and  said,  '  kniglit  sir  Launcelot,  lay 
that  sword  from  thee,  or  else  thou  sliait  die.' 
'  Whether  I  live  or  die,'  said  sir  Launcelot,  '  with 
no  great  words  get  yee  it  againe,  therefore  fight 
for  it  and  yee  list. '  Therewith  he  passed  through 
them;  and,  beyond  the  chappell-yerd,  there  met 
him  a  fair  damosel,  and  said,  '  Sir  Launcelot,  leave 
that  sword  behind  thee,  or  thou  wilt  die  for  it.' 
'  I  will  not  leave  it,'  said  sir  Launcelot,  '  for  no 
threats.'  'No!' said  she,  'and  ye  did  leave  that 
sword,  queene  Guenever  should  ye  never  see.' 
'  Then  w  ere  I  a  foole  and  I  would  leave  tliis  sword,' 
said  sir  Launcelot.  'Now,  gentle  knight,'  said 
the  damosel,  '  1  require  thee  to  kisse  me  once. ' 
'Nay,'  said  sir  Launcelot,  'that,  God  forbid!' 
'Well,  sir,' said  she,  'and  thou  haddest  kissed 
me,  thy  life  dayes  had  been  done;  but  iVow,  alas!' 
said  she,  '  I  have  lost  all  my  labour;  for  I  ordained 
this  chappell  for  th)'  sake,  and  for  sir  Gawaine: 
and  once  I  had  sir  Gawaine  within  it;  and  at  that 


100 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


time  lie  roii£i;lit  with  (hat  knig;ht  wliich  lliare  lieth 
dead  in  yonder  chappell,  sir  (Gilbert  ttie  bastard, 
and  at  tliat  time  hee  smote  ofl'  sir  (iilbert  the  bas- 
tard's left  hand.  And  so,  sir  Launcelot,  now  I  tell 
thee,  that  1  have  loved  thee  this  seaven  yeare;  but 
thei'c  may  no  woman  have  thy  love  but  queene 
Guenever;  but  sithen  1  may  not  rejoyce  to  have  thy 
body  alive,  I  had  kejjl  no  more  joy  in  this  world 
but  to  have  had  tliy  dead  body;  and  I  woidd  have 
balmed  it  and  served,  and  so  have  kept  it  my  life 
daies  and  daily  I  sliould  have  clipped  thee,  and 
kissed  thee  in  the   despite  of  queene   Guenever.' 
'  Yee  say  well,'  saiil  sii-l.aiincelot,  '  Jesus  preserve 
me  from  your  suliiill  cral'i!'    And  therewith  he 
took  his  horse,  and  deparltd  from  her." 
2.  A  sinful  man,  and  unconfcss'd. 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest, 
And,  sbimberinp,  saw  the  vision  high. 
Ho  mi(jht  not  view  with  wakinij  eye.— P.  55. 
One  day,  when  Arthur  was  holding  a  high  feast 
with  his  knights  of  the  round  table,  the  Sangreal, 
or  vessel  out  of  which  the  last  passover  was  eaten, 
a  ])recious  relic,  wliich  had  long  remained  con- 
cealed from  Imman  eyes,  because  of  the  sins  of  the 
land,  suddenly  appeared  to  him  and  all  liis  chi- 
valry.   The  consequence  of  this  vision  was,  that  j 
all  the  knights  took  on  them  a  solemn  vow  to  seek  | 
the  Sangreal.  But,  alas!  it  could  only  be  revealed  | 
to  a  knight  at  once  accomplished  in  earthly  chi- 
valry, and  pure  and  guiltless  of  evil  conversation. 
All  sir  Launcelol's  noble  accomplishments  were 
therefore  rendered  vain  by  his  guilty  intrigue  with 
queen  Guenever,  or  Ganore;  and  in  this  holy  quest 
he  encountered  only  such  disgraceful  disasters,  as 
that  which  follows: 

"  53ut  sir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and  endlong 
in  a  wild  forest,  and  held  no  patli,  but  as  wild  ad- 
venture led  him;  and  at  the  last,  he  came  unto  a 
stone  crosse,  which  departed  two  wayes,  in  wast 
land;  and  by  the  crosse,  was  a  stone  that  was  of 
marble;  but  it  was  so  darke,  that  sir  Launcelot 
might  not  well  know  what  it  was.  Then  sir  Laun- 
celot looked  by  him,  and  suw  an  old  chappell,  and 
there  he  wend  to  have  found  people.  And  so  sir 
Launcelot  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and  there  hee 
put  off  his  shield,  and  hung  it  upon  a  tree,  and 
then  hee  went  unto  the  chappell  door,  and  found 
it  wasted  and  broken.  And  within  he  found  afaire 
altar,  full  richly  arrayed  willi  cloth  of  silk,  and 
there  stood  a  faire  candlesticke,  which  beare  six 
great  candles,  and  the  candlesticke  was  of  silver. 
And  when  sir  Launcelot  saw  this  light,  hee  had  a 
great  will  for  to  enter  into  the  chappell,  but  hee 
could  find  no  place  where  he  might  enter.  Then 
he  was  passing  heavie  and  dismaied.  Then  he  re- 
turned, and  came  againe  to  his  horse,  and  tooke 
off  his  saddle  and  his  bridle,  and  let  him  pasture, 
and  unlaced  his  lielme,  and  ungirded  his  sword, 
and  laid  hira  downe  to  sleepe  upon  his  shield  be- 
fore the  crosse. 

"  And  so  he  fell  on  sleepe,  and  halfe  waking 
and  halfe  sleeping,  hee  saw  come  by  him  two  pal- 
freys, both  faire  and  white,  the  which  beare  a  lit- 
ter tlicretn  lying  a  sicke  knight.  And  when  he 
was  ni"-!i  the  crosse,  he  there  abode  still.  All  this 
sir  Launcelot  saw  and  beheld,  for  lice  slept  not  ve- 
rily, and  hee  heard  him  say,  '  Oh  sweete  Lord, 
wlien  shall  this  sorrow  leave  me,  and  when  shall 
the  liolv  vessell  come  by  me,  wltere  througli  I  shall 
be  lilessed,  for  I  liave  endured  tluis  long  for  little 
trespasse.'  And  thus  a  great  while  complained  the 
knis;bl,and  allwaies  sir  Launcelot  lieani  it.  With 
tliai^  sir  Launcelot  saw  the  candlesticke,  with  the 


iire  tapers,  come  before  the  crosse;  but  he  cotild 
i  see  no  body  that  brought  it.  Also,  there  came  a 
table  of  silver,  and  the  holy  vessell  of  the  Sanc- 
greall,  the  which  sir  Launcelot  had  seen  before 
that  time  in  king  Petchour's  house.  And  there- 
withall  the  sicke  kniglit  set  him  upright,  and  held 
up  both  his  hands,  and  said,  '  Faire  sweete  Lord, 
which  is  here  witliin  the  holy  vessell,  take  heede 
to  mee,  that  1  may  bee  hole  of  tliis  great  malady.' 
And  therewith  upon  liis  liands,  and  upon  his  knees, 
he  went  so  nigh,  that  lie  touclied  the  holy  vessell, 
and  kissed  it:  And  anon  he  was  hole,  and  then  he 
said,  '  Lord  God,  1  thank  thee,  for  1  am  healed  of 
this  malady.'  So  wlien  the  holy  vessell  had  been 
tliere  a  great  while,  it  went  into  the  chappell  againe 
with  tlie  candlesticke  and  the  light,  so  tliat  sir 
Launcelot  wist  not  where  it  became,  for  he  was 
overtaken  w  ith  sinne,  that  hee  had  no  power  to 
arise  against  the  holy  vessell,  wherefore  afterward 
many  men  said  of  him  shame.  But  he  tooke  re- 
pentance afterward.  Then  the  sicke  knight  dressed 
hira  upright,  and  kissed  the  crosse.  Then  anon 
his  squire  brought  him  his  armes,  and  asked  his 
lord  how  he  did.  '  Certainly,'  said  hee,  '  I  thanke 
God,  right  heartily,  for  through  the  holy  vessell  I 
am  healed:  but  I  have  right  great  mervaile  of  this 
sleeping  kniglit,  which  hath  had  neither  grace  nor 
power  to  awake  during  the  time  that  this  holy  ves- 
sell hath  beene  here  present. ' — 'I  dare  it  right 
well  say,'  said  the  squire,  '  that  this  same  knight 
is  defouled  with  some  manner  of  deadly  sinne, 
whereof  he  has  never  confessed.' — '  By  my  faith,' 
said  the  knight,  '  whatsoever  he  be,  he  is  unhap- 
pie;  for,  as  I  deeme,  hee  is  of  the  fellowship  of  the 
round  table,  the  which  is  entered  into  the  quest  of 
the  Sancgreall.' — 'Sir,'  said  the  squire,  'here  I 
have  brought  you  all  your  armes,  save  yoiu-  helme 
and  your  sword;  and  therefore,  by  mine  assent, 
now  may  ye  take  tliis  kniglit's  helme  and  his  sword,' 
and  so  he  did.  And  when  he  was  cleane  armed, 
he  took  sir  Launcelot's  horse,  for  he  was  better 
than  hisowne,and  so  they  departed  from  the  crosse. 
"  Then  anon  sir  Launcelot  awaked,  and  set  him- 
selfe  upright,  and  he  thought  him  what  hee  had 
there  scene,  and  whether  it  were  dreames  or  not; 
right  so  he  lieard  a  voice  that  said,  '  Sir  Launce- 
lot, more  harde  then  is  the  stone,  and  more  bitter 
then  is  the  wood,  and  more  naked  and  bare  tlian 
is  the  liefe  of  the  fig-tree,  tlierefore  go  thou  from 
hence,  and  withdraw  thee  from  this  holy  place;' 
and  when  sir  Launcelot  heard  this,  hee  was  pass- 
ing heavy,  and  wit  not  what  to  doe.  And  so  he 
departed  sore  weeping,  and  cursed  the  time  that 
he  was  borne;  for  then  he  deemed  never  to  have 
had  more  worship;  for  the  words  went  unto  his 
heart;  till  that  he  knew  wherefore  that  hee  was  so 
called." 

3.  And  Dryden,  in  immortal  strain. 
Had  raised  the  table  round  again, 
But  that  a  ribald  king  and  court 
Bade  liim  toil  on  to  make  them  sport; 
Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay, 
Fit  for  their  souls,  a  looser  lay. 
Licentious  satire,  song,  and  play. — P.  55. 

Dryden's  melancholy  account  of  his  projected 
epic  poem,  blasted  by  the  selfish  and  sordid  par- 
simony of  his  patrons,  is  contained  in  an  "Essay 
on  Satire,"  addressed  to  the  earl  of  Dorset,  and 
prefixed  to  the  translation  of  Juvenal.  After  men- 
tioning a  plan  of  supplying  machinery  from  the 
guardian  angels  of  kingdoms,  mentioned  in  the 
book  of  Daniel,  he  adds: 

"  Thus,  my  lord,  1  have,  as  briefly  as  I  could, 


MAHJUON. 


101 


given  your  lordsliip,  and  by  you  the  world,  a  rude 
draught  of  what  1  have  been  long  labouring  in  my 
imagination,  and  what  I  had  intended  to  have  put 
in  practice,  (though  far  unable  for  the  attempt  ot 
such  a  poem,)  and  to  have  left  the  stage,  to  which 
my  genius  never  much  inclined  me,  for  a  work 
which  would  have  taken  up  my  life  in  the  per- 
foi'mance  of  it.  This,  too,  I  had  intended  chietlj- 
for  the  honour  of  my  native  country,  to  which  a 
poet  is  particularly  obliged.  Of  two  subjects,  both 
relating  to  it,  I  was  doubtful  whether  I  should 
choose  that  of  king  Arthur  conquering  the  Saxons, 
which,  being  further  distant  in  time,  gives  the 
gi-eater  scope  to  my  invention;  or  that  ot  Edward 
the  black  prince,  in  subduing  Spain,  and  restoring 
it  to  the  lawful  prince,  though  a  great  tyrant,  Don 
Pedro  the  cruel;  which,  for  the  compass  of  time, 
including  only  the  expedition  of  one  year,  for  the 
greatness  of  the  action,  and  its  answerable  event, 
for  the  magnanimitv  of  the  English  hero,  opposed 
to  the  ingratitude  of  the  person  whom  he  restored, 
and  for  the  many  beautiful  episodes  which  I  had 
interwoven  with  the  principal  design,  together 
with  the  characters  of  the  chiefest  English  persons, 
(wherein,  after  Virgil  and  Spencer,  1  would  have 
taken  occasion  to  represent  my  living  friends  and 
patrons  of  the  noblest  families,  and  also  shadowed 
the  events  of  future  ages  in  the  succession  of  our 
imperial  line, ) — with  these  helps,  and  those  of  the 
machines  which  I  have  mentioned,  I  might  per- 
haps have  done  as  well  as  some  of  my  predeces- 
sors, or  at  least  chalked  out  a  way  for  others  to 
amend  my  errors  in  a  like  design;  but  being  en- 
couraged only  with  fair  words  by  king  Charles  II, 
my  little  salary  ill  paid,  and  no  prospect  of  a  fu- 
ture subsistence,  I  was  then  discouraged  in  the 
beginning  of  my  attempt;  and  now  age  has  over- 
taken me,  and  want,  a  more  insuiferable  evil, 
through  the  change  of  the  times,  has  wholly  dis- 
abled me." 

4.  Of  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  bold.— P.  55. 

The  "  Histon.'  of  Bevis  of  Hampton"  is  abridged 
by  my  friend  Mr.  George  Ellis,  with  that  liveli- 
ness which  extracts  amusement  even  out  of  the 
most  rude  and  unpromising  of  our  old  tales  of 
chivalrj'.  Ascapart,  a  most  important  i)ersonage 
in  the  romance,  is  thus  described  in  an  extract: 

This  geaunt  was  ruighty  and  strong. 

And  fuil  thirtj'  foot  was  long. 

He  was  bristled  like  a  sow; 

A  foot  he  iiad  between  each  brow; 

His  lips  were  great,  and  hung-  aside; 

His  eyes  wei-e  hollow;  his  mouth  was  wide. 

Lothly  he  was  to  look  on  th;ui. 

And  liker  a  dertl  than  a  man. 

His  staff  was  a  young  oak. 

Hard  aud  heavy  was  his  stroke. 

Specimens  of  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  ii,  p.  1V">. 

I  am  happy  to  say,  that  the  memory  of  sir  Bevis 
is  still  fragi'ant  in  his  town  of  Southampton;  the 
gate  of  which  is  sentinelled  by  the  effigies  of  that 
doughty  knight-errant,  and  his  gigantic  associate. 

5.  Day  set  on  Xorham's  castled  steep. 

And  Tweed's  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,  8cc. — P.  55. 

The  i-uinous  castle  of  Xorham,  (ancienth'  called 
Ubbandford,)  is  situated  on  the  southern  bank  of 
the  Tweed,  about  six  miles  above  Berwick,  and 
where  that  river  is  still  the  boundary  between  En- 
gland and  Scotland.  The  extent  of  its  ruins,  as 
well  as  its  historical  importance,  shows  it  to  have 
been  a  ])lace  of  magnificence,  as  well  as  strength. 
Edward  I  resided  there  when  he  was  created  um- 
pire of  the  dispute  concerning  the  Scottish  succes- 


sion. It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken  during 
the  wars  bet\veen  England  and  Scotland;  and  in- 
deed scarce  any  happened  in  which  it  had  not  a 
principal  share.  Xorham  castle  is  situated  on  a 
steep  bank,  which  overhangs  the  river.  The  re- 
peated sieges  which  the  castle  had  sustained  ren- 
dered frequent  repairs  necessary.  In  1164  it  was 
almost  rebuilt  by  Hugh  Pudsey,  bishop  of  Durham, 
who  added  a  huge  keep,  or  donjon;  notwithstand- 
ing which,  king  Henry  II,  in  1174,  took  the  castle 
from  the  bishop,  and  committed  the  keeping  of  it 
to  William  de  Xeville.  After  this  period  it  seems 
to  have  been  chiefly  garrisoned  by  the  king,  and 
considered  as  a  royal  fortress.  The  Greys  of  Chil- 
li nghame  castle  were  frequently  the  castellans,  or 
captains  of  the  garrison:  yet,  as  the  castle  was  situ- 
ated in  the  patrimony  of  St.  Cuthbert,  the  property 
was  in  the  see  of  Durham  till  tiie  Reformation. 
After  that  period  it  passed  through  various  hands. 
At  the  union  of  the  crowns,  it  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  sir  Robert  Carey  (afterwards  earl  of  Mon- 
mouth,) for  his  own  life,  and  that  of  two  of  his 
sons.  After  king  James's  accession,  Carev  sold  Xor- 
ham castle  to  George  Home,  earl  of  Dunbar,  for 
6000/.  See  his  curious  memoirs,  published  by  Mr. 
Constable  of  Edinburgh. 

According  to  ^Ir.  Pinkerton,  there  is,  in  the 
British  Museum,  Cal.  B.  vi,  21 G,  a  curious  me- 
moir of  the  Dacres  on  the  state  of  Xorham  castle  in 
XSi'i,  not  long  after  the  battle  of  Fiodden.  The  in- 
ner ward,  or  keep,  is  represented  as  impregnable: 
"  The  provisions  are  three  great  vats  of  salt  eels, 
forty -four  kine,  three  hogsheads  of  salted  salmon, 
forty  quarters  of  gi-ain,  besides  many  cows,  and  four 
hundred  sheep  lying  under  the  casile-w  all  nightly; 
but  a  number  of  the  an-ows  wanted  feathers,  and  a 
good //etcher  [i.  e.  maker  of  arrows)  was  required." 
— Historif  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii,  p.  201,  Xote. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  are  at  ])resent  considera- 
ble, as  well  as  picturesque.  They  consist  of  a 
large  shattered  tower,  with  many  vaults  and  frag- 
ments of  other  edifices  enclosed  within  an  outward 
wall  of  great  circuit. 

6.  — the  donjon  keep. — P.  55, 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  remind  my  readers, 
that  the  donjon,  in  its  proper  signification,  means 
the  strongest  part  of  a  feudal  castle;  a  high  square 
tower,  with  walls  of  tremendous  thickness,  situat- 
ed in  the  centre  of  the  other  buildings,  from  which, 
however,  it  was  usually  detached.  Here,  in  case 
of  the  outward  defences  being  gained,  the  garrison 
retreated  to  make  their  last  stand.  The  donjon 
contained  the  great  hall,  and  principal  rooms  of 
state  for  solemn  occasions,  and  also  the  prison  of 
the  fortress;  from  which  last  circumstance  we  de- 
rive the  modern  and  restricted  use  of  the  word 
dungeon.  Ducange  (x'oce  Duxjo)  conjectures  plau- 
sibly, that  the  niune  is  derived  from  these  keeps 
being  usually  built  upon  a  hill,  which  in  Celtic  is 
called  Dux.  Borlase  supposes  the  word  came 
from  the  darkness  ot  the  apartments  in  these  tow- 
ers, whicl)  were  thence  figuratively  called  dun- 
geons; thus  deriving  the  ancient  word  from  the 
modem  application  of  it. 

7.  Well  was  he  armed  from  head  to  heel, 
In  mail  and  plate,  of  Milan  steel. — P.  56. 

The  artists  of  Milan  were  famous  in  the  middle 
ages  for  their  skill  in  armour}-,  as  appears  from 
tlie  following  passage,  in  which  Froissart  gives  an 
account  of  the  preparations  made  by  Heniy,  earl 
of  Hereford,  afterwards  Henry  IV',  and  Thomas, 
duke  of  Xorfolk,  earl   Mareschal,  for  their  pro- 


102 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


poscel  combat  in  the  lists  of  Convenirv.  "  These  In  earlier  times,  indeed,  the  family  of  Marmion, 
two  lords  made  amtile  provision  of  all  things  ne-  lords  of  Fontenay  in  Normandy,  was  highly  dis- 
cessary  for  the  combat;  and  ihc  carl  of  Derby  sent  tinguished.    Robert  de  Marmion,  lord  of  Fontfr 


off  messengers  to  Loinhardy,  to  liavc  armour 
from  sir  (Jaleas,  duke  of  Milan.  The  duke  com- 
plied with  joy,  aufl  gave  the  kniglit,  called  sir 
Fi-ancis,  who  had  brought  the  message,  the  choice 
of  all  his  armour,  for  the  earl  nf  Derby.  When  he 
had  selected  what  he  wislied  for  in  plated  and 
mail  ai'mour,  the  lord  of  Milan,  out  of  l>is  abun- 
dant love  for  the  earl,  ordered  four  of  the  best  ar- 
mourers in  Milan  to  accompany  the  knight  to 
England,  that  the  earl  of  Derby  might  be  more 
completely  armed." — Johnes''  Froissart,  vol.  iv,  p. 
59". 

8.  The  golden  leg^end  bore  aright, 

Who  checks  at  me,  to  death  is  dight. — P.  SS. 

The  crest  and  motto  of  Mai-mion  are  borrowed 
from  the  following  story.  Sir  David  de  Lindsay, 
first  earl  of  Crawford,  was,  among  other  gentlemen 
of  quality,  attended,  during  a  visit  to  London,  in 
1390,  by.  sir  William  Dalzell,  who  was,  according 
to  my  authority.  Bower,  not  only  excelling  in  wis- 
dom, but  also  of  a  lively  wit.  Chancing  to  be  at 
court,  he  there  saw  sir  Piers  Courtenay,  an  English 
knight,  famous  for  skill  in  tilting,  and  for  the  beau- 
ty of  his  person,  parading  the  palace,  arrayed  in  a 
new  mantle  bearing  for  device  an  embroidered  fal- 
con, with  this  rhyme, — 

I  beare  a  falcon,  fairest  of  flight, 

AVho  so  pinches  at  her,  his  death  is  dight* 

In  graith.t 
Tlte  Scottish  knight  being  a  wag,  appeared  next 
day  in  a  dress  exactly  similar  to  that  of  Courtenay, 
but  bearing  a  magpie  instead  of  the  falcon,  with  a 
motto  ingeniously  contrived  to  rhyme  to  the  vaunt- 
ing inscription  of  sir  Piers. 

I  bear  a  pie  picking  at  a  piece, 

Who  so  picks  at  her,  I  shall  pick  at  liis  nese,t 
In  faith. 
This  affront  could  only  be  expiated  by  a  joust 
with  sharp  lances.  In  the  course,  D;dzell  left  his 
helmet  unlaced,  so  that  it  gave  way  at  the  touch 
of  his  antagonist's  lance,  and  he  thus  avoided  the 
shock  of  the  encounter.  This  happened  twice: — 
in  the  third  encounter,  the  handsome  Courtenay 
lost  two  of  his  front  teeth.  As  the  Englishman 
complained  bitterly  of  Dalzell's  fraud  in  not  fast- 
ening his  helmet,  the  Scottishman  agreed  to  run 
six  courses  more,  each  ciiampion  staking  in  the 
hand  of  the  king  two  hundred  pounds,  to  be  for- 
feited, if,  on  entering  the  li''ts,  any  unequal  advan- 
tage should  be  detected.    This  being;  agreed  to. 


nay,  a  distinguished  toUower  of  the  conqueror, 
obtained  a  grant  of  the  castle  and  town  of  Tam- 
worth,  and  also  of  the  manor  of  Scrivelby,  in  Lin- 
colnshire. One,  or  botli,  of  these  noble  possessions 
was  held  by  tlie  honourable  service  of  being  the 
royal  champion,  as  the  ancestors  of  Marmion  had 
formerly  been  to  the  duke  of  Normandy.  But  af- 
ter the  cablle  and  demesne  of  Tamworlb  had  pass- 
ed tlu'ougii  four  successive  barons  from  Robert, 
the  family  became  extinct  in  the  person  of  Philip 
de  Marmion,  who  died  in  'iuih  Edward  I,  without 
issue  male.  He  was  succeeded  in  his  castle  of 
Taniworth  by  Alexander  de  Freville,  who  married 
Mazera,  his  grand-daughter.  Baldwin  de  Freville, 
Alexander's  descendant,  in  the  reign  of  Richard 
1,  by  the  supposed  tenure  of  his  castle  of  Tam- 
worth,  claimed  the  oflice  of  roy:d  clianqjion,  and 
to  do  the  service  ajipertaining;  na\nely,  ou  tlie  day 
of  coronation,  to  ride  completelv  armed,  upon  a 
barbed  horse,  into  W'estminster  hall,  and  there  to 
challenge  the  combat  against  any  who  would  gain- 
say the  king's  title.  But  this  office  was  adjuged 
to  sir  John  Dymocke,  to  whom  the  manor  of  Scri- 
velby had  descended  by  another  of  the  co-heiresses 
of  Robert  de  Marmion;  and  it  remains  in  that  fa- 
mily, whose  representative  is  hereditary  champion 
of  England  at  the  present  day.  The  family  and 
possessions  of  Freville  have  merged  in  the  earls  of 
Ferrars:  I  have  not,  therefore,  created  a  new  fami- 
ly, but  only  revived  the  titles  of  an  old  one  in  an 
imaginary  personage. 

It  was  one  of  the  Marmion  family,  who,  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  II,  performed  that  chivalrous  feat 
before  the  very  castle  of  Norhara,  which  bishop 
Percy  has  woven  into  his  beautiful  ballad,  "The 
Hermit  of  \\'arkworth."  The  story  is  thus  told 
bj'  Leland: 

"  The  Scottes  came  yn  to  the  marches  of  En- 
gland, and  destroyed  the  castle  of  Werk  and 
Herbotel,  and  overran  much  of  Northumberland 
marches. 

"At  this  tyme  Thomas  Gray  and  his  friends 
defended  Norham  from  the  Scottes. 

"  It  were  a  wonderful  processe  to  declare,  what 
mischefes  cam  by  hungre  and  asseges,  by  the  space 
of  xi  yeres  in  Northumberland;  for  the  Scottes  be- 
came so  proude  after  they  had  got  Berwick,  that 
they  nothing  esteemed  the  Englishmen. 

"  About  tliis  tyme  there  was  a  great  teste  made 
yn  Linconsbir,  to  which   came  many  gentlemen 


the  wily  Scot  demanded  that  sir  Piers,  in  addition  |  and  ladies;  and  amonge  them  one  lady  brought  a 
to  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  shoidd  consent  to  the  ex-  heaulnie  for  a  man  of  were,  witli  a  very  riche  creste 
tinction  of  one  of  his  eyes,  he  himself  having  lost ,  of  gold,  to  William  Marmion,  kniglit,  with  a  let- 
an  eye  in  the  figlit  of  Otlerburn.  As  Courtenay  I  t«i  of  commandment  of  her  lady,  that  he  should 
demuiTed  to  this  equalization  of  optical  powers,  I  go  into  the  daungerest  place  in  England,  and  ther 
Dalzell  demanded  the  forteit;  wliich,  after  much  !  to  let  the  heaulnie  be  seene  and  known  as  famous, 
altercation,  the  king  appointed  to  be  paid  to  him,   So  he  went  to  Norham;  whither  witliin  4  days  of 


saying,  he  surpassed  the  Englishman  both  in  wit 
and  valour.  This  must  apiiear  to  the  reader  a  sin- 
gular specimen  of  the  humour  of  that  time.  I  sus- 
pect tlie  .lockev'  club  would  have  given  a  different 
decision  from  Henry  IV. 

9.  They  hail'd  lord  Marmion. 

They  hail'd  him  lord  of  Foiitenaye, 

Of  Luttei-ward,  and  Scrivelbayc, 
Of  Tam worth  tower  and  town.— P.  57. 
Lord  Marmion,  the  principal  character  of  the 
present  romance,  is  entirely  a  fictitious  personage. 


•  Prepared. 


t  Armour. 


}  Nose. 


cumming  cam  Philip  Maubray,  guardian  of  Ber- 
wicke,  having  yn  his  bande  40  men  of  armes,  the 
very  flour  of  men  of  the  Scottish  marches. 

"  Thomas  Gray,  capitayne  of  Norham,  seynge 
this,  brought  his  garison  afore  the  barriers  of  the 
castle,  behind  whom  cam  William,  richly  an-ay- 
ed,  as  al  glitteringin  gold, and  wearing  the  heaulme, 
his  lady's  present. 

"  Then  said  Thomas  Gray  to  Marmion,  '  Sir 
knight,  ye  be  cum  hither  to  fame  your  helmet: 
mount  upon  yowr  horse,  and  ryde  like  a  valiant 
man  to  yowr  foes  even  here  at  hand,  and  I  forsake 


MARmON. 


103 


God  if  I  rescue  not  thy  body  deade  or  alyve,  or  I 
mysell"  will  dye  for  it.' 

"  Whereupon  he  took  his  cursere,  and  rode 
among  the  throng  of  ennemyes;  the  which  laved 
sore  stripes  on  hym,  and  pulled  hym  at  the  "last 
out  of  his  sadel  to  the  grounde. 

"  Then  Thomas  Gray,  with  al  the  hole  garison, 
lette  prick  yn  among  the  Scottes,  and  so  woudid 
them  and  their  horses,  that  they  were  overthrown; 
and  Marinion,  sore  beteu,  was  horsid  agayn,  and, 
•with  Gray,  persewedthe  Scottes  yn  chase.  There 
were  taken  50  liorse  of  price:  and  the  women  of 
Norham  brought  them  to  the  foote  men  to  follow 
the  chase." 

10.  Largesse,  Largesse. — P.  57. 

This  was  the  cry  with  which  heralds  and  pur- 
suivants were  wont  to  acknowledge  the  bounty 
received  from  the  knights.  Stewart  of  Lorn  dis- 
tinguishes a  ballajl,  in  which  he  satirizes  tlie  nar- 
rowness of  James  A",  and  his  courtiers,  by  the  iro- 
nical burden — 

Lerges,  lerges,  Urges,  hay, 

Lerges  ufthis  iieiv  year  day. 
First  lergcs,  of  tlic  king,  ray  chief, 
Who  canii-  as  quiet  as  a  thief, 
And  ill  ray  hand  slid— shillings  twae!' 
To  put  his  largeness  to  the  prief,i- 
For  lerges  of  this  new  year  day. 

The  heralds,  like  the  minstrels,  were  a  race 
allowed  to  have  great  claims  upon  the  liberality  of 
the  knights,  of  whose  feats  they  kept  a  record, 
and  proclaimed  them  aloud,  as  in  the  text,  upon 
suitable  occasions. 

At  Berwick,  Norham,    and  other  horder  for- 
tresses of  importance,  pursuivants  usually  resided, 
whose  inviolable  character  rendered  them  the  only 
persons  that  could,  with  perfect  assurance  of  safe- 
ty, be  sent  on  necessary  embassies  into  Scotland. 
This  is  alluded  to  in  stanza  XXI. 
11.  Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold, 
Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 
And  captain  of  the  hold. — P.  57. 

Were  accuracy  of  any  consequence  in  a  fictitious 
narrative,  this  castellan's  name  ought  to  have  been 
William;  for  William  Heron  of  Ford  was  husband 
to  the  famous  lady  Ford,  whose  syren  charms  are 
said  to  have  cost  our  James  IV  so  dear.  More- 
over, the  said  \V'illiam  Heron  was,  at  the  time 
supposed,  a  prisoner  in  Scotland,  being  surrender- 
ed by  Henry  VIII,  on  account  of  his  share  in  the 
slaughter  of  sir  Robert  Ker  of  Cessford.  His  wife, 
represented  in  the  text  as  residing  at  the  court  of 
Scotland,  was,  in  fact,  living  in  her  own  castle  at 
Ford. — See  sir  Rickarh  Heron's  cui-ious  Qeiie'.- 
logy  of  the  Heron  familii. 

12..  The  whiles  a  northern  harper  rude, 
Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, — 
"How  the  fierce  Thirwalls,  and  Ridlevsall,"  Ike. 

Page  57. 

This  old  Northumbrian  ballad  was  taken  down 
from  tlie  recitation  of  a  woman  eighty  jeai'S  of 
age,  motlier  of  one  of  the  miners  in  Alston-moor, 
bv  an  agent  for  the  lead  mines  there,  who  commu- 
Tiicaled  it  to  my  friend  and  correspondent,  R.  Sur- 
lees,  esquire,  of  Mainsfort.  She  had  not,  she  said, 
heard  it  for  many  years;  but  when  she  was  a  girl, 
it  used  to  be  sung  at  merry  makings,  "till  the 
roof  rung  again."  To  preserve  this  curious,  though 
rude  rhyme,  it  is  here  inserted.  The  ludicrous 
turn  given  to  the  slaughter,  marks  that  wild  and 
disorderly  state  of  society,  in  which  a  murder  was 


Two. 


t  Proof. 


not  merely  a  casual  circumstance,  but,  in  some 
cases,  an  exceedingly  good  jest.  The  sti-ucture  oi 
the  ballad  resembles  the  "Fray  of  Support,"* 
liaving  the  same  irregular  stanza  and  wild  chorus. 
I. 
Hoot  awa',  lads,  hoot  awa'. 

Ha'  ye  heard  how  the  Ridleys,  and  Thirlwalls,  and  a". 
Ha'  set  upon  Albanyt  Feathei-sionhaugh, 
And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadmau's-haugh? 
There  was  Williiiioteswick, 
.■Vnd  Hardridiiig  Dick, 
And  Hughie  of  Hawden,  and  Will  of  the  Wa', 

I  caimo'  tell  a",  I  canno'  tell  a". 
And  mony  a  mair  that  the  de'il  nia)-  kuaw. 

II. 
The  auld  man  went  downi,  but  Nicol,  his  son. 
Ran  away  afore  the  fight  was  begun; 
And  he  run,  and  he  run. 
And  afore  they  were  done. 
There  was  raony  a  Featherston  gat  sic  a  stun, 
As  never  was  seen  since  the  world  begun. 

III. 
I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a'. 
Some  gat  a  skelp,}  and  some  gat  a  claw; 
But  they  gar'd  the  Featherstones  baud  their  jaw, — J 

Xieol,  and  Abck,  and  a'. 
Some  gat  a  hurt  and  some  gat  nane, 
Some  had  harness,  and  some  gat  sta'en.|| 
IV. 
Ane  gat  a  twist  n"  the  ci-aigill 
Ane  gat  a  dunch**  o'  the  wame;tt 
Symy  Haw  gat  lamed  of  a  leg. 
And  syne  ran  wallowiugJJ  hame. 
V. 
Hoot,  hoot,  the  auld  man's  slain  outright! 
Lay  hira  now  wi'  his  face  down:  he's  a  sorrowful  sight. 
Janet,  thou  donot,{i§ 
I'll  lay  my  best  boiniet. 
Thou  gets  a  new  gude-man  afore  it  be  night. 
VI. 
Hoot  away,  lads,  hoot  away, 
We's  a'  be  hangid  if  wv-  stay. 
Tak'  ijp  the  dead  man,  and  lay  hira  ahint  the  bigging; 
Here's  the  bailey  o'  Haltwhistle,|ii| 
Wi'  his  great  bull's  pizzle, 
That  sup'd  up  the  broo",  and  syne — ^in  the  piggin.ft 

In  explanation  of  this  ancient  ditty,  Mr.  Suilees 
has  furnished  me  with  the  following  local  memo- 
randum: \Villimoteswick,the  chief  seat  of  the  an- 
cient family  of  Ridley,  is  situated  two  miles  above 
the  confluence  of  the  Allon  and  Tyne.  It  was  a 
house  of  strength,  as  a[)pears  from  one  oblong  tow- 
er, still  in  tolerable  preservation.***"  It  has  been 
long  in  possession  of  the  Blacket  family.  Hardrid- 
ing  Dick  is  not  an  epithet  referring  to  horseman- 
ship, but  means  Richard  Ridley  of  Hardri<ling,ttt 


*  See  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  border,  vol.  i,  p.  250. 

t  Pronounced  Awboiiy. 

\  Skelp  signifies  slap,  or  rather  is  the  same  \\ ord  which 
was  originally  spelled  schlap. 

§  Hold  t/ieirjaw,  a  vulgar  expression  stiU  in  use. 

II  Got  stolen,  or  were  plundered;  a  very  likely  t  v  liiia- 
tion  of  the  frav. 

IXeck.        "Punch.  ttBelly.  ttHellov.ing. 

5§  Silly  slut.  The  border  bard  calls  her  so,  bi  eause 
she  was  weeping  for  her  slain  husband;  a  loss  which  he 
seems  to  think  might  be  soon  repaired. 

[I  |i  The  bailiff  of  Haltwhistle  seems  to  have  arrived  when 
the  fray  was  over.  This  supporter  of  social  order  is  treat- 
ed with  characteristic  irreverence  by  the  moss-trooping 
poet. 

H^  An  iron  pot  with  two  ears. 

•**  Willimoteswiek  was,  in  prior  editions,  confoiuided 
with  Ridley  hall,  situated  two  miles  lower,  on  the  same 
side  of  the  Tyne,  the  hereditai-y  seat  of  William  C.  Lowes, 
esq. 

++t  Ridley,  the  bishop  and  martyr,  was,  aoeonling  to 
some  authorities,  bom  at  Hardridiiig,  where  a  chair  was 
preserved,  called  the  bishop's  chair.  Othei-s,  and  parti- 
cularly his  biographer  and  namesake.  Dr.  Glocester  Rid- 
ley, assign  the  honour  of  the  martyr's  birth  to  Willimo- 
teswiek. 


104 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  seat  of  anotlicr  family  of  that  name,  which,  in 
the  time  of  Charles  I,  was  sold  on  account  of  the 
expenses  incurred  by  the  loyalty  of  tlic  proprietor, 
the  immediate  ancestor  of  sir  .Matthew  Ridley. 
Will  of  tlie  W'a'  seems  to  be  William  Ridley  of 
Waltown,  so  called  from  its  situation  on  the  great 
Roman  wall.  Thirlwall  c;islle,  whence  the  clan 
of  Thirl  walls  derived  their  name,  is  situated  on 
the  small  river  of  Tipiiel,  near  the  western  boun- 
tlary  of  Nortiuiniberland.  It  is  near  the  wall,  and 
takes  its  name  from  the  rampart  having  been  thirl- 
ed, i.  e.  ])ierced,  or  breatiied,  in  its  vicinity.  Fea- 
tlierstone  castle  lies  souili  of  the  Tyne,  towards 
Alston-moor,  .\lbany  Featherslonhaugh,  the  chief 
of  that  ancient  family,  made  a  figure  in  the  reign 
of  Edward  VI.  .V  feud  did  certainly  exist  between 
the  Ridley  s  and  Featherstones,  productive  of  such 
consequences  as  the  ballad  narrates.  34  Oct.  '■Zidn 
Henrici  Svi.  Tm/iusitio  caj)t.  ajitul  Haiitivlustle,  sitp. 
visum  cotpus  Al-xandrt  Feutherston,  Gen.  apiid 
Grcnsilhatisrh,  ft'lonice  iiiterfecti,  9,1  Oct.  per  jVT- 
colnum  Rii'lley'de  Unthank'e,  Gen.  ILigon  Ridle, 
JVicolaum  Ridle,  et  alios  ejusdem  nomiiiis.  Nor 
were  tlie  Featherstones  without  their  revenge;  for, 
S6to  Henrici  Svi,  we  have — Utlagatio  ..Yicolai 
Featherston,  ac  Thome  JVyxson,  ect.,  eat.,  pro 
homicidio  Will  Ridle  de  Morcde. 

13.  .Tames  backitl  the  cuuse  of  that  mock  prince, 
Wai-beck,  that  Fkiuish  counterfeit. 
Who  on  the  gibbc-t  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  with  Snin  y's  power, 
What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower.— P.  58. 

The  story  of  Perkin  Warbeck,  or  Richard,  duke 
of  York,  is  well  known.  In  1495,  he  was  received 
honourably  in  Scotland;  and  James  IV,  after  con- 
ferring upon  him  in  marriage  his  own  relation, 
the  lady  Catiiarine  Gordon,  made  war  on  England 
in  behalf  of  his  pretensions.  To  retaliate  an  in- 
vasion of  England,  Surrey  advanced  into  Berwick- 
shire at  the  head  of  consideralile  forces,  but  re- 
treated after  taking  the  inconsiderable  fortress  of 
Ayton.  Ford,  in  his  Dramatic  Chronicle  of  Per- 
kin Warbeck,  makes  the  most  of  this  inroad: 

Surrey.  Ai-e  all  onr  braving  enemies  shrunk  back, 

Hid  in  the  fogges  of  their  distemper'd  climate, 
Not  daring  to  behold  our  colours  wave 
In  spight  of  this  infected  ayre:'  Can  they 
Locke  on  the  strength  of  Cundrestine  defac't; 
The  glorie  of  Heydouhall  devasted;  that 
Of  Enington  cast  downe;  the  pile  of  Fulden 
Overthrowiie:    And  this,  the  strongest  of  their 

forts. 
Old  Ayton  Castle,  yeelded  and  demolished. 
And  yet  not  peepe  abroad?  the  Scots  are  bold, 
Hardie  in  battayle,  but  it  seems  the  cause 
They  undertake  considered,  appeares 
Unjoynted  in  the  frame  on't. 

14.  For  here  be  some  have  prick'd  as  fai-, 
On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar; 
Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  IJothan's  ale. 
And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale; 
Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 
And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods.— P.  5S. 
The  garrisons  of  the  English  castles  of  Wark, 
Norham,  and   Berwick,  were,  as  may  be  easily 
supposed,  very  troublesome  neighbours  to  Scot- 
land.   Sir  Richard  Maitland  of  Ledingtou  wrote 
a  poem,  called  "  The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort;" 
when  his  barony  of  Blythe,  in  Lauderdale,   was 
harried  by  Rowland  Foster,  the  English  captain  of 
Wark,  with  his  company,  to  the  number  of  300 
men.    They  spoiled  the  poetical  knight  of  5001) 
sheep,  200  nolt,  30  horses  and  mares;  the  whole 
fm-niture  of  his  house  of  Blytbe,  worth  100  pounds 
Scots,  ^/.8:  6:  8,)  and  every  thing  else  that  was 


portable.  "This  spoil  was  committed  the  16th 
day  of  May,  1570,  (and  the  said  sir  Richard  was 
three-score  and  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  grown 
blind,)  in  time  of  peace;  when  nane  of  that  coun- 
try libpmcd  (expected)  such  a  thing." — "The 
Blind  Baron's  Comfort"  consists  in  a  string  of  puns 
on  the  word  Blythe,  the  name  of  the  lands  thus 
despoiled.  Like  John  Littlewit,  he  had  "a  con- 
ceit left  him  in  his  misery, — a  miserable  conceit.' 
The  last  line  of  the  text  contains  a  phrase,  by 
which  the  borderers  jocularly  intimated  the  burn- 
ing a  house.  When  the  .Maxwells,  in  1685,  burn- 
id  the  castle  of  Lochwood,  they  said  they  did  so 
to  give  the  lady  Johnstone  "  light  to  set  her  hood." 
Nor  was  the  phrase  inapplicable;  for,  in  a  letter, 
to  which  1  have  mislaid  the  reference,  the  earl  of 
Northumberland  writes  to  the  king  and  council, 
that  he  dressed  himself,  at  midnight,  at  Wark- 
worth,  by  the  blaze  of  the  neighbouring  villages, 
burned  by  the  Scottish  marauders. 

l.'i.  Thepriest  of  Shoreswood.— P.  58. 

This  churchman  seems  to  have  been  a-kin  to 
Welsh  the  vicar  of  St.  Thomas  of  Exeter,  a  leader 
among  the  Cornish  insurgents  in  1549.  "This 
man,"  says  Hollinshed,  "had  many  good  things 
in  him.  He  was  of  no  great  stature,  but  well  set, 
and  mighlilie  compact:  he  was  a  very  good  wres- 
tler; shot  well,  both  in  the  lung-bow,  and  also  in 
the  cross-bow;  he  handled  his  hand-gun  and  peece 
very  well;  he  was  a  very  good  woodman,  and  a 
hardie,  and  such  a  one  as  would  not  give  iiis  head 
for  the  polling,  or  his  beard  for  the  washing.  He 
was  a  companion  in  any  exercise  of  activitie,  and  of 
a  courteous  and  gentle  behaviour.  He  descended 
of  a  good  honest  parentage,  being  borne  at  Pene- 
verin,  in  Cornwall;  and  yet,  in  this  rebellion,  an 
arch-captain,  and  a  principal  dooer." — Vol.  iv,  p. 
958.  4to  edition.  This  model  of  clerical  talents  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  hanged  upon  the  steeple  of  his 
own  church. 

16.  And  of  that  grot  where  olivis  nod. 
Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 
St.  Rosalie  retired  to  God.— P.  58. 

"  Sante  Rosalia  was  of  Palermo,  and  born  of  a 
very  noble  family,  and,  when  very  young,  abhorred 
so  much  the  vanities  of  this  world,  and  avoided 
the  converse  of  mankind,  resolving  to  dedicate 
herself  wholly  to  God  Almighty,  that  she,  by  di- 
vine inspiration,  forsook  her  father's  house,  and 
never  was  more  heard  of,  till  her  body  was  found 
in  that  cleft  of  a  rock,  on  that  almost  inaccessible 
mountain,  where  now  the  chapel  is  built;  and  they 
affirm,  she  was  can-ied  up  there  by  the  hands  of  an- 
gels; for  that  place  was  not  formerly  so  accessible 
(as  now  it  is)  in  the  days  of  the  saint;  and  even 
now  it  is  a  vei-y  bad,  and  steepy,  and  break-neck 
way.  In  this  frightful  place,  this  holy  woman  lived 
a  great  many  years,  feeding  only  on  what  she  found 
growing  on  that  barren  mountain,  and  creeping 
into  a  narrow  and  dreadful  cleft  in  a  rock,  which 
was  always  dropping  wet,  and  was  her  place  of 
retirement,  as  well  as  prayer;  having  worn  out 
even  the  rock  with  her  knees,  in  a  certain  place, 
which  is  now  opened  on  purpose  to  show  it  to  those 
who  come  here.  This  chapel  is  very  richly 
adorned;  and  on  the  spot  where  the  saint's  dead 
body  was  discovered,  which  is  just  beneath  the 
hole  in  the  rock,  which  is  opened  on  purpose,  as 
I  said,  there  is  a  very  fine  statue  of  niarble,  re- 
presenting her  in  a  lying  posture,    railed  in  all 


MARMION. 


105 

about  with  fine  iron  and  brass  work;  and  the  al-|chHnge  was,  that  St.  Rule  is  said  to  have  broueht 
tar,  on  which  they  say  mass,  is  built  just  over  it.  "i  to  Scotland  the  reliques  of  St.  Andrew. 
—  Voya:^e  to  Sicily  arid  Ma'.ta,  by  Mr.  John  Dry-  i 
den,  (son  to  the  poet,)  p.  107. 

17.  Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves,  and  two  creeds.— P.  59.  5t.  t  lUan  was  a  Scottish  saint  of  some  reputation. 

Friar  John   understood  the  soporific  virtue  of  Although  popery  is,  with  us,  matter  of  abomina- 
his  beads  and  breviary,  as  well  as  his  namesake '  ,V°°'  >*=^  ^•'f.  "^^'^"^  P«ople  still  retain  some  of 


20.  Thence  to  St.  Fillan's  blessed  well. 

Whose  spring-  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore.— P.  59. 


in  Rabelais.  "  But  Gargantua  could  not  sleep  by 
any  means,  on  which  side  soever  he  turned  liim- 
self.    Whereupon  the  monk  said  to  him,  I  never 


the  supei-stitions  connected  with  it.  There  are,  in 
Perthshire,  several  wells  and  springs  dedicated  to 
St.  Fillan,  which  are  still  places  of  pilgrimage  and 


sleep  soundlv  but  when  I  am  at  sermon  orpravers.  °ftfi-'"gs.  ^^jen  .among  the  protestants.  They  are 
Let  us  therefore  begin,  you  and  I,  the  seven  peni-  ^^^^  powerful  in  cases  of  madness;  and,  in  some 
lential  psalms,  to  try  whether  you  shall  not  quick- 
ly fall  asleep.  The  conceit  pleased  Gargantua 
very'  well;  and,  beginning  the  first  of  these  psahns, 
as  soon  as  they  came  to  bead  quorum,  they  fell 
asleep,  both  the  one  and  the  other." 

18.  The  stimmoued  palmer  came  in  place; 


In  his  black  m.intle  was  he  clad, 
Wnh  Peter's  keys,  in  cloth  of  red, 
On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought.— P.  59. 

A^a/wer,  opposed  to  a. pilgrim,  was  one  who  made 
It  his  sole  business  to  visit  different  holy  shrines; 
travelling  incessantly,  and  subsisting  by  charitv: 
whereas  the  pilgrim  retired  to  his  usual  home  and 
occupations,  when  he  had  paid  his  devotions  at 
the  particular  spot  which  was  the  object  of  his  pil- 
grimage.    The  palmer  seems  to  have  been    the 


of  very  late  occurrence,  lunatics  have  been  left  all 
night  bound  to  the  holy  stone,  in  confidence  that 
the  saint  would  cure  and  unloose  them  bvfoiu 
morning. 

NOTES    TO    CiSTO    II. 
1.  The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourished  once  a  forest  fair.— P.  60. 
Ettrick   Forest,  now  a  range  ot    mountainous 
sheep-walks,  was  anciently  resei-ved  for  the  pleii- 
sure  of  the  royal  chase.  Since  it  was  disparked, 
the  wood  has  been,  by  degress,  almost  totally  de- 
stroyed, although,  wherever  protected  froni  the 
sheep,   copses  soon  arise  without  any  planting. 
When  the  king  hunted  there,  he  often  summoned 
the  array  of  the  country  to  meet  and  assist  his 
sport.    Thus,  in  1528,  James  V^    "  made  procla- 


Qiixstionarii  of  the  ancient  Scottish  canons  12421  niation  to  all  lords,  barons,  gentlemen,  landward- 
and  1296.     There  is,  in  the  Bannatyne   MS.,  ai™en,  and  freeholders,  that  they  should   compear 


cient  spelling.) 

Syne  shaped  them  up  to  loup  on  leas, 

Two  tabards  of  the  tartan; 
They  counted  nought  what  their  clouts  were 

When  sew"d  them  on,  in  certain. 
Syne  Clampit  up  St.  Peter's  keys. 

Made  of  an  old  i-ed  gartane: 
St.  James's  shells,  on  t'other  side,  shows 

As  pretty  as  a  partane 
Toe, 
On  Symraye  and  his  brother. 

19.  To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound. 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray. 
Where  good  St.  Rule  his  holy  lay, 
Fi-om  midnight  to  th^-  dawn  of  day, 
Sung  to  the  billows'  soimd.— P.  59. 


parts  of  that  country;  and  also  warned  all  gentle- 
men that  had  good"  dogs,  to  bring  them,  that  he 
might  hunt  in  the  said  country,  as  he  ])leased:  The 
whilk  the  earl  of  Argyle,  the  earl  of  Huntley,  the 
earl  of  Athole,  and  so  all  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen 
of  the  highlands,  did,  and  brought  their  hounds 
with  them  in  like  manner  to  hunt  with  the  king, 
us  he  pleased. 

"  Tile  second  day  of  June  the  king  passed  out 
of  Edinburgh  to  the  hunting,  with  many  of  the 
nobles  and  gentlemen  of  Scotland  witii  him,  to  the 
number  of  twelve  thousand  men;  and  then  past  to 
Mesrsitland,  and  hounded  and  hawked  all  the  coun- 


try and  bounds:  that  is  to  say,  Crammat,  Pappert- 

St.  Regulus,  (.St(/«/ff,  St.  Rule,)  amonk  of  Pa-,  *"*^>  St.    Marylaws,    Carlavirick,  Chapel,  Ewiu- 

■    ■    ■  ■"  doores,  and  Longhope.  I  heard  say, he  slew,  in  these 

bounds,  eighteen  score  of  harts.  "* 

These  huntings  had,  of  course,  a  militar}-  cha- 
racter, and  attendance  upon  them  was  a  \iart  of  the 
duty  of  a  vassal.  The  act  for  abolishing  ward,  or 
militarj'  tenures,  in  Scotland,  enumerates  the  ser- 
vices of  hunting,  hosting,  watching,  and  warding, 
as  those  which  were  in  future  to  be  illegal. 

Taylor,  the  water-poet,  has  given  an  account  of 
the  mode  in  which  these  liuntings  were  conducted 
in  the   highlands   of  Scotland,  in  the   seventeenth 


trae,  in  Achaia,  warned  by  a  vision,  is  said,  A.D. 
370,  to  have  sailed  westward  until  he  landed  at 
St.  Andrews,  in  Scotland,  where  he  founded  a  cha- 
pel and  tower.  The  latter  is  still  standing;  and, 
though  we  may  doubt  the  precise  date  of  its  foun- 
dation, is  certainly  one  of  the  most  ancient  edifices 
in  Scotland.  A  cave,  nearly  fronting  the  ruinous 
castle  of  the  archbishops  of  St.  Andrews,  bears 
the  name  of  this  religious  person.  It  is  difficult 
of  access;  and  the  rock  in  which  it  is  hewed  is 
■washed  bv  the  German  ocean.   It  is  nearly  round 


about  ten  feet  in  diameter,  and  the  same  in  height!  I  century,  having  been  present  at  Br»mar  upon  such 
On  one  side  is  a  sort  of  stone  altar;  on  the  other  an  j  ^^^  occasion: 

aperture  into  an  inner  den,  where  the  miserable!  " 'I'here  did  I  find  the  truly  noble  and  right 
ascetic,  who  inhabited  this  dwelling,  probablv  \  honourable  lords,  John  Erskine,  earl  ot  Mar; 
sleY»t.    At  full  tide  egress  and  regress  are  hardlv   James  Stuart,  earl  of  Munay;   George  Gordon, 


practicable.  As  Regulus  first  colonised  the  me- 
tropolitan see  of  Scotland,  and  converted  the  inha- 
bitants in  the  vicinity,  he  has  some  reason  to  com- 
plain, that  the  ancient  name  of  Killrule,  (  Celli  Re- 
g^,)  should  have  been  superseded,  even  in  favour 
of  the  tutelar  saint  of  Scotland.  The  reason  of  the 


earl  of  Engye,  son  and  heir  to  the  marquis  of  Hunt- 
ley; James  Erskine,  earl  of  Hutliaii;  and  John,  lord 
Erskiue,  son  and  heir  to  the  earl  of  Mar,  and  their 
countesses,  witii  mv  much  honoured,  and  my  last 
assured  and  approved  friend,  sir  William  .Murray, 


•  Pitscotiie's  History  of  Scotland,  folio  edition,  p.  143. 


106 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


knight  of  Abercaniey,  and  hundred  of  others, 
knights,  esquires,  and  their  followers;  all  and 
every  man,  in  general,  in  one  habit,  as  if  Lycurijus 
had  been  there,  and  made  l;i\vs  of  eciuality :  for  once 
in  the  year,  whiclt  is  tiic  whole  month  of  Ausjnst, 
and  sometimes  part  of  September,  many  of  tlie 
nobility  and  gentry  of  the  kingdom  (for  their  plea- 
sure) ilo  conn:  into  these  highland  countries  to 
hunt:  whore  they  do  conform  themselves  to  the 
habit  of  ihc  higiiiand-mcn,  who,  for  the  most  part, 
speak  nothing  bat  Iriah;  and,  in  former  time,  were 
tliose  people  which  were  called  the  Iied-s/ia)ik-s. 
Their  habit  is — sliocs,  wiili  but  one  sole  a-piece; 
stockings,  (Mliich  tliey  call  short  hose,)  made  of  a 
warm  stuff  of  diverse  colours,  which  they  call  tar- 
tan: as  for  breeclies,  many  of  them,  nor  their  fore- 
fathers, never  wore  any,  but  a  jerkin  of  the  same 
stuff  that  their  hose  is  of;  their  garters  being  bands 
or  wreaths  of  hay,  or  straw;  with  a  plaid  about  their 
shoulders;  which  is  a  mantle  of  diverse  colours, 
much  finer  and  lighter  stufT  than  their  hose;  with 
blue  flat  caps  on  their  heads;  a  handkerchief,  knit 
with  two  knots,  about  their  necks:  and  thus  they 
are  attired.  Now  their  weapons  are — long  bowes 
and  forked  arrows,  swords,  and  targets;  harque- 
busses,  muskets,  durks,  and  Lochaber  axes.  With 
these  arms  I  found  many  of  them  armed  for  the 
hunting.  As  for  their  attire,  any  man,  of  what 
degree  soever,  that  comes  amongst  them,  must  not 
disdain  to  wear  it;  for  if  they  do,  then  they  will  dis- 
dain to  hunt,  or  willingly  to  bring  in  their  dogs; 
but  if  men  be  kind  unto  them,  and  be  in  their  habit, 
then  are  they  conquered  with  kindness,  and  the 
sport  will  be  plentiful.  This  was  the  reason  that 
1  fomid  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  those 
shapes.     But  to  proceed  to  the  hunting: 

"  My  good  lord  of  Mar  having  put  me  into 
that  shape,  I  rode  with  him  from  his  house,  where 
I  saw  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  called  the  castle 
of  Kindroghit.  It  was  built  by  king  Malcolm 
Canmore,  (for  a  hunting  house,)  who  reigned  in 
Scotland,  wlien  Edward  the  confessor,  Harold,  and 
Norman  William  reigned  m  England.  I  speak 
of  it,  because  it  was  the  last  house  I  saw  in  those 
parts;  for  I  was  the  space  of  twelve  days  after, 
before  I  saw  either  house,  cornfield,  or  habitation 
for  any  creature,  but  deer,  wild  horses,  wolves, 
and  such  like  creatures — which  made  me  doubt 
that  I  should  never  have  seen  a  house  again. 

"  Thus,  the  first  day,  we  travelled  eight  miles, 
where  there  were  small  cottages,  built  on  purpose 
to  lodge  in,  which  they  call  Lonquhards.  I  tliank 
my  good  lord  Erskine,  he  commanded  that  I  should  i 
always  be  lodged  in  his  lodging:  the  kitchen  being! 
always  on  the  side  of  a  bank:  many  kettles  and  pots  \ 
boiling,  and  many  spits  turning  and  winding,  with 
great  variety  of  cheer, — as  venison  baked;  sodden,  j 
rost,  and  stewed  beef;  mutton,  goats,  kid,  hares,  I 
fresh  salmon,  pigeons,  hens,  capons,  chickens, : 
partridge,  muir-coots,  heathcocks,  caperkellies, 
and  termagants;  good  ale,  sacke,  white  and  clai-et, ! 
tent,  (or  allegant,)  with  most  potent  aquavitie.        i 

"  All  these,  and  more  than  these,  we  had  con-' 
tinually  in  superfluous  abundance,  caught  by  fal- ; 
coners,  fowlers,  fishers,  and  brought  by  my  lord's' 
tenants  and  purveyors  to  victual  our  camps,  which 
consisteth  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  hundred  men  and 
horses.  The  manner  of  the  hunting  is  this:  Five 
or  six  hundred  men  do  rise  early  in  the  morning, 
and  they  do  disperse  themselves  divers  ways,  arid 
seven,  eight,  or  ten  miles'  compass  they  do  bring, 
or  chase  in  the  deer,  in  many  herds,  (two;  three. 


or  four  hundred  in  a  herd,)  to  such  or  such  a  place 
as  the  noblemen  shall  appoitit  them;  that,  when  day 
is  come,  tiie  lords  and  gentlemen  of  their  compa- 
nies do  ride  or  go  to  the  said  places,  sometimes 
wailing  up  to  the  middles,  through  burnsand  rivers; 
and  then,  they  being  come  to  the  place,  do  lie 
down  on  the  ground,  till  those  aforesaid  scouts, 
which  are  called  the  Tinkhell,  do  bring  down  the 
deer;  but  as  the  proverb  says  of  a  bad  cook,  so  these 
tinkhellmen  do  lick  tiieir  own  fingers;  for,  besides 
their  bows  and  arrows,  which  they  carry  with  them, 
we  can  hear,  now  and  then,  a  harquebuss  or  a  mus- 
ket go  off,  which  they  do  seldom  discharge  in  vain. 
Then,  after  we  had  staid  there  three  hours,  or 
thereabouts,  we  might  perceive  the  deer  appear 
on  tiie  hills  round  about  us,  (their  heads  making 
a  sliow  like  a  wood,)  which,  being  followed  close 
by  the  tinkhell,  are  chased  down  into  the  valley 
where  we  lay;  then  all  the  valley,  on  each  side, 
being  way-laid  with  a  hundred  couple  of  strong 
Irish  gi-eyhounds,  they  are  all  let  loose,  as  occa- 
sion serves,  upon  the  herd  of  deer,  that,  with  dogs, 
guns,  arrows,  dirks,  and  daggers,  in  the  space  of 
two  hours,  fourscore  fat  deer  were  slain;  which 
after  are  disposed  of,  some  one  way,  and  some  an- 
other, twenty  and  thirty  miles,  "and  more  than 
enough  left  for  us  to  make  merry  withal,  at  our 
rendezvous." 


Wliere  erst  the  outlaw  drew  )ns  arrow.— P.  60. 

The  tale  of  the  outlaw  Murray,  who  held  out 
Newark  Castle  and  Ettriek  Forest  against  the  king, 
may  be  found  in  the  "  Border  Minstrelsy,"  vol.  i. 
In  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  among  other  causes  of 
James  the  Fifth's  charter  to  the  burgh,  is  men- 
tioned, that  the  citizens  assisted  him  to  suppress 
this  dangeious  outlaw. 

3.  —lone  St.  Mary's  silent  lake.— P.  61. 

This  beautiful  sheet  of  water  forms  the  reser- 
voir from  which  the  Yarrow  takes  its  source.  It 
is  connected  with  a  smaller  lake,  called  the  Loch 
of  the  Lowes,  and  surrounded  by  mountains.  In 
the  winter,  it  is  still  frequented  "by  flights  of  wild 
swans;  hence  my  friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines: 
Tlie  swans  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 
Float  double,  swan  and  shadow. 

Near  the  lower  extremity  of  the  lake,  are  the 
ruins  of  Dryhope  tower,  the  birth-place  of  Mary 
Scott,  daughter  of  Philip  Scntt  of  Dry  hope,  and 
famous  by  the  traditional  name  of  the  Flower  of 
Yarrow.  She  was  married  to  Walter  Scott  of 
Harden,  no  less  renowned  for  his  depredations, 
than  his  bride  for  her  beauty.  Her  romantic  ap- 
pellation was,  in  latter  davs,  with  equal  justice, 
conferred  on  miss  Mary  Lilias  Scott,  the  last  of 
the  elder  branch  of  the  Harden  family.  The  author 
well  remembers  the  talent  and  spirit  of  the  latter 
Flower  of  Yarrow,  though  age  had  tlien  injured 
the  charms  which  procured  her  the  name.  The 
words  usually  sung  to  the  air  of  "  Tweeds  ide," 
beginning  "  W"hat  beauties  does  Flora  di  sclose," 
were  composed  in  her  honour. 

4.  For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 

Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low.— P.  61. 

The  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  (f/e  lacu- 
bi/s)  was  situated  on  the  eastern  side  of  ttie  lake, 
to  which  it  gives  name.  It  was  injured  by  tiie  clan 
of  Scott,  in  a  feud  with  the  Cranstouns;  but  con- 
tinued to  be  a  place  of  worship  dm-ing  the  seven- 
teentli  century.  Tiie  vestiges  of  the  building  can 
now  scarcely  be  traced:  but  the  burial  ground  is 
still  used  as  a  cemetery.    A  funeral,  in  a  spot  so 


MARMION. 


lor 


Tery  retired,  has  an  uncommonly  striking  effect. 
The  vestiges  of  the  chaplain's  house  are  vet  visi- 
ble. Being  in  a  high  situation,  it  commanded  a 
full  view  of  the  lake,  with  the  opposite  mountain 
of  Bourhope,  belonging,  with  the  lake  itself,  to 
lord  Xapier.  On  the  left  hand  is  the  tower  of  Drj- 
hope,  mentioned  in  the  preceding  note. 

5,  the  wizard's  grave; 

That  wizard  priest's,  whose  bones  are  tlirust 
From  company  of  holy  dust. — P.  61. 
At  one  corner  of  the  burial  ground  of  the  demo- 
lished chapel,  but  without  its  precincts  is  a  small 
mound,  called  Binram's  corse,  where  tradition  de- 
posits the  remains  of  a  necromantic  priest,  tlie  for- 
mer tenant  of  the  chaplainry.  His  story  much  re- 
sembles that  of  Ambrosio  in  the  "  Monk,"  and  lias 
been  made  the  theme  of  a  ballad,  by  my  friend 
Mr.  James  Hogg,  more  poetically  designated  the 
Ettrick  Sliepherd.  To  his  volume,  entitled  the 
"  Mountain  Bai-d,"  which  contains  this,  and  many 
other  legendary  stories  and  ballads  of  great  merit, 
1  refer  the  curious  reader. 

6.  —dark  Lochskene.— P.  61. 
A  mountain  lake,  of  considerable  size,  at  the 
head  of  Motfat- water.  The  character  of  the  sce- 
nery is  uncommonly  savage;  and  the  earn,  or  Scot- 
tish eagle,  lias,  for  many  ages,  built  its  nest  year-' 
Iv  upon  an  islet  in  the  lake.  Lochskene  dis- 
charges itself  into  a  brook,  which,  after  a  short  and 
precipitate  course,  falls  from  a  cataract  of  immense 
height  and  gloom)'  grandeur,  called,  from  its  ap- 
pearance, the  "  Gray  Mare's  Tail."  The  "  Giant's 
Grave,"  afterwards  mentioned,  isa  sort  of  trench, 
which  bears  that  name,  a  little  way  from  the  foot 
of  the  cataract.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  battery 
designed  to  command  the  pass. 

7,  \Vh.-re,  from  high  Whitby's  cloistered  pile, 
Boiuid  to  St.  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle.— P.  d2. 

The  abbey  of  Whitby,  in  the  Archdeaconry  of 
Cleaveland,  on  thi'  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  found- 
ed A.D.  657,  in  consequence  of  a  vow  of  Oswy, 
king  of  Northumberland.  It  contained  both  monks 
and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order;  but,  contrary 
to  what  was  usual  in  such  establishments,  the  ab- 
bess was  superior  to  the  abbot.  The  monastery 
was  afterwards  ruined  by  the  Danes,  and  rebuild- 
ed  bv  William  Percy  in  the  reign  of  the  conqueror. 
There  were  no  nuns  there  in  Henry  the  Eighth's 
linie,  nor  long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby  ab- 
be) are  very  inagniticent. 

Lindisfarn,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  Xorthumber- 
land,  was  called  Holy  Island,  from  the  sanctity  of 
its  ancient  monastery,  and  from  its  having  been  the 
episcopal  seat  of  the  see  of  Durham  during  the 
early  ages  of  British  Christianity.  A  succession 
of  holy  men  held  that  office:  but  their  merits  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert, 
who  was  sixth  bisliop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestow- 
ed the  name  of  his  "  patrimony"  upon  the  exten- 
sive property  of  the  sec.  The  ruins  of  the  monas-  j 
tery  upon  Holy  Island  betoken  great  antiquity. 
The  arches  are,  in  general,  strictly  Saxon;  and  the' 
pillars  which  su[)port  them,  short,  strong,  and 
massy.  In  some  places,  however,  there  are  point- 
ed windows,  which  indicate  that  the  building  has 
been  repaired  at  a  period  long  subsequent  to  the ' 
original  foundation.  The  exterior  ornaments  of  the 
building  being  of  a  light  sandy  stone,  have  been 
wasted,  as  described  in  the  text.  Lindisfarn  is 
not  properly  an  island,  but  rather,  as  the  vene- 
rable Bede  has  termed  it,  a  semi-isle:  for,  although 


surrounded  by  the  sea  at  full  tide,  the  ebb  leaves 
the  sands  dry  between  it  and  the  opposite  coast 
of  Northumberland,  from  which  it  is  about  three 
miles  distant. 

8.  Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told 
How  to  their  house  tiiree  barons  bold 
Must  menial  seniee  do. — P.  63. 

j  The  popular  account  of  this  curious  service, 
:  which  was  probably  considerably  exaggerated,  is 
'thus  given  in  "  A  true  Account,"  printed  and  cir- 
culated at  Whitby:  "  In  the  fifth  year  of  the  reign 
of  Henry  II,  after  the  conquest  of  England  by  Wil- 
liam, duke  of  Normandy,  the  lord  of  Uglebarnby, 
then  called  William  De  Bruce:  the  lordof  Smea- 
ton,  called  Ralph  de  Percy;  with  a  gentleman  and 
freeholder  called  Allatson,  did,  on  the  sixteenth 
of  October,  1159,  appoint  to  meet  and  hunt  the 
wild  boar,  in  a  certain  wood,  or  desert  place,  be- 
longing to  the  abbot  of  Whitby;  the  place's  name 
was  Eskdale-side,  and  the  abbot's  name  was  Sed- 
man.  Then,  these  young  gentlemen  being  met, 
with  their  hounds  and  boar  staves,  in  the  place  be- 
|fore  mentioned,  and  there  having  found  a  great 
wild  boar,  the  hounds  ran  him  well  near  about  the 
chapel  and  hermitage  of  Eskdale-side,  where  was 
a  monk  of  Whitby,  who  was  a  hermit.  The  boar, 
being  very  sorely  pursued,  and  dead-run,  took  in 
at  the  cha[)el  door,  there  laid  him  down,  and  pre- 
sently died.  The  lierrait  shut  the  hounds  out  of 
the  chapel,  and  kept  himself  within  at  his  medita- 
tions and  prayers,  the  hounds  standing  at  bay  with- 
out. The  genilemen,  in  the  thick  of  tlie  wood,  be- 
ing just  behind  their  game,  iuUowed  the  cry  of 
their  hounds,  and  so  came  to  the  hermitage,  call- 
ing on  the  iiermit,  who  opened  the  door,  and  came 
j  forth;  and  within  they  found  the  boar  lying  dead; 
I  for  which,  the  gentlemen,  in  a  very  great  fur}',  be- 
cause the  hounds  were  put  from  tlieir  game,  did 
I  most  violently  and  cruelly  run  at  tlie  hermit  with 
.  their  boar-staves,  whereby  he  soon  after  died. 
I  Thereupon  the  gentlemen,  perceiving  and  knowing 
that  they  were  in  peril  of  death,  took  sanctuary  at 
Scarborough;  but  at  that  time  the  abbot  being  in 
very  great  favour  with  the  king,  removed  them 
out  of  the  sanctuary;  whereby  they  came  in  danger 
of  the  law,  and  not  to  be  privileged,  but  likely 
to  have  the  severity  of  the  lav\-,  which  was  death 
for  death.  But  the  hermit  being  a  holy  and  devout 
man,  and  at  the  point  of  death,  sent  for  the  abbot, 
and  desired  him  to  send  for  the  gentlemen  who 
had  wounded  him.  The  abbot  so  doing,  the  gen- 
tlemen came;  and  the  hermit,  being  ven  sick  and 
weak,  said  unto  them,  '  I  am  siu-e  to  die  of  those 
wounds  you  have  giveu  me.'  The  abbot  answered, 
'  They  shall  as  surely  die  for  the  same.'  But  the 
hernii'i  answered,  '  Not  so,  for  1  v.ill  freely  forgive 
them  my  death,  if  they  will  be  content  to  be  en- 
joined the  penance  I  shall  lay  on  them  for  the  safe- 
guard of  their  souls.'  The  gentlemen,  being  pre- 
sent, bade  him  save  their  lives.  Tlien  said  the 
hermit,  •  You  and  yours  shall  hold  your  lands  of 
the  abbot  of  ^Vhitby  and  his  successors,  in  this 
manner:  That,  upon  Ascension-day,  you,  or  some 
of  you,  shall  come  to  the  wood  of  the  tjtray-heads, 
which  is  in  Eskdale-side,  the  same  day  at  sun-ris- 
ing, and  there  shall  the  abbot's  ofiicer  blow  his 
horn,  to  the  intent  that  you  may  know  where  to 
find  liim;  and  he  shall  deliver  unto  you,  ^^  illiam 
de  Bruce,  ten  stakes,  eleven  strout  slowers,  and 
eleven  yethers,  to  be  cut  by  you,  or  some  of  yon, 
with  a  knife  of  one  penny  price;  and  you,  Ualph 
de  Percy,  shall  take  twenty-one  of  each  sort,  to 


108 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


be  cut  in  the  same  manner;  and  you,  Allatson, 
shall  lake  nine  of  each  sort,  to  be  cut  «s  aforesaid; 
and  to  be  taken  on  your  backs,  and  carried  to  the 
town  of  Whitby,  and  to  be  tlierc  l)efore  nine  of 
the  clock  the  same  day  before  mentioned.  At  the 
same  hour  of  nine  of  the  clock,  if  it  be  full  sea, 
your  labour  and  service  shall  cease;  and,  if  low 
water,  each  of  you  shall  set  your  stakes  to  the  brim, 
each  stake  one  yard  from  the  other,  and  soyether 
them  on  each  side  with  your  yelhers;  and  so  stake 
on  each  side  with  your  strout  slowers,  that  they 
may  stand  three  tides,  without  removing  by  the 
force  thereof.  Each  of  you  shall  do,  make,  and 
execute  the  said  service,  at  that  very  hour,  every 
year,  except  it  be  full  sea  at  that  hour:  but  when 
It  shall  so  fall  out,  this  service  shall  cease.  Vou 
shall  faithfully  do  this  in  remembrance  that  you 
did  most  cruelly  slay  me;  and  that  you  may  the 
better  call  to  God  for  mercy,  repeni  unfeignedly 
of  your  sins,  and  do  good  works.  The  officer  of 
Eskdale-side  shall  blow.  Out  on  yott!  Out  on  you!  i 
Out  on  you.'  for  this  heinous  crime.  If  you,  or 
vour  successors,  shall  refuse  this  service,  so  long 
as  it  shall  not  be  full  sea  at  the  aforesaid  hour, 
you,  or  vours,  shall  forfeit  your  lands  to  the  abbot 
of  Whitby,  or  his  successors.  This  1  entreat,  and 
earnestly  beg,  that  you  may  have  lives  and  goods 
preserved  for  this  service;  and  I  request  ot  you  to 
promise,  by  your  parts  in  heaven,  that  it  shall  be 
done  by  you,  and  your  successors,  as  is  aforesaid; 
and  1  will  confirm  it  by  the  faith  of  an  honest  man. ' 
Then  the  hermit  said,  '  My  soul  longeth  for  the 
Lord:  and  I  do  as  freely  forgive  these  men  my 
death,  as  Christ  forgave  the  thieves  on  the  cross.' 
And,  in  the  presence  of  the  abbot  and  the  rest  he 
said  moreover  these  words,  'In  maiuis  tuas.  Do- 
mine,  commendo  spintum  mciim,  a  vinculis  enim 
mortis  redemisti  me,  Domine  ventatis.  .imcn.' — 
So  he  yielded  up  tlie  ghost  the  eighth  day  ot  De- 
cember, Anno  Domini  1169,  whose  soul  God  have 
mercy  upon.    Amen. 

"This  service,"  it  is  added,  "  still  continues  to 
be  performed  with  the  prescribed  ceremonies, 
though  not  by  the  proprietors  in  person.  Part  of 
the  lands  charged  therewith  are  now  held  by  a 
gentleman  of  the  name  of  Herbert. " 

9.  The  lovely  Edelfled.— P.  63. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  king  Oswy,  who,  in 
gratitude  to  heaven  for  the  great  victory  whicli  he 
won  in  655,  against  Penda,  the  pagan  king  of  Nfer- 
cia,  dedicated  Edelfleda,  then  but  a  year  old,  to 
the  service  of  God  in  the  monastery  of  Whithv, 
of  which  St.  Hilda  was  then  abbess.  She  after- 
wards adorned  the  place  of  her  education  with 
great  magnificence. 

-of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 


Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone. 
When  holy  Hilda  pray"d.— 

how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail. 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  Ihiy  sail.— P.  63. 

These  two  miracles  are  much  insisted  upon  bv  all 
the  ancient  writers,  who  have  occasion  to  mention 
either  Whitby,  or  St.  Hilda.  The  relics  of  the 
snakes  which  infested  the  precincts  of  the  convent, 
and  were,  at  the  abbess'  prayer,  not  only  behead- 
ed, but  petrified,  are  still  found  about  the  rocks, 
and  are  termed  by  protestanl  fossilists  ammomtx. 

'I'he  other  miracle  is  thus  mentioned  by  Cam- 
den: "  It  is  also  asci-il)ed  to  the  power  of  her  sanc- 
tity, that  tiiese  wild  geese,  which,  in  the  winter, 
fly  in  great  flocks  If)  tlie  lakes  and  ri\ eis  uiifroxen 


in  the  southern  parts,  to  the  great  amazement  of 
every  one,  fall  down  suddenly  upon  the  ground, 
when  they  are  in  their  flight  over  certain  neigh- 
bouring fields  hereabouts:  a  relation  I  should  not 
have  made,  if  1  had  not  received  it  from  several 
credible  men.  But  those  who  are  less  inclined  to 
heed  superstition,  attribute  it  to  some  occult  qua- 
lily  ill  the  ground,  and  to  somewhat  of  antipathy 
between  it  and  the  geese,  such  as  they  say  is  be- 
twixt wolves  and  sc}lla-roots:  for,  that  such  hid- 
den tendencies  and  aversions,  as  we  call  sympa- 
thies, and  antipathies,  are  implanted  in  many  things 
by  provident  nature  for  the  preservation  of  them, 
is  a  thing  so  evident,  that  every  body  grants  it." 
The  geese,  it  is  almost  unnecessary  to  add,  have 
now  tbrgot  their  obeisance  to  St.  Hilda,  or  their 
antipathy  to  the  soil,  and  fly  over  Wliitby  with  as 
little  difficulty  as  any  where  else. 

11.  His  body's  restingf-place,  of  old. 

How  oft  their  patron  chang;ed,  they  told.— P.  6J. 

St.  Cuthbert  was,  in  tbe  choice  of  his  sepulture, 
one  of  the  most  mutable  and  imreasonable  saints 
in  the  calendar.  He  died  A.D.  686,  in  a  hermit- 
age upon  the  Fame  Islands,  having  resigned  the 
bishopric  of  Lindisfarn,  or  Holy  Island,  about 
two  years  before.  His  body  was  brought  to  Lindis- 
farn, where  itremained  until  adescent  of  the  Danes, 
about  r03,  when  the  monastery  was  nearly  destroy- 
eil.  The  monks  fled  to  Scotland,  w  iih  what  they 
deemed  their  chief  treasure,  the  relics  of  St.  Cuth- 
bert. The  saint  was,  however,  a  most  capricious  fel- 
low traveller;  which  was  the  more  intolerable,  as, 
like  Sinbad's  old  man  of  the  sea,  hejourneyed  upon 
the  shoulders  of  his  companions.  They  paraded 
hiin  through  Scotland  for  several  years,  and  came 
as  fi-.r  west  as  Whilhern,  in  Galloway,  whence 
they  attempted  to  sail  for  Ireland,  but  wei'e  dri- 
ven back  l)y  tempests.  He  at  length  made  a  halt 
at  Noriiam;  from  thence  he  went  to  Melrose,  where 
he  remained  stationary  for  a  short  time,  and  then 
caused  himself  to  be  lanched  upon  the  Tweed  in 
a  stone  coffin,  whicti  landed  him  at  Tilmouth,  in 
Northumberland.  This  boat  is  finely  shaped,  ten 
feet  long,  tlu-ee  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and 
onlv  four  inches  thick;  so  that,  with  very  little  as- 
sistance, it  might  certainly  have  swam.  It  still 
lies,  or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years  ago,  in  Iavo 
pieces,  beside  the  ruined  chapel  of  Tilmouth. 
From  Tilmouth,  Cuthbert  wandered  into  York- 
shire; and  at  length  made  a  long  stay  at  Chester- 
le-street,  to  whicli  the  bishop's  see  was  transfer- 
red. ,\t  length,  the  Danes  continuing  to  infest 
the  country,  the  monks  removed  to  Rippon  for  a 
season;  and  it  was  in  return  from  tlience  to  Ches- 
ter-le-streel,  that,  passing  through  a  forest  called 
Dunholrae,  the  saint  and  his  carriage  became  im- 
movable at  a  \)Iace  named  Wardlaw,  or  \V  ardilaw. 
Here  the  saint  chose  his  place  of  residence;  and 
all  who  have  seen  Durham  must  admit,  that,  if  dif- 
ficult in  his  choice,  he  evinced  taste  in  at  length 
fixing  it.  It  is  said,  that  the  Northumbrian  catho- 
lics still  keep  secret  the  precise  spot  of  the  saint's 
supulture,  which  is  only  intrusted  to  three  persons 
at  a  time.  When  one  dies,  the  survivors  associate 
to  them,  in  his  room,  a  person  judged  fit  to  be  the 
depositary  of  so  valuable  a  secret. 

12.  Even  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir,  &e. 

Before  his  standard  fled.  —P.  64. 

Eveiy  one  has  heard,  that  when  David  I,  with 
his  son  Henry,  invaded  Northumberland  in  1136, 


MARMION. 


109 


the  English  host  mirched  against  them  under  the 
holy  banner  of  St.  Cuthljert,  to  the  efficac)-  of 
which  was  imputed  tlie  great  victorv  which  they 
obtained  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Northallerton,  or 
Cuton-moor.  The  concpierors  were  at  least  as 
much  indebted  to  the  jealousy  and  intract;ibility 
of  the  different  tribes  who  composed  Daviil's  ar- 
mv;  among  whom,  as  mentioned  in  the  text,  were 
the  Galwegians,  the  Britons  of  Strath-Clyde,  the 
men  of  Teviotdale  and  Lotliian,  with  many  Xor- 
man  and  German  warriors,  wlio  asserted  the  cause 
<jf  the  empress  Maud.  See  Chalmer^is  Caledonia, 
p.  622;  a  most  laborious,  curious,  and  iiiterestina; 
publication,  from  wliich  considerable  defects  of 
st^ie  and  manner  ougiit  not  to  turn  aside  tiie  Scot- 
tish antiquary. 

13.  'Twa*  he,  to  vindicati'  his  reiu^n, 

Ed^td  Alfred's  t'alcUioii  on  thr  Dan-, 

And  turned  the  conqueror  baek  a^aiii.— P.  54. 

Cuthbert,  we  have  seen,  had  no  great  reason  to 
spare  the  Danes,  when  opportunity  offered.  Ac- 
cordingly, 1  find  in  Simeon  of  Durham,  that  the 
saint  appeared  in  a  vision  to  Alfred,  when  lurking 
in  the  marshes  of  Glastonbun-,  and  promised  him 
assistance  and  victory  over  his  heathen  enemies: 
a  consolation  whicli,  as  was  reasonable,  Alfred, 
after  the  victory  of  Ashendown,  rewarded  by  a 
royal  offering  at  the  shrine  of  the  saint.  As  to 
William  the  conqueror,  the  terror  Sjiread  before 
his  array,  when  he  marched  to  punish  the  revolt 
of  the  Northumbrians,  in  1096,  had  forced  the 
monks  to  fly  once  more  to  Hoh  Island  with  the 
body  of  the  saint.  It  was,  however,  replaced  be- 
fore V'illiara  left  the  north:  and,  to  balance  ac- 
counts, the  conqueror  having  intimated  an  indis- 
creet curiosity  to  view  the  saint's  body,  he  was, 
while  in  the  act  of  commanding  the  slirine  to  be 
opened,  seized  with  heat  and  sickness,  accompa- 
nied witli  sucli  a  panic  terror,  that,  notwithstand- 
ing there  was  a  sumptuous  dinner  prepared  for 
him,  he  fled  without  eating  a  morsel,  (which  the 
monkish  hi^^torian  seems  to  have  thought  no  small 
part  both  of  the  miracle  and  the  penance,)  and 
never  drew  liis  bridle  till  he  got  to  the  river  Tees. 
14.  St.  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toih  to  frame 

The  sea-boru  beads  ihr.t  btar  his  name. — P.  64. 

Although  we  do  not  learn  that  Cuthbert  was, 
during  his  life,  such  an  artificer  as  Dunstan,  his 
brother  in  sanctity,  vet,  since  his  denth,  he  has 
accjuired  the  reputation  of  forging  those  entrochip' 
which  are  found  among  (he  rocks  of  Holy  Island, 
and  pass  there  by  the  name  ofSt.  Cuthbert's  beads. 
While  at  this  task  he  is  supposed  to  sit  <Uu;ingthe 
night  ujion  a  certain  rock,  and  use  another  as  his 
anvil.  This  story  was  perhaps  credited  in  former 
days;  at  least  the  saint's  legenil  contains  some  not 
more  probable. 

15.  Old  Colwulf.— P.  64. 

Ceolwolf,  or  ColwiUf,  king  of  Northumberland, 
flourished  in  the  eighth  century.  He  was  a  man  of 
some  learning:  for  the  venerable  Bede  dedicates 
to  liim  his  "  Ecclesiastical  History."  He  abdicated 
the  throne  about  "SS,  and  retired  to  Holy  Island, 
where  he  died  in  the  odour  of  saifctity.  Saint  as 
Colwulf  was,  however,!  fear  the  foundation  of  the 
penance-vault  does  not  correspond  with  his  cha- 
racter; for  it  is  recorded  among  his  memorabilia, 
that,  finding  the  air  of  the  island  raw  and  cold,  he 
indulged  the  monks,  whose  rule  had  hitherto  con- 
fined them  to  milk  or  water,  with  the  comfortable 
privilege  of  using  wine  or  ale.  If  any  rigid  anti- 
quary insists  on  this  objection,  he  is  welcome  to 


suppose  the  penance-vault  was  intended,  by  the 
founder,  for  the  more  genial  purposes  of  a  cellar. 

These  penitential  vaults  were  the geissel-geMinlbe 
of  German  convents.  In  the  earlier  and  more  rigid 
times  of  monastic  discipline,  they  were  sometimes 
used  as  a  cemetery  lor  the  lay  benefactors  of  the 
convent,  w  hose  unsanctified  corpses  were  then  sel- 
dom permitted  to  pollute  the  choir.  They  also 
served  as  places  of  meeting  for  the  chapter, 'when 
measures  of  uncommon  severitv  were  to  be  adopt- 
ed. But  their  more  frequent  use,  as  implied  by  the 
name,  was  as  places  for  performing  penances,  or 
undergoing  punishment. 

16.  TjTieraouth's  Iiauj>;hty  prioress.— P.  64. 

That  there  w  as  an  ancient  priory  at  Tynemouth 
is  ceriain.  Its  ruins  are  situated  on  a  high  rocky 
point;  and,  doubtless,  many  a  vow  was  made  at  the 
shrine  by  the  distressed  mariners,  who  drove  to- 
wards the  iron-bound  coast  of  Northumberland  in 
storm}-  weather.  It  was  anciently  a  nunnery;  for 
Virea,  abbess  of  Tynemouth,  ])resented  St.  Cuth- 
bert (yet  alive)  with  a  rare  winding-sheet,  in  emu- 
lation of  a  holy  lady  called  Tuda,  wiio  had  sent 
him  a  cofhn:  But,  as  in  the  case  of  Whitby,  and 
of  Holy  Island,  the  introduction  of  nuns  at  Tyne- 
mouth, in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  is  an  anachro- 
nism. The  nunnerv"  at  Holy  Island  is  altogether 
fictitious.  Indeed,  Si.  Cuthbert  was  unlikely  to  per- 
mit such  an  establishment;  for,  notwithstanding  his 
accepting  the  mortuary  gifts  above  mentioned,  and 
his  carrying  on  a  visiting  acquaintance  with  the 
abbess  of  Coldingham,  he  certainly  hated  the  whole 
female  sex;  and,  in  revenge  of  a  slipperv  trick 
played  on  him  by  an  Irish  princess,  he,  after  death, 
inflicted  severe  penances  on  such  as  presumed  to 
approach  within  a  certain  distance  of  his  slirine. 

17.  On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 
Alive,  within  ih-  tomb. — P.  6S. 
It  is  well  known,  that  the  religious,  who  broke 
their  vows  of  chastity,  were  subjected  to  the  same 
penalty  as  the  Roman  vestals  in  a  similar  case.  A 
small  niche,  sufficient  to  enclose  their  bodies,  was 
made  in  the  massive  w  all  of  the  convent;  a  slender 
pittance  of  food  and  water  was  deposited  in  it,  and 
the  aw  ful  words,  Vnde  in  pace,  were  the  signal 
for  immuring  the  criminal.  It  is  not  likely  that, 
in  latter  times,  this  punishment  was  often  resorted 
to;  but,  among  the  ruins  of  the  abbey  of  Colding- 
h:im,  were  some  years  ago  discovered  the  remains 
of  a  female  skeleton,  which,  from  the  shape  of  the 
niche,  and  position  of  the  figure,  seemed  to  be  tliat 
of  an  immured  nun. 


^sOTr.S  TO  CANTO  Til. 
1.  The  village  inn.— P.  68. 
The  accommodations  of  a  Scottish  hostelrie,  or 
inn,  in  the  16th  century,  may  be  collected  from 
Dunbar's  admirable  tale  of  "The  Friars  of  Ber- 
wick." SiiTion  Lawder,  "the  gay  ostleir,"  seems 
to  have  lived  very  comfortably;  and  his  wife  deco- 
rated her  person  with  a  scarlet  kirtle,  and  a  belt 
of  silk  and  silver,  and  rings  upon  her  fingers;  and 
feasted  her  paramour  with  rabbits,  capons,  par- 
tridges, and  Bourdeaux  wine.  At  least,  if  the  Scot- 
tish inns  were  not  good,  it  was  not  for  want  of  en- 
couragement from  the  legislature;  who,  so  early  as 
the  reign  of  James  I,  not  only  enacted,  that  in  all 
boroughs  and  fairs  there  be  hostellaries,  having 
stables  and  chambers,  and  provisions  for  man  ana 
horse,  but,  by  another  statute,  ordained  that  no 
man,  travelling  on  horse  or  foot,  should  presume 


IIU 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  lodge  any  where  except  in  these  hostellaiies; 
and  that  no  person,  save  inn-keepers,  shouhl  receive 
sucli  travellers,  under  the  penally  of  forty  sliillin.<,'s 
for  ixercisins  such  hospitality.*  Hut,  in  spite  ol 
these  provident  enactn<ents,  the  Scottish  hostels 
are  but  indillerent,  and  stranfters  continue  to  hud 
reception  in  tlie  houses  of  individuals. 

2.  The  ileatli  of  a  dear  friend.— P.  70. 
Among  other  omens  to  which  faithful  credit  is 
<-iven  aiuong  the  Scottish  peasantry,  is  what  is 
called  the  "  dead-bell,"  explained  by  my  friend 
James  Hogg,  to  be  that  tinkling  in  the  ears  which 
Ibe  country  peopk-  regard  as  the  secret  intelligence 
of  some  friend's  decease.  He  tells  a  story  to  the 
purpose  in  the  "Mountain  Bard,"  p.  '20. 

3.  the  goblin  hall.— P.  70. 

A  vaulted  hall  under  the  ancient  castle  of  Gif- 
ford,  or  Yester,  (for  it  bears  either  name  indifter- 
entlv,)  the  construction  of  which  has,  from  a  very 
remote  period,  been  ascribeil  to  magic.    The  Sta- 
tistical Account  of  the  Parish  of  Carvald  and  Haro 
<,'ives  the  following  account  of  the  present  state  ot 
"this  castle  and  apartment:  "Upon  a  peninsula, 
formed  by  the  water  of  Hopes  on  the  east,  and  a 
laro-e  rivulet  on  the  west,  stands  the  ancient  castle 
of  Yester.     Sir  Uavid  Ualrymple,  in  his  annals, 
relates,  that '  Hugh  Gifford  de  Yester  died  in  1267; 
that  in  his  castle  there  was  a  capacious  cavern  form- 
ed bv  magical  art,  and  called  in  the  country,  Ho- 
hall,'i.  e.  Hobgoblin  hall.'   A  stair  of  twenty-tour 
steps  led  down  to  this  apartment:  which  is  a  large 
and  spacious  hall,  with  an  arched  roof;  and  though 
it  hath  stood  for  so  many  centuries,  and  been  ex- 
posed to  the  external  air  for  a  period  of  fifty  or 
sixty  vears,  it  is  still  as  firm  and  entire  as  it  it  had 
only  stood  a  few  vears.   From  the  floor  ot  this  hall, 
an.'Ahcr  stair  of  "thirty-six   steps  leads  down  to  a 
pit   which   hath   a   communication   with    Hopes- 
water.    A  great  part  of  the  walls  of  this  large  and 
ancient  castle  are  still  standing.    There  is  a  tradi- 
tion, that  the  castle  of  Yester  was  the  last  tortih- 
cation  in  this  country  that  surrendered  to  Gene- 
ral Grav,  sent  into  Scotland  by  protector  Somer- 
set."   Statistical  Account,  vol.  xiii.    1  have  only 
to  add,  that,  in  1737,  llie  goblin  hall   was  tenant- 
ed by  the  marquis  of  Tweeddale's  falconer,  as  1 
learn  from  a  poem  by  Boyse,  entitled  "  Retire- 
ment," ^vritten  upon  visiting  Yester.  It  is  now  ren- 
dered inaccessible  hv  the  fall  of  the  stair. 

Sir  David  Dalrymple's  authority  for  the  anecdote 
is  Fordun,  whose  words  are, — "A.  D.  mcclxvii, 
Hvgo  Giffaid  tie  Tester  moritur;  cujas  castnim, 
vel  saltern  caveam  et  dongionem,  arte  dxmomca 
antiqitx  relationes  fenint  fabrifacta:  nam  ibidem 
habetur  mrabilis  specits  subterranem,  opera  nuri- 
Jico  cunstritclus,  magno  terrarum  spaHopi-otelatu.i, 
(lid  communiter  bo-hall  appellatus  est. "  Lib.  x, 
(.^p,  21.— Sir  David  conjectures,  llmt  Hugh  de 
Gitibrd  must  either  have  been  a  very  ^vise  man,  or 
a  great  oppressor. 

4.  There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim. 
Above  Norweyan  warriors  grim.— P.  71. 

In  12G3,  Haco,  king  of  Norway,  came  into  the 
Firth  of  Clyde  with  a  powerful  armament,  and 
made  a  descent  at  Largs,  in  Ayrshire.  Here  he 
was  encountered  and  defeated,  on  the  '2d  October, 
by  Alexander  HI.  Haco  returned  to  Orkney,  where 
he  died  soon  after  this  disgrace  to  his  arms.  There 
■  are  still  existing,  near  the  place  of  battle,  many 


barrows,  some  of  w  hich,  having  been  opened,  were 
found,  as  usual,  to  contain  bones  and  urns. 

5.  his  wizard  habit  strange.— P.  71. 

"  Magicians,  as  is  w  ell  known,  were  very  curi- 
-  ■"    ■'       choice    and   form   of  their  vestments. 


'  James  I,  parliament  i,  cap.  24;  parliament  iii,  cap.  56. 


ous  in   ill.,   ^..v. —    --   

Their  caps  are  oval,  or  like  pyramids,  with  lap- 
pels  on  each  si<le,  and  fur  within.  Their  gowns  are 
long,  and  furred  witli  fox-skins,  under  which  they 
have  a  linen  garment,  reaching  to  the  knee.  Their 
girdles  are  three  inches  broad,  and  have  many  ca- 
balistical  names,  with  crosses,  trines,  and  circles 
inscribed  on  them.  Their  shoes  should  be  of  new 
russet  le.ither,  with  a  cross  cut  upon  them.  Their 
knives  are  dagger  fashion;  and  their  swords  have 
neitlier  guards  nor  scabbards."  See  these, and  many 
other  iiarticulars,  in  the  discourse  concerning  de- 
vils and  spirits,  annexed  to  Reginald  Scott's  Dis- 
covery of  Witchcraft,  edition  1665. 

6.  Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle.— P.  71. 
"  A  pentacle  is  a  piece  of  fine  linen,  folded  with 
five  corners,  according  to  the  five  senses,  and  suit- 
ably inscribed  with  characters.  This  the  magician 
extends  towards  the  spirits  which  he  evokes,  when 
thev  are  stubborn  and  rebellious,  and  refuse  to 
be  "conformable  unto  the  ceremonies  and  rites 
of  magic."  See  the  discourse,  bcc.  above  mention- 
ed, p.  66. 

7.  As  borii  upon  tha   bUssed  night, 

When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan. 
Proclaimed  hell's  empire  overthrown.— P.  71. 
It  is  a  popular  article  of  faith,  that  those  who 
are  born  on  christmas,  or  good  Friday,  have  the 
power  of  seeing  spirits,  and  even  of  commanding 
them.    Tlie  Spaniards  imputed  the  haggard  and 
downcast  looks  of  their  l^hilip  II,  to  the  disagree- 
able visions  to  which  this  privilege  subjected  him. 
S.  Yet  still  the  mighty  spear  and  shield, 
'the  elfin  warrior  dovh  wield. 

Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast.— P.  72. 
The  following  extract  from  the  essay  upon  the 
fairy  superstitions,  in  "The  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,"  vol.  ii,  will  show  whence  many 
of  the  particulars  of  the  combat  between  Alexander 
III  and  the  goblin  knight  are  derived: 

"  Gervase  of  Tilbury  (  Otia  Jmpenal.  ap.  Script. 
rer.  Bnins~MC.  vol.  i,  p.  797)  relates  the  follow- 
in"-  popular  story  concerning  a  fairy  knight:  '  Os- 
bert,  a  bold  and  powerful  bai-on,  visited  a  noble 
family  in  the  vicinity  of  Wandlebury,  in  the  bisho- 
prick  of  Kly.    Among  other  stories  related  in  the 
social  circle  of  his  friends,  who,  according  to  cus- 
tom, amused  each  other  by  repeating  ancient  tales 
and  traditions,  he  was  informed,  that  if  any  knight, 
unattended,  entered  an  adjacent  plain  by  moon- 
light, and  challenged  an  adversary  to  appear,  he 
would  be  immediately  encountered  by  a  spirit  in 
tlie  form  of  a  kniglit.  Osberl  resolved  to  make  the 
I  experiment,  and  set  out  attended  by  a  single  squire, 
V.  horn  he  ordered  to  remain  without  the  limits  of 
the  plain,  which  ^vas  surrounded  by  an  ancient  en- 
trenchment.   On  repeating  the  challenge,  he  was 
instantly  assailed  by  an  adversary,  whom  he  quick- 
ly unhorsed,   and   seized  the  reins  of  his  steed. 
During  this  operation,  his  ghostly  opponent  sprung 
up,  and  darting  his  spear,  like  a  javelin,  at  Osbert, 
wounded   him  in  the  lliigh.    Osbert  returned  in 
triumph  with  the  horse,  wliich  he  committed  to 
the  care  of  his  servants.   The  horse  was  of  a  sable 
colour,  as  well  as  his  whole  accoutrements,   and 
apparently  of  great  beauty  and  vigour.    He  re- 
mained with  his  keeper  till  cock-crowing,  when, 
with  eyes  flashing  fire,  he  reared,  spurned  the 


MARMION. 


Ill 


"  Rem  miram  hiijusmodi  quse  nostris  tempori- 
bus  evenit,  teste  viro  nobili  ac  fide  dignissimo 
enarrare  haud  pigebit.  Radiilphus  Bulmer,  cum 
e  eastris  quse  tunc  temporis  prope  Norham  posita 
erant,  oblectationis  causa  exiisset,  ac  in  ulteriore 
Tuedse  ripa  prssdam  cum  canibus  leporariis  inse- 
querelnr,  forte  cum  Scoto  quodam  nobili,  sibi  an- 
tehac  ut  videbalur  faniiliarittr  cognito,  eongressus 
est;  ac  ut  fas  erat  inter  inimicos,  flagrante  bello, 
brevissima  interrogationis  mora  interposita,  alte- 
rulros  invicem  incitato  cursu  infestis  animis  pe- 
tiere.  Xoster,  prime  occurso,  equo  pi-se  acerrimo 
hostis  impetu,  labante,  in  terram  eversus,  pectore 
et  capite  Iseso,  sanguinem  mortuo  similis  evomebat. 
Quem  ut  se  tegre  habentem  coraiter  allocutos  est 
alter,  poUicitusque  mode  auxilium  non  abnegaret, 
monitisque  obteraperans  ab  omni  rerum  sacrarum 
cogitatione  abstineret,  nee  Deo,  Deipars  Virgin!, 
Sanctove  ullo  preces  aut  vota  efferet,  vel  inter 
sese  conciperet,  se  brevi  eum  sanum  validumque 
restiturum  esse.  Free  angore  oblata  conditia 
accepta  est;  ac  reterator  ille,  nescio  quid  obscceni 
murmurisinsusurrans,  preliensa  manu,  dicto  citins 
in  pedes  sanum  ut  antea  subk-vavit.  Xoster  autem, 
maxima  prs  rei  inaudita  novitate  formidine  per- 
culsus,  Mi  Jesu!  exclamat,  vel  quid  simile;  ac 
subito  respiciens,  nee  hostem  nee  ullum  aliinn 
conspicit,  equum  solum  gravissimo  nuper  casu 
afflictum,  per  summam  pacem  in  rivo  fluvii  pas- 
centem.  Ad  castra  itaque  mirabundus  revertens, 
fidei  dubius,  rem  primo  occultavit,  dein  confecto 
bello,  confessori  suo  totam  asseruit.  Delusoria 
procid  dubio  res  tota,  ac  mala  veteratoris  illins 
aperitur  fraus,  qua  hominem  christianum  ad  veti- 
tum  tale  auxilium  pelliceret.  Xomen  atcunque 
illius  (nobilis  alias  ac  clari)  rectendum  ducto,  cam 
haud  dubium  sit  quin  Diabolus,  Deo  permittente, 
formam  quam  libuerit,  immo  angeli  lucis,  sacre 
oculo  Dei  teste,  posset  assumere."  The  MS. 
Chronicle,  from  which  Mr.  Cradocke  took  this 
curious  extract,  cannot  now  be  found  in  the  chap- 
ter libraiT  of  Durliam,  or  at  least,  has  hitherto 
escaped  the  researches  of  my  friendly  coiTespon- 
denl. 

Lindesay  is  made  to  allude  to  this  adventure  of 
Ralph  Bulmer,  as  a  well  known  stor)',  in  the  4th 
canto,  stanza  XXII. 

The  northern  champions  of  old  were  accustomed 
peculiarly  to  seai'ch  for,  and  delight  in,  encounters 
with  such  military  spectres.  See  a  whole  chapter 
on  the  subject  in  BarthoUniis  cle  Cmisis  contcmpix 
JHortis  a  Dajus,  p.  253. 

NOTIIS    TO    CASTO    IV. 
1.  Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 
C  lose  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain. 
The  mom  may  find  the  stiffened  swain.— P.  73. 
I  cannot  help  here  mentioning,  that,  on  the  night 
in  which  these  lines  were  written,  suggested,  as 
they  were,  by  a  sudden  fall  of  snow,  beginning  af- 
ter sunset,  an  unfortunate  man  perished  exactly  in 
the  manner  here  described,  and  his  body  was  next 
morning  found  close  to  his  own  house.  The  acci- 
dent happened   within  five  miles  of  the  farm  of 
Ashestiel. 

2.  Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes  paid,  &c.— P.  74, 
Sir  "William  Forbes  of  Pitsligo,  baronet,  une- 
qualled, perhaps,  in  the  degree  of  individual  aft'ec- 
tion  entertained  for  him  by  his  friends,  as  well  as 
in  the  general  respect  and  esteem  of  Scotland  at 
large.  His  "  Life  of  Beattie,"  whom  he  befriendetl 
and  patronized  in  life,  as  well  as  celebrated  after 


ground,  and  vanished.  On  disarming  himself^  Os- 
bert  perceived  that  he  was  wounded,  and  that  one 
of  his  steel-boots  was  full  of  blood.  Gervase  adds, 
that,  as  long  as  he  lived,  the  scar  of  his  wound 
opened  afresh  on  the  anniversary  of  the  eve  on 
which  he  encountered  the  spirit.' — Less  fortunate 
was  the  gallant  Bohemian  knight,  wlio,  travelling 
by  night  with  a  single  companion,  came  in  sight 
of  a  fairy  host,  arrayed  under  displayed  banners. 
Despising  the  remonstrances  of  his  friend,  tiie 
knight  pricked  forward  to  break  a  lance  with  a 
champion,  who  advanced  from  tlie  ranks,  appa- 
rently in  defiance.  His  companion  beheld  the  Bo- 
hemian overthrown,  horse  and  man,  by  his  aerial 
adversary;  and  returning  to  the  spot  next  morning, 
he  found  the  mangled  corpses  of  the  knight  and 
his  steed." — Hierarchy  of  Blessed  Angels,  p.  554. 

Besides  the  instances  of  elfin  chivalry  above 
quoted,  many  others  might  be  alleged  in  support 
of  employing  fairy  machinery  in  this  manner.  The 
forest  of  Glenmore,  in  the  north  highlands,  is  be- 
lieved to  be  haunted  by  a  spirit  called  Lliam-dearg, 
in  the  array  of  an  ancient  wan'ior,  having  a  bloody 
hand,  from  which  he  takes  his  name.  He  insists 
upon  those  with  whom  he  meets  doing  battle  with 
him:  and  the  clerg}-man,  who  makes  up  an  account 
of  the  district,  extant  in  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  in 
the  Advocates'  library,  gravely  assures  us,  that, 
in  his  time,  Lham-dearg  fought  with  three  bro- 
thers whom  he  met  in  his  walk,  none  of  whom  long 
survived  the  ghostly  conflict.  Barclay,  in  his"Eu- 
phormion,"  gives  a  singular  account  of  an  officer, 
who  had  ventured,  with  his  servant,  rather  to  in- 
trude upon  a  haunted  house,  in  a  town  in  Flanders, 
than  to  put  up  with  worse  quarters  elsewhere. 
After  taking  the  usual  precautions  of  providing 
fires,  lights,  and  arms,  they  watched  till  midnight, 
when,  behold!  the  severed  arm  of  a  man  dropped 
from  the  ceiling;  this  was  followed  by  tlie  legs,  the 
other  arm,  the  trunk,  and  the  head  of  the  body, 
all  separately.  The  members  rolled  together,  uni- 
ted themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  astonished 
soldiers,  and  formed  a  gig.antic  wan'ior,  who  de- 
fied them  both  to  combat.  Their  blows,  although 
they  penetrated  the  body,  and  amputated  the  limbs 
of  their  strange  antagonist,  had,  as  the  reader  may 
easily  believe,  little  eft'ect  on  an  enemy  who  pos- 
sessed such  powers  of  self-union;  nor  did  his  ef- 
forts make  a  more  eff"ectual  impression  upon  them. 
How  the  combat  terminated  I  do  not  exactly  re- 
member, and  have  not  the  book  by  me;  but  I  think 
the  spirit  made  to  the  intruders  on  his  mansion 
the  usual  proposal,  that  they  should  renounce  their 
redemption:  which  being  declined,  he  was  obliged 
to  retreat. 

The  most  singular  tale  of  the  kind  is  contained 
in  an  extract  communicated  to  me  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth,  in  the  bishopric,  who 
copied  it  from  a  MS.  note  in  a  cop)^  of  Burthogge 
"  On  the  nature  of  Spirits,"  8vo.  1694,  which  had 
been  the  property  of  the  late  Mr.  Gill,  attorney- 
general  of  Egerton,  bishop  of  Durham.  "It  was 
not,"  says  my  obliging  correspondent,  "in  Mr. 
Gill's  own  hand,  but  probably  an  hundred  years 
older,  and  was  said  to  be,  E  Ubro  convent.  Dunelm. 
per  T.  C.  extract,  whom  I  believe  to  have  been 
Thomas  Cradocke,  esq.  barrister,  who  lield  seve- 
ral offices  under  the  see  of  Durham  an  hundred 
years  ago.  Mr.  Gill  was  possessed  of  most  of  his 
manuscripts."  The  extract  which,  in  fact,  sug- 
gested the  introduction  of  the  tale  into  the  present 
poem,  runs  thus: 


112 


SCOTT'S   POl'/nCAI.   WOIJKS. 


his  decease,  was  not  long  piiblisliccl,  before  the  be- 
nevolent and  affectionate  biograplier  w:is  called  to 
follow  the  subject  of  his  narrative.  This  me- 
lancholy event  very  shortly  succeeded  the  marri- 
age of  the  friend,  to  wiioni  this  introduction  is  ad- 
dressed, with  one  of  sir  William's  daughters. 

3.  —friar  Kusli— P.  74. 
This  personage  is  a  strolling  demon,  or  enprit 
follet,  V  ho,  once  upon  a  time,  got  admittance  into 
a  monastery  as  a  scullion,  and  played  the  monks 
many  pratiks.  He  was  also  a  sort  of  Uobin  Good- 
fellow,  and  Jack  o'  Lantern.  It  is  in  allusion 
to  this  mischievous  demon  that  Milton's  clown 
speaks, — 

She  was  pinched  and  pulled,  she  s.aid. 
And  he  hyfiiar's  lantern  led. 

"  The  History  of  Friar  Kush"  is  of  extreme  ra- 
rity, and,  for  some  time,  even  the  existence  of  such 
a  hook  was  doubted,  although  it  is  ex|)ressly  allud- 
ed to  b)'  Reginald  Scott,  in  his  "  Discovery  of 
Witchcraft. "I  have  perused  a  copy  in  tiie  valuable 
library  of  my  friend  Air.  Heber;  and  I  observe, 
from  Mr.  Beloe's  "Anecdotes  of  Literature,"  lliiit 
tliere  is  one  in  the  excellent  collection  of  the  mar- 
quis of  Stafford. 

4.  Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  mount. 
Lord  Uon-king-at-aiins.— ;\  75. 
The  late  elaborate  edition  of  sir  David  Lindesay's 
works,  by  Mr.  George  Chalmers,  has  probably  in- 
troduced him  to  many  of  my  readers.  It  is  perhaps 
to  be  regretted,  thaltiie  learned  editor  has  not  be- 
stov/ed  more  pains  in  elucidating  iiis  author,  even 
although  he  should  have  omitted,  or  at  least  re- 
served, his  disquisitions  on  the  origin  of  the  lan- 
guage used  by  the  poet:*  but,  with  all  its  faults, 
his  work  is  an  acceptable  present  to  Scottish  anli- 
ipiaries.  Sir  David  Lindesay  was  well  known  for 
his  earlj-  efforts  in  favour  of  the  reformed  doctrines; 
and,  indeed,  his  play,  coarse  as  it  now  seems, 
must  have  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  the  people 
ct  his  age.  I  am  uncertain  if  I  abuse  poetieal  li- 
cense, by  introducing  sir  David  Lindesay  in  the 
character  of  lion-herald  sixteen  years  before  he 
obtained  that  office.  At  any  I'ate,  1  am  not  the  first 
who  has  been  guilty  of  the  anachronism;  for  the 
author  of  "Flodden  Field"despatches  Dallamnunt, 
wliicli  can  mean  nobody  but  sir  David  de  la  Mont, 
to  France,  on  the  message  of  defiance  from  James 
IV  to  Henry  Vlll.  It  was  often  an  office  imposed 
on  the  lion-king- at-arms,  to  receive  foreign  am- 
bassadors; and  Lindesay  himself  did  this  honour 
to  sir  Kalpli  Sadler  in   1539-40.    Indeed,  the  oath 


•  I  beg  leave  to  quote  a  single  iustauce  from  a  very  in- 
tirestinjj  passage.  Sir  David,  recounting  his  attention  to 
king  James  V  in  his  infancy,  is  made,  by  the  learned  edi- 
tor's punctuation,  to  say, — 

The  first  sillabis  that  thou  did  mute, 
Was  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the  lute; 
Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir, 
({uhilk  was  great  plesour  for  to  hear. 

Vol.  i,  p.  7,  257. 
Mr.  Chalmers  does  not  inform  us  by  note  or  glossary, 
what  is  meant  by  the  king  "  muting  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the 
'lite;"  but  any  old  woman  in  Scotland  will  bear  witness, 
tliat  pa,  da,  lyn,  are  the  first  efforts  of  a  child  to  say, 
I'/liere^i  David  Lindesay-  and  that  the  subsequent  words 
b^giu  another  sentence,— 

upon  the  lute 

Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir,  &c. 

In  another  place,  "Justing  lumis,"  t.  e.  looms,  or  imple- 
jiientsoftiltnig,  is  facetiously  interpreted  "playful  limbs." 
M.^ny  such  minute  errors  could  l>e  pointea  out;  but  these 
iiri'  only  m.'ntioned  incidentally,  and  not  as  diminishing 
Vli.r  ixal  nil  rit  of  the  edition. 


of  the  lion,  in  ils  first  article,  bears  reference  to 
his  frequent  eini)h)ynient  upon  royal  messages  and 
embassies. 

The  office  of  heralds,  in  feudal  times,  being  held 
of  the  utmost  importance,  the  inauguration  of  the 
kings-at-arms,  who  presided  over  their  colleges, 
was  proportionally  solemn.  In  fact,  it  was  the 
mimiciy  of  a  royal  coronation,  except  tliat  the  unc- 
tion was  made  with  wine  instead  of  oil.  Iti  Scot- 
land, a  namesake  and  kinsman  of  sir  David  Lin- 
desay, inaugurated  in  1592,  "  was  crowned  by  king 
James  with  the  ancient  crown  of  .Scotland,  which 
was  used  before  the  Scottish  kings  assumed  a  close 
crown;"  and,  on  occasion  of  the  same  solemnit}', 
dined  at  the  king's  table,  wearing  the  crown.  It 
is  probable  tliat  the  coronation  of  his  predecessor 
was  not  less  solemn.  .So  sacred  was  tiie  herald's 
office,  that,  in  1515,  loril  Drummnnd  was  by  ])ar- 
liament  declared  guilty  of  treason,  and  his  lands 
forfeited,  because  he  had  struck,  with  his  fist,  the 
lion-king-at-arms,  when  he  reproved  him  for  his 
follies.*  Nor  was  he  restored,  but  at  the  lion's 
earnest  solicitation. 

5.  — Crichtoun  castle.- P.  76. 

A  large  ruinous  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne, 
about  Seven  miles  from  Ediiibtirgii.  As  indicated 
in  the  text,  it  was  built  at  different  times  and  with 
a  very  different  regard  to  splendour  and  accommo- 
dation. The  oldest  part  of  the  building  is  a  nar- 
row keep,  or  tower,  such  as  formed  the  mansion 
of  a  lesser  Scottish  baron;  but  so  many  additions 
have  been  made  to  it,  that  there  is  now  a  large 
court-yard,  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different 
ages.  The  eastern  front  of  the  court  is  raised 
above  a  portico,  and  decorated  with  entablatures, 
bearing  anchors.  All  the  stones  of  this  front  are 
cut  into  diamond  facets,  tlie  angular  projections  of 
whicii  have  an  uncommonly  rich  appearance.  The 
inside  of  this  part  of  the  building  appears  to  have 
contained  a  gallery  of  great  length,  and  uncommon 
elegance.  Access  was  given  to  it  by  a  magnificent 
staircase,  now  tpiile  destroyed.  Tlie  soffits  .are  or- 
namented witli  twining  cordage  and  rosettes;  and 
the  whole  seems  to  have  been  far  more  splendid 
tlian  was  usual  in  Scottisli  castles.  The  castle  be- 
longed originally  to  the  cliancellor,  sir  William 
Crichton,  and  probably  owed  to  him  its  first  eu-  * 
largemeiit,  as  well  as  its  being  taken  by  the  earl 
of  Douglas,  who  imputed  to  Crichton 's  counsels  the 
death  of  his  predecessor  earl  William,  beheaded 
in  Edinburgh  castle,  with  his  brother,  in  1440.  It 
is  said  to  have  been  totally  demolished  on  that  oc- 
casion; but  the  present  state  of  the  ruins  sliows  the 
contraiy.  In  1483,  it  was  garrisoned  by  lord 
Crichton,  tiien  its  proprietor,  against  king  James 
III,  whose  displeasure  he  had  incurred  by  seduc- 
ing his  sister  Margaret,  in  revenge,  it  is  said,  for 
the  monarch  having  dishonoured  his  bed.  From 
the  Crichton  family  the  castle  passed  to  that  of  tlie 
He[)burns,  earls  Botliwell;  and  when  the  forfei- 
tures of  Stewart,  the  last  earl  Bothwell,  were  divid- 
ed, the  barony  and  castle  of  Crichton  fell  to  the 
share  of  the  earl  of  Buccleuch.  They  were  after- 
wards the  property  of  the  Pringles  of  Clifton,  and 
are  now  tiiat  of  sir  John  Callander,  baronet.  It 
were  to  be  wished  the  proprietor  would  take  a  lit- 
tle pains  to  preserve  those  splendid  remains  of  an- 

•  The  record  expressesj  or  rather  is  said  to  have  ex- 
pressed, the  cause  of  forfeiture  to  be, — Eo  quod  Leonem 
armoium  Begem  pugno  violasstt,  dum  eum  de  ineptiis 
snia  ai/nionuit."  See  Nishet'f  Heraldry,  Pail  iv,  cnap. 
Ki;  and  Leslati  Histoyin,  ail  Annum  151.5. 


MARMION. 


113 


tiquity,  which  are  at  present  used  as  a  fold  for 
sheep,  and  wintering  cattle;  although,  perhaps, 
there  are  very  few  ruins  in  Scotland,  which  display 
so  well  the  stj'le  and  beauty  of  ancient  castle-ar- 
chitecture. The  castle  of  Crichton  has  a  dungeon 
vault,  called  the  Massy  More.  The  epithet,  which 
is  not  uncommonly  applied  to  the  prisons  of  other 
old  castles  in  Scotland,  is  of  Saracenic  origin.  It 
occurs  twice  in  the  "  Epistolx  Itinerarias'"  of  Tol- 
lius:  "  Career  siibtervanmis,  sive,  nt  JMaiiri  appel- 
lant, Mazmorras, "  p.  147;  and  again,  "  Coguntur 
omnes  capthri sith nocfem  in  erq-astiila stibtenanea, 
quie  Tiircse  Algerezani  vacant  Mazmorras,"  p. 
243.  The  same  word  applies  to  the  dungeons  of 
the  ancient  Moorish  castles  in  Spain,  and  serves 
to  show  from  what  nation  the  Gothic  stjle  of  cas- 
tle-building was  originally  derived. 

6.  Earl  Adam  Hepburn.— P.  76. 
He  was  the  second  earl  of  Bothwell,  and  fell  in 
the  field  of  Flodden,  where,  according  to  an  an- 
cient English  poet,  he  distinguished  himself  by  a 
furious  attempt  to  retrieve  the  day: — 

Then  on  the  Scottish  part,  right  proud, 

The  earl  of  Bothwell  then  out  brast. 
And  stepping  forth,  with  stomach  good, 

Into  the  enemies'  throng  he  thrast; 
And  Bothivelt:  Bothwell!  cried  bold. 

To  cause  his  souldiers  to  ensue. 
But  there  he  caught  a  wellcorae  cold. 

The  Englishmen  straight  down  him  threw. 

Flodden  Field. 

Adam  was  grandfather  to  James,  earl  of  Bothwell, 
too  well  known  in  the  history  of  queen  Mary. 

7.  For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vaiu  to  James  had  counsel  given 
Against  the  English  war. — P.  76. 

This  story  is  told  by  Pitscottie  with  character- 
istic simplicity:  "The  king,  seeing  that  France 
could  get  no  support  of  him  for  that  time,  made  a 
proclamation,  full  hastily,  through  all  the  realm 
of  Scotland,  both  east  and  west,  south  and  north, 
as  well  in  the  isles  as  in  the  firm  land,  to  all  man- 
ner of  men  betwixt  sixty  and  sixteen  years,  that 
they  should  be  ready,  within  twenty  days,  to  pass 
with  him,  with  forty  days'  victual,  and  to  meet  at 
the  Burrow-muir  of  Edmburgh,  and  there  to  pass 
forward  where  he  pleased.  His  proclamations  were 
hastily  obeyed,  contrary  to  the  council  ot  Scotland's 
will;  but  ever}'  man  loved  his  prince  so  well,  tiiat 
they  would  on  no  ways  disobey  him;  but  every 
man  caused  make  his  proclamation  so  hastily, 
conform  to  the  charge  of  tlie  king's  proclamation. 

"  The  king  came  to  Lithgow,  where  he  happen- 
ed to  be  for  the  time  at  the  council,  very  sad  and 
dolorous,  making  his  devotion  to  God,  to  send  him 
good  chance  and  fortune  in  his  voyage.  In  this 
mean  time,  there  came  a  man,  clad  in  a  blue  gown, 
in  at  the  kirk-door,  and  belted  about  him  in  a  roil 
of  linen  cloth:  a  pair  of  brotikings*  on  his  feet,  to 
the  great  of  his  legs;  with  all  other  hose  and  clothes 
conform  thereto;  but  he  had  nothing  on  his  head, 
but  sydet  red  yellow  hair  behind,  and  on  hishaf- 
fets,|  which  wan  down  to  his  shoulders;  but  his 
forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  He  seemed  to  be  a 
man  of  two-and-fifty  years,  with  a  great  pike-staff 
in  his  hand,  and  came  first  forward  among  the 
lords,  crying  and  speiring§  for  the  king,  saying, 
he  desired  to  speak  with  him.  Wiiile,  at  the  last, 
he  came  where  the  king  was  sitting  in  the  desk  at 
his  prayers;  but  when  he  saw  the  king,  he  made 
him  little  reverence  or  salutation,  but  leaned  down 


'  Buskins 


t  Long.        }  Che«-k8.        J  Asking. 


groffling  on  the  desk  before  him,  and  said  to  him 
in  this  manner,  as  after  follows:  '  Sir  king,  my 
mother  hath  sent  me  to  you,  desiring  you  not  to 
pass,  at  this  time,  where  thou  art  purposed;  for  if 
thou  does,  thou  wilt  not  fare  well  in  thy  journey, 
nor  none  that  passeth  with  thee.  Further,  she  bade 
thee  mell*  with  no  Avoman,  nor  use  their  counsel, 
nor  let  them  touch  thy  body,  nor  thou  theirs;  for, 
if  thou  do  it,  thou  wilt  be  confounded  and  brought 
to  shame.' 

"  By  this  man  had  spoken  thir  words  unto  the 
king's  grace,  the  evening  song  was  near  done,  and 
the  king  paused  on  thir  words,  studying  to  give 
him  an  answer;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  before  the 
king's  eyes,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  the  lords 
that  were  about  him  for  the  time,  this  man  vanish- 
ed away,  and  could  no  ways  be  seen  nor  compre- 
hended, but  vanished  away  as  he  had  been  a  blink 
of  tlie  sun,  or  a  whip  of  the  whirlwind,  and  could 
no  more  be  seen.  I  heard  say,  sir  David  Lindesay, 
lyon-herauld,  and  John  Inglis  the  marshal,  who 
were,  at  that  time,  young  men,  and  special  servants 
to  the  king's  grace,  were  standing  presently  beside 
the  king,  who  thought  to  have  laid  hands  on  this 
man,  that  they  might  have  speired  further  tidings 
at  him:  but  all  for  nought;  they  could  not  touch 
him;  for  he  vanished  away  betwixt  them,  and  was 
no  more  seen." 

Buchanan,  in  more  elegant,  though  not  more 
impressive  language,  tells  the  same  story,  and 
quotes  the  personal  information  of  our  sir  David 
Lindesay:  "  In  its  (i.  e.  qvi  propiiis  astiterant) 
Jxdt  David  Ldndesi%is,  Jnontamis,  homo  spectatx 
Jidei  et  probitatis,  nee  a  literarum  studiis  alienus, 
et  cujus  totius  vitx  tenor  longissime  a  mentiendo 
aberat;  a  quo  nisi  ego  hxc,  uti  tradidi,  pro  certia 
aecepissem,  %it  vulgatam  vanis  rumoribus  fabidam 
omissunis  eram." — Lib.  xiii.  The  king's  throne 
in  St.  Catherine's  aisle,  which  he  had  constructed 
for  himself,  with  twelve  stalls  for  the  knights  com- 
panions of  the  order  of  the  thistle,  is  still  shown 
as  the  place  where  the  apparition  was  seen.  I 
know  not  by  what  means  St.  Andrew  got  the  cre- 
dit of  having  been  the  celebrated  monitor  of  James 
IV;  for  the  expression  in  Lindesay's  narrative, 
"  My  mother  has  sent  me,"  could  only  be  used 
by  St.  John,  the  adopted  son  of  the  virgin  Mar)-. 
The  whole  story  is  so  well  attested,  that  we  have 
only  the  choice  between  a  miracle  or  an  imposture. 
Mr.  Pinkerton  plausibly  argues,  from  the  caution 
ap-ainst  incontinence,  that  the  queen  was  privy  to 
the  scheme  of  those  who  had  recourse  to  this  ex- 
pedient to  deter  king  James  from  his  impolitic 
warfare. 

8.  The  wild  buck  bells.— P.  76. 

I  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  describe  the  cry 
of  the  deer  by  another  word  than  braying,  although 
the  latter  has  been  sanctified  by  the  use  of  the 
Scottisii  metrical  translation  of  the  psalms.  Bell 
seems  to  be  an  abbreviation  of  bellow.  This  syl- 
van sound  conveyed  great  delight  to  our  ance  stors, 
chiefly,  I  suppose,  from  association.  A  gentle 
knight  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  sir  Thomas 
VVortley,  built  Wantley  Lodge,  in  Wancliffe  Fo- 
rest, for  the  pleasure  (as  an  ancient  inscription 
testifies)  of  "  listening  to  the  hart's  bell." 

9.  June  saw  his  father's  overthrow.— P.  76. 

The  rebellion  against  James  III  was  signalized 
by  the  cruel  circumstance  of  his  son's  presence  in 

•  Meddle. 


114 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  hostile  army.  \\ "hen  llic  king  saw  his  own  ban- 
ner clisi)hi_ve(l  a};aiiist  iiiiu,  and  liis  son  in  tlie  fac- 
tion of  his  enen»ies,  he  h)sl  the  liltle  courage  he 
ever  possessed,  Hed  out  of  the  fiehl,  foil  from  his 
horse  as  it  started  at  a  woni^m  and  watei'-i)ilchef, 
and  was  slain,  it  is  not  well  understood  by  whom. 
James  IV,  after  tlie  battle,  |)assed  to  Stirlinii;,  and 
hearing  the  monks  of  the  chapel-royul  deploring 
the  death  of  his  father,  their  founder,  he  was  seiz- 
ed with  deep  remorse,  whicii  manifestt  d  itself  in 
severe  penances.  See  note  10,  on  canto  V.  The 
battle  of  Sauchie-bui'n,  in  which  James  III  fell, 
was  fought  1  8th  June,  1488. 

10.  Spread  all  the  Boi-ough-moor  below,  &c.— P.  78. 

The  borougli,  or  common  moor  of  Edinburgh, 
Avas  of  very  great  extent,  reaciiing  from  the  south- 
ern walls  of  the  city  to  the  bottom  of  Uraid  Hills. 
It  was  anciently  a  forest;  and,  in  that  state,  was  so 
great  a  nuisance,  that  the  inhabitants  of  Edinburgh 
had  permission  granted  to  them  of  building  wooden 
galleries,  projecting  over  the  street,  in  order  to 
encourage  them  to  consume  the  timber;  which 
they  seem  to  have  done  very  effectually.  When 
James  IV  mustered  the  array  of  the  kingdom  there, 
in  1513,  the  Borough-moor  was,  according  to 
Ilawthornden,  "  a  field  spacious,  and  dolightfid  bv 
the  shade  of  many  st:Uely  and  aged  oaks."  Upon 
that,  and  similar  occasions,  the  royal  standard  is 
traditionally  said  to  have  been  displayed  from  the 
hare  stane,  a  high  stone,  now  built  iiito  the  wall, 
on  the  left  hand  of  the  highway  leading  towards 
Braid,  not  far  from  the  head  of  Bruntsfi'eld-links. 
The  hare  stane  probably  derives  its  name  from 
the  British  word  har,  signifying  an  army. 
11.  O'er  the  pavilions  flew.— P.  73. 

1  do  not  exactly  know  tile  Scottish  mode  of  en- 
campment in  1513,  but  Fatten  gives  a  curious  de- 
scrii)tion  of  that  wliich  he  saw  after  the  battle  of 
Pinkie,  in  1547: — "Here  now  to  say  somewhat 
of  the  manner  of  their  camp:  As  they  Isad  no  pa- 
vilions, or  round  houses,  of  any  commendable  com- 
pas,  so  wear  there  few  other  tentes  with  posts,  as 
the  used  manner  of  making  is;  and  of  these  few 
also,  none  of  above  twenty  foot  length,  but  most 
far  under:  for  the  most  part  all  very  sumptuously 
beset,  (after  their  fashion,)  for  the  love  of  France, 
witii  fleur-de-lys,  some  of  blue  buckram,  some 
of  black,  and  some  of  some  other  colours.  These 
white  ridges,  as  I  call  th?m,  that,  as  we  stood  on 
Fauxsyde  Bray,  did  make  so  great  muster  towards 
us,  which  1  did  take  then  to  be  a  number  of  tentes, 
when  we  came,  we  found  it  a  linen  drapery,  of  the 
coarser  cambryk  in  dede,  for  it  was  all  of  canvas 
sheets,  and  wear  the  tenticles,  or  rather  cabyns, 
and  couches  of  their  soldiers;  the  whicli  (much  af- 

1 


been  wrapt  in  horses'  dung." — Patten's  »4ccoM7i< 

of  Somerset''s  Expedition. 

12.  ——in  proml  Scotland  "s  i-oyal  shield. 
The  ruildj  lion  ramped  in  g-pld.— P.  78. 
The  well-known  arms  of  Scotland.  If  you  will 
believe  Boethius  and  Buchanan,  the  double  tres- 
sure  round  the  sliield,  mentioned  p.  75,  counter 
^//eur-tle-lised,  or,  Ung-iied  and  armed  aziire,  was 
first  assumed  by  Achaius,  king  of  Scotland,  con- 
temporary of  Charlemagne,  and  founder  of  the  ce- 
lein-ated  league  with  France;  but  later  antiquaries 
make  poor  Eochy,  or  Achy,  liltle  better  than  a  sort 
of  kiiig  of  Brentford,  whom  old  Grig  (who  has  also 
swelled  into  (iregorius  Magnus)  associated  with 
himself  in  the  iuipoitant  duty  of  governing  some 
part  of  the  north-eastern  coast  of  Scotland. 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  T. 

1.  Caledonia's  queen  is  changed. — P.  80. 

The  old  town  of  Edinburgli  was  secured  on  the 
north  side  by  a  lake,  now  drained,  and  on  the  south 
by  a  wall,  which  there  was  some  attempt  to  make 
defensible  even  so  late  as  1745.  The  gates,  and 
tiie  greater  part  of  the  wall,  have  been  pidled  down, 
in  tlie  courss'  of  the  late  extensive  and  beautiful 
enlargement  of  the  city.  Mr.  Thomas  Campbell 
proposed  to  celebrate  Edinburgh  under  the  epithet 
here  borrowed.  But  the  "queen  of  the  north" 
has  not  been  so  fortunate  as  to  receive,  from  sc 
eminent  a  pen,  the  proposed  distinction. 

2.  Fliug-ing  thy  white  arms  to  the  sea.— P.  80. 
Since  writing  this  line,  1  find  I  have  inadver- 
tently borrowed  it  almost  verbatim,  though  with 
somewhat  a  difierent  meaning,  from  a  chorus  io 
"  Caractacus:" 

Britain  heard  the  descant  bold. 
She  Hung  her  white  arms  o'er  the  sea, 

Proud  in  her  leafy  bosom  to  unfold 
The  frtig-ht  of  harmony. 

3.  Since  first,  wlieii  conquering  York  arose, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose. — P.  SO. 

Henry  VI,  with  his  queen,  his  heir,  and  the 
chiefs  of  his  family,  fled  to  Scotland  after  the 
fatal  battle  of  Towton.  In  this  note  a  doubt  was 
formerly  expressed,  whether  Henry  VI  came  to 
Edinburgh,  though  his  queen  certainly  did;  Mr 
Pinkerton  inclining  to  believe  ihat  he  remained 
at  Kirkcudbright.  But  my  noble  friend,  lord  Na- 
pier, has  pointed  out  to  me  a  giant  by  Henry,  of 
an  annuity  of  forty  meiks  to  his  lordship's  ances- 
tor, John  Napier,  subscribed  by  the  king  himself 
at  Edinburgh,  the  28th  day  of  August,  in  the  thiitj'- 
ninth  year  of  his  reign,  which  corresponds  to  the 
vearof  God  1461.  This  grant,  Douglas,  with  his 
usual  neglect  of  accuracy,  dates  in  1368.  But  this 
error  being  corrected  from  the  copy  in  Macfarlane's 


ter  the  common  building  of  their  country  beside)  j^gg         f^g    i^o,  removes  all  scepticism  on  the 
f  .       ^,      "^?':  "'  ^?'"'  ^"''.'^^'  *^.°"^  ^" ''^'  ^°"S^  subject  of  Henry  Vl  being  really  at  Edinburgh. 


piece,  whearof  two  fastened  together  at  one  end 
aloft,  and  the  two  eudes  beneath  stuck  in  the 
ground,   an  ell  asunder,   standing  in  fashion  like 


John  Napier  was  son  and  heir  of  sir  Alexander 
Xapier,  and  about  this  time  was  provost  of  Edin- 
burgh. The  hospitable  reception  of  the  distressed 


the  bowes  of  a  sowes  yoke;  over  two  such  bowes|  ,^,^1^^^;^,,  .^^j  ,j-,s  family  called  forth  on  Scotland 
(one,  as  it  were,  at  their  head,  the  other  at  their  j,      encomium  of  Molinet,  a  contemporary  poet. 


feet)  they  stretched  a  sheet  down  on  both  sides, 
whereby  their  cabin  became  roofed  like  a  ridge, 
but  skant  shut  at  botli  ends,  and  not  very  close 
beneath  on  the  sides,  unless  their  sticks  were  the 
shorter,  or  their  wives  the  more  liberal  to  lend 
them  larger  napery;  howbeit,  when  they  had  lined 
theiTi,  and  stuffed  them  so  thick  with  straw,  with 
the  weather  as  it  was  not  very  cold,  when  they 
wear  ones  couched,  they  were  as  warm  as  they  had 


The  English  people,  he  says, — 
Ung  nouveau  roy  creerent. 

Par  despiteux  vouloir, 
Le  vieil  en  dehoiiterent, 

Et  son  legitime  hoir. 
Qui  faytj-f  alia  prendre 

D'Escosse  le  garand, 
De  tons  siedes  le  mendre, 

Et  le  plus  tollerant. 

Reco'kction  des  Aven^uret. 


MARXUON. 


115 

"not  for  cold,  but  for  cutting."  The  mace  also 
was  much  used  in  the  Scottish  arnay.  The  old  poem, 
on  the  battle  of  Flodden,  mentions  a  band — 

Who  manfully  did  meet  their  foes, 
With  leadeu  mauls,  and  lances  long. 

\^"hen  the  feudal  array  of  the  kingdom  was 
called  forth,  each  man  was  obliged  to  appear  Mith 
forty  days'  provision.  ^Vhea  tliis  was  expended 
which  took  place  before  the  battle  of  Flodden, 
the  army  melted  away  of  course.  Almost  all 
the  Scottish  forces,  except  a  few  knights,  men-at- 
arms,  and  the  border  prickers,  who  formed  excel- 
lent light  cavalry,  acted  upon  foot. 

9.  A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines.— P.  82. 
In  all  transactions  of  great  or  petty  importance, 
and  among  whomsoever  taking  place,  it  wotdd 
seem  that  a  present  of  wine  was  an  uniform  and 
the  counties  ofEngland,  distinguished  for  archery,  |  'J.^'jispensable  preliminary.  It  was  not  to  sir  John 
shafts  of  this  extraordinars  length  were  actually  T^''^'^'^ ''^""^  ^l"^"-  ^''^  an  introductory  preface 
used.  Thus,  at  the  battle  6r  Hlackheath,  between  ^^f  »e<=essa.y,  however  well  judged  and  accept- 
the  troops  ot  Henrv  Aqi  and  the  Cornish  insur-  f"'^  °° -^"'"^  l'^*^'^  °! -^^'■-  Brook;  tor  sir  Ralph  Sad- 
gents,  in  1496,  the  bridge  of  Darttbrd  was  defended     '^''' 7^'^*^  .°°  ^'»''«f^)'  1°  Scotland,  u.   1539-40, 

-         '----'--» -  '  menUons  with  complacency,  "the  same  night  came 

tome  again,  and 

both  >v  hite  and 

red." — Clifford's  edition,  p.  39.' 

10.  his  iron  belt. 

That  bound  his  breast  i  in  peiiance  pain. 
In  memory  of  his  father  slaui.— P.  83. 
Few  readers  need  to  be  reminded  of  tliis  belt, 
to  the  weight  of  which  James  added  certain  ounces 
ever}-  year  that  he  lived.  Pitscottie  founds  his  be- 
lief, that  James  was  not  slain  in  the  battle  of  Flod- 
den, because  the  English  never  had  this  token 
of  the  iron-belt  to  show  to  any  Scotsman.    The 


4.  the  romantic  strain, 

^V^lose  Anglo-Xorman  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henrj's  ear.— P.  80. 

Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  valuable  introduction  to  the 
"Specimens  of  Romance,"  has  proved,  by  the 
concun-ing  testimony  of  La  Ravaillere,  Tressan, 
but  especially  the  abbe  de  la  Rue,  that  the  courts 
of  our  Anglo-Xorman  kings,  ratiier  than  those  of 
the  French  monarchs,  produced  tiie  birth  of  ro- 
mance literature.  Marie,  soon  after  mentioned, 
compiled  from  Armorican  originals,  and  translated 
into  Norman-French,  or  romance  language,  the 
twelve  curious  lays,  of  %vhich  Mr.  Ellis  has  given 
us  a  precis  in  the  appendix  to  his  introduction. 
Tlie  story  of  Blondel,  tlie  famous  and  faitliful  min- 
strel of  Richard  I,  needs  no  commentary. 
5.  The  cloth-yard  arrows  flew  like  haiL— P.  81. 

This  is  no  poetical  exaggeration.    In  some  of 


bv  a  picked  band  of  archers  from  the  rebel  armv,  ',f  """^  ^ '^"  complacency  "ine 
"'whose  arrows,"  says  Hollinshed,  "  were  in  lengih  ^^o^hesay  (the  herald  so  called)  t( 
a  full  cloth-yard."'    The  Scottish,  according^o   tTtlr,?^:::^^!^.}}'!  > 


Ascham,  had  a  proverb,  that  every  English  archer 
carried  under  his  belt  twenty-four  Scots,  in  allu- 
sion to  his  bundle  of  unen-ing  shafts. 

6.  To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain. 
And  high  eurvett,  that  not  in  rain 
The  sword-sway  might  descend  amain 
On  foeman's  casque  below. — P.  81. 

"  The  most  useful  air,  as  the  Frenchmen  term 
it,  is  territerr;  the  cmirbettes,  cabrioles,  or  un  pas 


eUin  sardt  being  fitter  for  horses  of  parade  and  person  and  character  of  James  are  delineated  ac- 
trmraph  than  for  soldiers:  ye  1  cannot  deny  but  a  eor.ling  to  our  best  historians.  His  romantic  dis- 
demvolte  ^ith  conrbettes  so  that  they  be  not  too i  pogitio,,,  which  led  him  highlv  to  relish  gavetv, 
high,  maybe  useful  in  a  hght  or  ,neslee,  for,  as  La- ^.oachingto  license,  was,  at  the  same  limerti'nged 
broue  hath  It,  in  lus  Book  of  Horsemanship,  mon- ,  ^ith  enthusiastic  devotion.  These  propensities 
sieur  de  Montmorency  having  a  horse  that  was  I  sometimes  formed  a  strange  contrast.  He  was 
excellent  in  performing  the  dermvolte  AiA,  withj^^.^nt,  during  his  fits  of  devotion,  to  assume  the 
his  sword,  strike  down  two  adversanes  from  their  i  ^ress,  and  conform  to  the  rules,  of  the  order  of 
horses  in  a^ tourney,  where  divers  of  the  V^}^^\¥vMc\s^-Ax^i,  and  when  he  had  thus  done  penance 

f.,..  . .:..,,:_  o..-._,:._     -Tplun^  .     ■     .      .. 

too,  \v 
istency,  he  sometimes  laugli 


gallants  of  France  did  meet;  for  taking  his  time,  |  foi-  some  time  in  Stirling,  to  plunge  again'into  the 
when  the  horse  was  in  the  heiglit  of  hiscourbette  \  ude  of  pleasure.  Probablv,  too,  with  no  unusual 
and  discharging  a  blow  then  his  sword  tell  with  inconsistency,  he  sometimes  lauglied  at  the  super- 
such  weight  and  force  upon  the  two  cavaliers,  one  g-itious  observances  to  which  he,  at  other  times, 
after  the  other,  that  he  struck  them  from  their ;  subjected  himself  There  is  a  veiT  singular  poem 


horses  to  the  ground. " — Ijord  Herbert  of  Cherbu- 
ry's  life,  p.  48. 

7.  He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 

March  armed,  on  foot,  with  faces  baie. — S.  81. 

The  Scottish  burgesses  were,  like  yeomen,  ap- 
pointed to  be  armed  with  bows  and  sheaves,  sword, 
buckler,  knife,  spear,  or  a  good  axe  instead  of  a 
bow,  if  worth  JEIOO:  their  armour  to  be  of  white 
or  bright  harness.  They  wore  -white  hats,  i.  e. 
bright  steel  caps  without  crest  or  visor.  By  an 
act  of  James  IV,  tlieir  -weapon- shaitrings  are  ap- 
pointed to  be  held  four  times  a-year,  under  the  al- 
dermen or  bailiffs. 

8.  On  foot  the  ytomen  too.— P.  81. 
Bows  and  quivers  were  in  vain  recommended  to 
the  peasantry  of  Scotland,  by  repeated  statutes: 
speai's  and  axes  seem  nniverstdly  to  have  been  used 
instead  of  them.  Their  defensive  armour  was  the 
plate-jack,  liauberk,  or  brigantine:  and  tlieir  mis- 
sile weapons,  cross-bows  and  culverins.  All  wore 
swords  of  excellent  temper,  according  to  Patten; 
and  a  voluminous  handkerchief  round  their  neck, 


by  Dunbar,  seemingly  addressed  to  James  IV  on 
one  of  these  occasions  of  monastic  seclusion.  It 
is  a  most  daring  and  profane  parody  on  the  ser- 
vices of  the  church  of  Rome,  entitled, 

Dunbar's  dirge  to  the  king, 
Bydiiig  oner  tang  in  Striviling. 

We  that  are  here,  in  heaven's  gloi-)'. 
To  )  ou,  that  are  in  purgatory. 
Commend  us  on  our  hearty  wise; 
I  mean  we  folks  in  paradise. 
In  Edinburgh,  w  ith  all  merriness. 
To  you  in  Stirling,  with  distress. 
Where  neither  pleasure  nor  delight  is, 
For  pity  this  epistle  wrjtis,  &c. 

See  the  w  hole  in  Sibbald's  collection,  vol.  i,  p.  234. 
11.  Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife  held  sway. — P.  83. 
It  has  been  already  noticed,  that  king  James' 
acqviaintance  with  lady  Heron  of  Ford  did  not 
commence  until  he  marched  into  England.  Our 
historians  impute  to  the  king's  infatuated  passion 
tlie  delays  which  led  to  the  fatal  defeat  of  Flodden. 
Tlie  author  of"  The  Genealogy  of  the  Heron  Fa- 
mily" endeavours,  with  laudable  anxiety,  to  clear 


115 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  lady  Ford  from  this  scandal:  that  she  came  and 
went,  however,  helween  the  armies  of  James  and 
Surrey,  is  certain.  See  PixKEKTox's/Z/Vorw,  and 
the  authorities  he  refers  to,  vol.  ii,  p.  99.  Heron 
of  Ford  had  been,  in  1511,  in  some  sort  accessoi^ 
to  the  shmsjhler  of  sir  Robert  Ker  of  Cessford, 
warden  of  the  Middle  Marches.  It  was  committed 
by  his  brother  the  bastard,  Lilburn,  and  Starked, 
three  borderers.  Lilburn,  and  Heron  of  Ford, 
were  delivered  up  by  Heni-y  to  James,  and  were 
imprisoned  in  the  fortress  of  Fastcastle,  where  the 
former  died.  Part  of  the  pretence  of  lady  Ford's 
negoeiatioiis  with  James  was  the  liberty  of  her 
husband. 

12.  Far  the  fair  queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turtjuois  ring,  and  glove^ 
And  charged  hira,  as  her  knight  and  love. 
For  her  to  break  a  lance. — P,  83. 

"  Also  the  queen  of  France  wrote  a  love-letter 
to  the  king  of  Scotland,  calling  him  her  love,  show- 
ing him  that  she  had  suffered  much  rebuke  in 
France  for  the  defending  of  his  honour.  She  be- 
lieved surely  that  he  would  recompense  her  again 
with  some  of  his  kingly  support  in  her  necessity: 
dial  is  to  say,  that  he  would  raise  her  an  army, 
and  come  three  toot  of  ground  on  English  ground, 
for  her  sake.  To  that  effect  she  sent  him  a  ring 
off  her  finger,  with  fourteen  thousand  French 
crowns  to  pay  his  expenses."  Pitscottie,  p. 
110. — A  turquois  ring; — probably  this  fatal  gift  is, 
with  James's  sword  and  dagger,  preserved  in  the 
college  of  heralds,  London. 

13.  —Archibald  Bell-the-cat.— P.  8-4. 

Archibald  Douglas,  earl  of  Angus,  a  man  re- 
markable for  strength  of  body  and  mind,  acquired 
tlie  popular  name  of  Bell-the-cat,  upon  the  follow- 
ing remarkable  occasion:  James  the  third,  of  whom 
Pitscottie  complains,  that  he  delighted  more  in 
music,  and  "policies  of  building,"  than  in  hunt- 
ing, hawking,  and  other  noble  exercises,  was  so 
ill  advised,  as  to  make  favourites  of  his  architects 
and  musicians,  whom  the  same  historian  irreve- 
.-ently  terms  masons  and  fiddlers.  His  nobilit)*, 
who  did  not  sympathize  in  the  king's  respect  for 
the  fine  arts,  were  extremely  incensed  at  the  ho- 
nours confeiTed  on  those  persons,  particularly  on 
Cochran,  a  mason,  who  had  been  created  earl  of 
Mar.  And  seizing  the  opportunity,  when,  in  148'2, 
the  king  had  convoked  the  whole  array  of  the 
countr)-  to  march  against  the  English,  they  held  a 
midnight  council  in  the  church  of  Lauder,  for  the 
purpose  of  forcibly  removing  these  minions  from 
the  king's  person.  When  all  had  agreed  on  the 
propriety  of  liie  measure,  lord  Gray  told  the  as- 
sembly the  apologue  of  the  mice,  who  had  formed 
a  resolution,  that  it  would  be  highly  advantageous 
to  their  community  to  tie  a  bell  round  the  cat's 
neck,  that  they  might  hear  her  approach  at  a  dis- 
tance: but  which  public  measure  unfortimately 
miscarried,  from  no  mouse  being  willing  to  un- 
dertake the  task  of  fastening  the  bell.  "  I  under- 
stand the  moral,"  said  Angus,  "  and,  that  what 
we  propose  may  not  lack  execution,  I  will  bell  the 
cat."  The  rest  of  the  strange  scene  is  thus  told 
by  Pitscottie; — 

"  By  this  was  advised  and  spoken  by  their  lords 
aforesaid,  Cochran,  the  earl  of  Mar,  came  from  the 
king  to  the  council,  (which  council  was  iiolden  in 
the  kirk  of  Lauder  for  the  time,)  who  was  well 
accompanied  with  a  band  of  men  of  war,  to  the 
number  of  three  hundred  light  axes,  all  clad  in 
itliitc  livery,  and  black  bends  thereon,  that  they 


might  be  known  for  Cochran  earl  of  Mar's  men. 
,  Himself  was  clad  in  a  riding-pie  of  black  velvet, 
with  a  great  chain  of  gold  aoout  his  neck,  to  the 
value  ot  five  hundred  crowns,  and  four  blowing 
horns,  with  both  the  ends  of  gold  and  silk,  set  with 
a  precious  stone,  called  a  berry  1,  hanging  in  the 
midst.  This  Cochran  had  his  heumont  borne  be- 
fore him,  overgilt  with  gold;  and  so  were  all  the 
rest  of  his  horns,  and  all  his  pallions  were  of  fine 
canvas  of  silk,  and  the  cords  thereof  fine  twined 
silk,  and  the  chains  upon  his  pallions  were  double 
overgilt  with  gold. 

"  This  Cochran  was  so  proud  in  his  conceit, 
that  he  counted  no  lords  to  be  marrows  to  hira; 
therefore  he  rushed  rudely  at  the  kirk  door.  The 
council  inquired  who  it  was  that  perturbed  them 
at  that  time.  Sir  Robert  Douglas,  laird  of  Lochle- 
ven,  was  keeper  of  the  kirk  door  at  that  time,  who 
inquired  who  that  was  that  knocked  so  rudely* 
And  Cochran  answered,  '  This  is  I,  the  earl  of 
Mar.'  The  which  news  pleased  well  tlie  lords, 
because  they  were  ready  boun  to  cause  take  him, 
as  is  afore  rehearsed.  Then  the  earl  of  Angus  past 
hastily  to  the  door,  and  with  him  sir  Robert  Dou- 
glas of  Lochleven,  to  receive  in  the  earl  of  Mar,  and 
so  many  of  his  accomplices  who  were  there,  as  they 
thouglit  good.  And  the  earl  of  Angus  met  with  the 
earlof  Mar,  ashecame  in  at  the  door,  and  pulled  the 
golden  chain  from  his  craig,  and  said  to  him,  a  tow* 
would  set  him  better.  Sir  Robert  Douglas  syne 
pulled  the  blowing-horn  from  him  in  like  manner, 
and  said,  '  He  had  been  the  hunter  of  mischief 
over  long.'  This  Cocht^n  asked,  '  my  lords,  is 
it  mows,t  or  earnest!"  They  answered,  and  said, 
'  It  is  good  earnest,  and  so  thou  shalt  find:  for  thou 
and  thy  complices  have  abused  our  prince  this  long 
time;  of  whom  thou  shalt  have  no  more  credence, 
but  shall  have  thy  reward  according  to  thy  good 
service,  as  tiiou  hast  deserved  in  times  by  past; 
right  so  the  rest  of  thy  followers.' 

"  Notwithstanding,  the  lords  held  them  quiet  till 
they  caused  certain  armed  men  to  pass  into  the 
king's  pallion,  and  two  or  three  wise  men  to  pass 
with  them,  and  give  the  king  fair  pleasant  words, 
till  they  laid  hands  on  all  the  kings  servants,  and 
took  them  and  hanged  them  before  his  eyes  over 
the  bridge  of  Lawder.  Incontinent  they  In-ought 
forth  Cochran,  and  his  hands  bound  witii  a  tow, 
who  desired  them  to  take  one  of  his  own  pallion 
tows  and  bind  his  hands,  f(ir  be  thought  shame  to 
have  his  hands  bound  with  such  a  tow  of  hemp, 
like  a  thief.  The  lords  answered,  lie  was  alraitor, 
he  deserved  no  better;  and,  for  despight,  they  look 
a  hair  tether,:):  and  hanged  hira  over  the  bridge  of 
Lawder,abovethe  rest  of  his  complices. " — Pitscot- 
tie, p.  78,  folio  edit. 

14.  Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood. 
And  chafed  his  royal  lord.— P.  84. 
Angus  was  an  old  man  when  the  war  against  En- 
gland was  resolved  upon.  He  earnestly  spoke 
against  tliat  measure  from  its  commencement;  and, 
on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Flodden,  remonstrated 
so  freely  on  the  impolicy  of  fighting,  that  the  king 
said  to  him,  with  scorn  and  indignation,  "  If  he 
was  afraid,  he  might  go  home. "  The  earl  burst  into 
tears  at  this  insupportable  insult,  and  retired  ac- 
cordingly, leaving  his  sons,  George,  master  of  An- 
gus, and"  sir  William  of  Glenbervie,  to  command 
his  followers.  They  were  both  slain  in  the  battle, 
with  two  hundred  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Dou- 


•  Rope. 


t  Halter 


MARmON. 


117 


glas.  The  aged  earl,  broken-hearted  at  the  cala- 
mities of  his  house  and  country,  retired  into  a  re- 
ligious house,  where  he  died  about  a  year  after 
the  field  of  Plodden. 

15.  Then  rest  you  in  Tantallon  hold.— P.  84. 

The  ruins  of  Tantallon  castle  occupy  a  high 
rock  protecting  into  the  German  ocean,  about  two 
miles  east  of  North  Berwick.  The  building  is  not 
seen  till  a  close  approach,  as  there  is  rising  ground 
betwixt  it  and  the  land.  The  circuit  is  of  large 
extent,  fenced  upon  three  sides  by  the  precipice 
which  OTerhangs  the  sea,  and  on  the  fourth  by  a 
double  ditch  and  very  strong  outworks.  Tantallon 
was  a  principal  castle  of  the  Douglas  family,  and 
when  the  earl  of  Angus  was  banished,  in  1527,  it 
continued  to  hold  out  against  James  V.  The  king 
went  in  person  against  it,  and,  for  its  reduction, 
borrowed  from  the  castle  of  Dunbar,  then  belong- 
ing to  the  duke  of  Albany,  two  great  cannons, 
whose  names,  as  Pitscottie  informs  us  with  lauda- 
ble minuteness,  were  "  Thrawn-mouth'd  Mow 
and  her  Marrow;"  also,  "  two  great  botcards,  and 
two  moyan,  two  double  falcons,  and  four  quarter 
falcons;"  for  the  safe  guiding  and  re-delivery  of 
which,  three  lords  were  laid  in  pawn  at  Dunbar. 
Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  apparatus,  James  was 
forced  to  raise  the  siege,  and  only  afterwards  ob- 
tained possession  of  Tantallon  by  treaty  with  the 
governor,  Simeon  Panano;o.  When  the  earl  of  An- 
gus returned  from  banishment,  upon  the  death 
of  James,  he  again  obtained  possession  of  Tantal- 
lon, and  it  actually  afforded  refuge  to  an  English 
ambassador,  under  circumstances  similar  to  those 
described  in  the  text.  This  was  no  other  than  the 
celebrated  sir  Ralph  Sadler,  who  resided  there 
for  some  time  under  Angus's  protection,  after  the 
failure  of  his  negotiation,  for  matching  the  infant 
Mary  with  Edward  VI.  He  says,  that  though  this 
place  was  poorly  furnished,  it  was  of  sucii  strength 
as  might  warrant  him  against  the  malice  of  his 
enemies,  and  that  he  now  thought  himself  out  of 
danger.* 

There  is  a  military  tradition,  that  the  old  Scottish 
march  was  meant  to  express  the  words, 

Ding;  down  Tantallon, 
Mali  a  brig  to  the  Bass. 
Tantallon  was  at  length  "dung  down"  and 
ruined  by  the  covenanters;  its  lord,  the  marquis  of 
Douglas,  being  a  favourer  of  the  royal  cause.  The 
castle  and  barony  were  sold  in  tlie  beginning  of 
the  eighteenth  century  to  president  Dalrymple  of 
North  Berwick,  by  tlie  then  marquis  of  Douglas. 

15.  tlieir  motto  on  his  blade. — P.  8-4. 

A  very  ancient  sword,  in  possession  of  lord  Dou- 
glas, bears,  among  a  great  deal  of  flourishing,  two 
hands  pointing  to  a  heart  which  is  placed  betwixt 
them,  and  the  date  1329,  being  the  year  in  which 
Bruce  charged  the  good  lord  Douglas  to  carry  his 
heart  to  the  holy  land.  The  following  lines  (the 
first  couplet  of  which  is  quoted  by  Godscroft,  as  a 
popular  saying  in  his  time)  are  inscribed  around 
the  emblem: 

Su  moiiy  guid  as  of  ye  Douglas  bciiige. 

Of  ane  surname  was  ui'er  in  Scotland  stine. 

I  will  ye  chaijj>^,  efier  vat  I  depart, 
To  holy  gi-awf,  and  th.  re  bury  my  hait; 
Let  it  remaiiie  ever  f/of/ic  fijme  and  h<ruir 
To  ye  last  day  I  sie  my  Saviour. 


•  The  very  curious  state  papers  of  this  able  negotiator 
tsave  been  lately  published  by  Mr.  Clifford, with  eorae 
aotei  by  the  author  of  Marmion. 


I  do  protest  in  tyme  of  al  my  ringje, 
Te  lyk  subject  had  never  ony  keing. 

This  curious  and  valuable  relique  was  nearly 
lost  during  the  civil  war  of  1745-6,  being  carried 
away  from  Douglas  castle  by  some  of  those  in  arras 
for  prince  Charles.  But  great  interest  having  been 
made  by  the  duke  of  Douglas  among  the  chief  par- 
tisans of  Stuart,  it  was  at  length  restored.  It  re- 
sembles a  highland  claymore  of  the  usual  size,  is 
of  an  excellent  temper,  and  admirably  poised. 

17.  —Martin  Swart.— P.  85. 
The  name  of  this  German  general  is  preserved 
by  that  of  the  field  of  battle,  which  is  called,  after 
him,  Swart-moor. — There  were  songs  about  him 
long  current  in  England. — See  dissertation  prefixed 
to  Jiitsori's  Ancient  Songs,  1792,  page  Ixi. 

18.  Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved: 

Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved. — P.  85. 

It  was  early  necessary  for  those  who  felt  them- 
selves obliged  to  believe  in  tlie  divine  judgment 
being  enunciated  in  the  trial  by  duel,  to  find  salvos 
for  the  strange  and  obviously  precarious  chances 
of  the  combat.  Various  curious  evasive  shifts,  used 
by  those  who  took  up  an  unrighteous  quarrel,  were 
supposed  sufficient  to  convert  it  into  a  just  one. 
Thus,  in  the  romance  of  "  Amys  and  Amelion," 
the  one  brother-in-arms,  fighting  for  the  other, 
disguised  in  his  armour,  swears  that  /ic-  dill  not 
commit  the  crime  of  which  the  steward,  his  antago- 
nist, truly,  though  maliciously,  accused  him  whom 
he  represented.  Braniome  tells  a  story  of  an  Ita- 
lian who  entered  the  lists  upon  an  unjust  quarrel, 
but,  to  make  his  cause  good,  fled  from  his  enemy 
at  the  first  onset.  "Turn,  coward!"  exclaimed 
his  antagonist.  "  Tliou  liest,"  said  the  Italian, 
"  coward  am  I  none;  and  in  this  quarrel  will  I 
fight  to  the  death,  but  my  first  cause  of  combat  was 
unjust,  and  I  abandon  it."  "  Je  vovs  laisse  a  pen- 
ser,"  adds  Brantorae,  "  s'j7  n't/  a  pas  cle  I'abxis  la." 
Else\vhere,  he  says,  very  sensibly,  upon  the  con- 
fidence which  those  who  had  a  righteous  cause  en- 
tertained of  victory;  "  C7>t  autre  abus  y  avoit-il, 
que  ccitx  qui  avoient  wi  juste  siibjet  de  quere.lle,  et 
qu''on  les  faisoit  jiirer  avant  entrer  an  camp,  pen- 
soient  estre  aussitost  vainqiietirs,  voire  s^cn  assuroi- 
ent-t-ils  (hi  tout,  mesine  que  leurs  cunfesseurs,  par- 
nuns,  et  confidants  leurs  en  respondoienttout-a-fait, 
comme  si  Dieu  lear  en  eiist  donne  unepatente;  et  ne 
regardant  point  a  d'autres  fantes  passees,  et  que 
Dieu  en  garde  la  puiiition  a  ce  coup  la  pour  pht* 
grunde,  despitenise,  et  exemplaire. " — Discours  sur 
les  Duels. 

19.  Duii-Edin's  cross.— P.  86. 
The  cross  of  Edinburgh  was  an  ancient  and  cu- 
rious structure.  The  lower  part  was  an  octago- 
nal tower,  sixteen  feet  in  diameter,  and  about  fif- 
teen feet  high.  At  each  angle  there  was  a  pillar, 
and  between  them  an  arch,  of  the  Grecian  shape. 
Above  these  was  a  projecting  battlement,  with  a 
turret  at  each  corner,  and  medallions,  of  rude  but 
curious  workmanship,  between  them.  Above  these 
rose  the  proper  cross,  a  column  of  one  stone,  up- 
wards of  twenty  feet  high,  surmounted  with  a  uni- 
corn. The  pillar  is  preserved  at  the  house  of  Drum, 
near  Edinburgh.  The  magistrates  of  Edinburgh, 
in  1756,  with  consent  of  the  lords  of  Session,  [proh 
pudor!)  destroyed  this  curious  monument,  under 
a  wanton  pretest  that  it  incumbered  the  street; 
while,  on  the  one  hand,  they  left  an  ugly  mass, 
called  the  Luckenbooths,  and,  OD  the  other,  an 


118 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


awkwaril,  long,  and  low  guard-liouse,  which  were 
fifty  times  more  incumbrance  than  the  venerable 
■and  inoffensive  cross. 

From  the  tower  of  the  cross,  so  long  as  it  re- 
mained, the  heralds  published  the  acts  of  parlia- 
ment; and  its  site,  marked  by  radii,  diverging  from 
a  stone  centre  in  the  High  Street,  is  still  the  place 
where  proclamation?  are  made. 

20.  This  awlul  suinmuns  came.— P.  86. 

This  supernatural  citation  is  mentioned  by  all 
our  Scottish  historians.  It  was  probably,  like  the 
apparition  of  Linlithgow,  an  attempt,  by  those 
a>erse  to  the  w.ar,  to  impose  upon  the  superstitious 
temper  of  James  IV.  Tlie  following  account  from 
Pitscotlie  is  characteristically  minute,  and  fur- 
nishes, besides,  some  curious  particulars  of  the 
equipment  of  the  array  of  James  IV.  1  need  only 
add  to  it,  that  Plotcock,  or  Plutock,  is  no  other 
than  Pluto.  The  Christians  of  the  middle  ages  by 
no  means  disbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  hea- 
then deities:  they  only  considered  them  as  devils;* 
and  Plotcock,  so'far  from  implying  any  thing  fabu- 
lous, was  a  synonyme  of  the  grand  enemy  of  man- 
kind. "  Yet  all  their  warnings,  and  uncouth  tid- 
ings, nor  no  good  counsel,  might  stop  the  king, 
at  this  present,  from  his  vain  purpose,  and  wicked 
enterprise,  but  hasted  him  Itist  to  Edinburgh,  and 
there  to  make  his  provisions  and  furnishing,  in  hav- 
ing forth  of  his  army  against  the  day  appointed, 
tliatthey  should  meet  in  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edin- 
burgh; that  is  to  say,  seven  cannons  that  he  had 
forth  of  the  castle  of  Edinburgh,  which  were  call- 
ed the  Seven  Sisters,  casten  by  Robert  Borthwick, 
the  master-gunner,  with  other  small  artillery,  bul- 
let, powder,  and  all  manner  of  order,  as  the  master- 
gunner  could  devise. 

"  In  tliis  mean  time,  when  they  were  taking 
fortli  their  artillery,  and  the  king  being  in  the  ab- 
bey lor  the  time,  there  was  a  cry  heard  at  the  mar- 
ket-cross of  Edinburgh,  at  the  hour  of  midnight, 
proclaiming  as  it  had  been  a  summons,  which  was 
named  and  called  by  the  proclaimer  thereof.  The 
Summons  of  Plotcock;  which  desired  all  men  to 
compear,  both  earl,  and  lord,  and  baron,  and  all 
honest  gentlemen  within  the  town,  (every  man 
specified  by  his  own  name,)  to  compear,  within 
the  space  of  forty  days,  betore  his  master,  where 
it  should  happen  him  to  appoint,  and  be  for  the 
time  under  the  pain  of  disobedience.  But  whether 
this  summons  was  proclaimed  by  vain  persons, 
night-walkers,  or  drunken  men,  for  their  pastime, 
or  if  it  was  a  spirit,  I  cannot  tell  truly;  but  it  was 
shown  to  me,  that  an  indweller  of  the  town,  jNlr. 
Richard  Lawson,  being  evil-disposed,  ganging  in 
his  gallery-stair  foreanent  tlie  cross,  liearing  this 
voice  proclaiming  this  summons,  thought  marvel 
what  it  should  be,  cried  on  his  servant  to  bring 
him  his  purse;  anil  when  be  had  brouglit  him  it, 
he  took  ou,t  a  crown,  and  cast  over  the  stair,  say- 
ing, 1  appeal  from  tliat  summons,  judgment,  and 
sentence  thereof,  and  takes  me  all  whole  in  the 
mercy  of  God,  and  Christ  Jesus  his  Son.  Verily, 
the  author  of  this,  that  caused  me  write  the  man- 


•  See,  oil  this  curious  subject,  the  essay  on  Fairies,  in 
the  "  Border  Minstrelsy,"  vol.  ii,  under  the  fourth  head; 
also  Jackson  on  unbelief,  p.  175.  Chaucer  calls  Pluto  the 
"king  of  Faerie;"  and  Dunbar  names  him  "Pluto,  that 
elrich  incubus."  If  he  was  not  actually  the  devil,  he  must 
be  considered  as  the  "  prince  of  the  power  of  tli'  air." 
The  most  remarkable  instance  of  these  surviving  classical 
superstitions,  is  that  of  the  Germans,  concerning  the  Hill 
of  Venus,  into  which  she  attempts  to  entice  ail  p^allani 
knights,  and  detains  them  in  a  sort  of  Fool's  Paradise. 


ner  of  the  summons,  was  a  landed  gentleman,  who 
was  at  that  time  twenty  years  of  age,  and  was  in 
fhe  town  the  time  of  the  said  summons;  and  there- 
after, vt'hen  the  field  was  stricken,  lie  swore  to  me, 
there  was  no  man  tliat  escaped  that  was  calletl  in 
tliis  summons,  but  that  one  man  alone  which  made 
his  protestation,  and  appealed  from  the  said  sum- 
mons: but  all  the  lave  were  perished  in  the  field 
with  the  king." 

21.  Fitz-Eustacc  bade  them  pause  awhile 
Before  a  venerable  pile.— P.  87. 

The  convent  alluded  to  is  a  foundation  of  Cis- 
tertian  nuns,  near  North  Berwick,  of  wliicli  there 
are  still  some  remains.  It  was  founded  by  Dun- 
can, earl  of  Fife,  iu  I'ilG. 

22.  That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 

Drove  the  monks  foitli  of  Coventry.— P.  88. 
This  relates  to  tlie  catastrophe  of  a  real  Robert 
de  Marmion,  in  the  reign  of  king  Steplien,  whom 
William  of  Newbury  describes  with  some  attri- 
butes of  my  fictitious  hero:  '■'■Homo  bel'ico.fii^,fe- 
rocia,  et  astutia,fere  nulla  suo  tempore  impar." 
This  baron,  having  expelled  the  monks  from  the 
church  of  Coventry,  was  not  long  experiencing  the 
divine  judgment,  as  the  same  monks  no  doubt 
termed  his  disaster.  Having  waged  a  feudal  war 
with  the  earl  of  Chester,  Marmion's  horse  fell,  as 
he  charged  in  the  van  of  liis  troop,  against  a  body 
of  tlie  earl's  followers:  the  rider's  thigh  being  bro- 
ken by  the  fall,  his  head  was  cut  oft  by  a  common 
foot-soldier,  ere  he  could  receive  any  succour.  The 
wliole  story  is  told  by  William  of  Newbm-y. 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  TI. 

1.  the  savage  Dane 

At  lol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain.— P.  89. 
The  lol  of  the  heathen  Danes,  (a  woid  still  ap- 
plied to  Christmas  in  Scotland,)  was  solemnized 
with  great  festivity.  The  humour  of  the  Danes  at 
table  displayed  itself  in  pelting  each  other  with 
bones;  and  Torfi«us  tells  a  long  and  curious  story, 
in  the  history  of  Hrolfe  Kraka,  of  one  Huttus,  an 
inmate  of  the  court  of  Denmark,  who  was  so  ge- 
nerally assailed  with  these  missiles,  that  he  con- 
structed, out  of  the  bones  with  which  he  was  over- 
whelmed, a  very  respectable  entrenchment,  against 
those  who  continued  the  raillery.  The  dances  of 
the  northern  warriors  round  the  great  fires  of  pine- 
trees  are  commemor.ated  by  Olaus  .Magnus,  who 
says,  they  danced  with  suclt  fury,  holding  each 
other  by  the  hands,  that,  if  the  grasp  of  any  failed, 
he  was  pitched  into  the  fire  with  the  velocity 
of  a  sling.  The  sufferer,  on  si.ch  occasions,  was 
instantly  plucked  out,  and  obliged  to  quaff  off  a 
certain  measure  of  ale,  as  a  penalty  for  "  spoiling 
tlie  king's  fire." 

2.  On  clirisnnas  eve  the  mass  was  sung.— P.  89. 

In  Roman  Catholic  countries,  mass  is  never  said 
.at  night,  excepting  on  Christmas  eve.  Each  of  the 
frolics,  with  which  that  holiday  used  to  be  celebrat- 
ed, might  admit  of  a  long  and  curious  note;  but 
I  sli.all  content  myself  with  the  following  descrip- 
tion of  Christmas,  and  his  attributes,  as  personified 
in  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  masques  for  the  court. 

"  Enter  christmas,  ~,i'ith  two  or  three  of  the  g-uard. 
He  is  attired  in  round  liose,  long  stockings,  a  close 
doublet,  a  high-crowned  hat,  with  a  broocli,  a 
long  thin  beard,  a  truncheon,  little  rufts,  wliile 
shoes,  his  scarfs  and  garters  tied  across,  and  his 
drum  beaten  before  him. 


MARMION. 


119 


"The  names  of  his  children,  with  their  attires. 

"  JVliss-rule,  in  a  velvet  cap,  with  a  sprig,  a  short 
cloak,  great  vellow  ruff,  like  a  reveller;  his  torch- 
bearer  bearing  a  rope,  a  cheese,  and  a  basket. 

"  Caroll,  a  long  tawny  coat,  with  a  red  cap,  and 
a  flute  at  his  girdle;  his  torch-bearer  carrying  a 
song-book  open. 

"  Minced  pie,  like  a  fine  cook's  wife,  drest  neat, 
her  man  carrying  a  pie,  dish,  and  spoons. 

"  Gamboll,  like  a  tumbler,  with  a  hoop  and  bells; 
his  torch-bearer  armed  with  a  cole-staff,  and  blind- 
ing cloth. 

''■Post  and  pair,  with  a  pair-royal  of  aces  in  his 
hat,  his  garment  all  done  over  with  pairs  and  purs; 
his  squire  carrying  a  box,  cards,  and  counters. 

'^  j\'ew-year''s-gift,  in  a  blue  coat,  serving-man 
like,  with  an  orange,  and  a  sprig  of  rosemarv  gilt 
on  his  head,  his  hat  full  of  brooches,  with  a  collar 
of  gingerbread;  his  torch-bearer  carrying  a  march- 
pain,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  on  either  arm. 

"  JMumming;  in  a  masquing  pied  suit,  with  a 
visor;  liis  torch-bearer  carrying  the  box,  and  ring- 
ing it. 

"  Wassal,  like  a  neat  sempster  and  songster; 
her  page  bearing  a  brown  bowl,  dressed  with  rib- 
bons, and  rosemary,  before  her. 

"  Offerintr,  in  a  short  gown,  willi  a  porter's  staff 
in  his  hand;  awythborne  before  him,  and  a  basin, 
by  his  torch-bearer. 

'  "  Baby  Cocke,  drest  like  a  boy,  in  a  fine  long 
coat,  biggin,  bib,  muckender,  and  a  little  dagger; 
his  usher  bearing  a  great  cake,  with  a  bean  and  a 
pease*. " 

3.  who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mysterj.— P.  89. 

It  seems  certain,  that  the  mummers  of  England, 
who  (in  Xorthumberland  at  least)  used  to  go  about 
in  disguise  to  the  neighbouring  houses,  bearing 
the  then  useless  ploughshare;  and  the  Guisards  of 
Scotland,  not  yet  in  total  disuse,  present,  in  some 
indistinct  degree,  a  shadow  of  the  old  mysteries, 
which  were  the  origin  of  the  English  drama.  In 
Scotland  [me  ipso  teste)  we  were  wont,  during 
my  boyhood,  to  take  the  characters  of  the  apostles, 
at  least  of  Peter,  Paul,  and  Judas  Iscariot;  the  first 
had  the  kevs,  the  second  carried  a  sword,  and  the 
last  the  bag,  in  which  the  dole  of  our  neighbours' 
plum-cake  was  deposited.  One  played  a  cham- 
pion, and  recited  some  traditional  rhymes;  an- 
other was 

■Alexander,  king  of  Macedon, 

Who  conquer'd  all  the  world  but  Scotland  alone; 

When  he  came  to  Scotland  his  courage  grew  cold. 

To  see  a  little  nation  so  courageous  ajid  bold. 
These,  and  many  such  verses,  were  repeated,  but 
by  rote,  and  unconnectedly.  There  was  also  occa- 
sionally, I  believe,  a  saint  George.  In  all,  there 
vias  a  confused  resemblance  of  the  ancient  myste- 
ries, in  which  the  characters  of  Scripture,  the  nine 
worthies,  and  other  popular  personages,  were  usu- 
ally exhibited.  It  were  mucli  to  be  wished,  that 
tlie  Chester  mysteries  were  published  from  tlic 
MS.  in  the  museum,  with  the  annotations  which 
a  diligent  investigatorof  popular  antiquities  might 
still  supph'.  The  late  acute  and  valuable  antiquarv, 
Mr.  Ritson,  showed  me  several  memoranda  to- 
wards such  a  task,  wiiich  are  probably  now  dis- 
persed or  lost.  See,  however,  his  He/narks  on 
Shakspeare,  1783,  p.  38. 

4.  Where  my  great  grandsire  came  of  old. 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair.— p.  80. 

Mr.  Scott,  of  Harden,  mv  kind  and  affectionate 

10 


friend  and  distant  relation,  has  the  original  of  a 
poetical  invitation,  addressed  from  his  grandfather 
to  mv  relative,  from  which  a  few  lines  in  the  test 
are  imitated.  They  are  dated,  as  the  epistle  in  the 
te.xt,  from  Mertouu  house,  tlie  seat  of  the  Harden 
family. 

"  With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair, 

And  reverend  apostolic  air, 

Five  of  anxiety  and  care, 

Come  hither,  christraas-day,  and  dine; 

We"il  mix  sobriet}'  with  wine. 

And  easy  miitli  >\ith  thoughts  divine. 

We  christians  think  it  holiday. 

On  it  no  sin  tu  feast  or  play; 

Others,  in  spite,  may  fast  or  pray. 

No  superstition  in  the  use 

Our  ancestors  made  of  a  goose; 

M'hy  may  not  w-,  as  well  as  they, 

lie  innocently  blith  that  day. 

On  goose  or  pie,  on  wine  or  ale, 

And  scorn  enthusiastic  zeal? — 

Pray  come,  and  welcome,  or  plague  rot 

Your  friend  and  laiidloi-d,  William  Scott." 
Mr.  Walter  Scott,  Lcssuddeu, 

The  venerable  old  gentleman,  to  whom  the  lines 
are  addressed,  was  the  younger  brother  of  William 
Scott  of  Raeburn.  Being  the  cadet  of  a  cadel  ol 
ttie  Harden  family,  he  had  very  little  to  lose;  j'et 
lie  contrived  to  lose  tlie  small  projierty  lie  had,  by 
engaging  in  the  civil  wars  and  intrigues  of  the 
house  of  Stuart.  His  veneration  for  the  exiled  fa- 
mily was  so  great,  that  he  swore  he  would  not 
shave  his  beard  till  they  were  restored:  a  mark  of 
attachment,  which,  I  suppose,  had  been  com- 
mon during  Cromwell's  usurpation;  for,  in  Cow- 
ley's "  Cutter  of  Coleman-streei,"  one  drunken 
cavalier  upbraids  another,  that,  when  he  was  not 
able  to  afford  to  pay  a  barber,  he  affected  to  "  wear 
a  beard  for  the  king."  I  sincerely  hope  this  was 
not  absolutely  the  original  reason  of  my  ancestor's 
beard;  which,  as  appears  from  a  portrait  in  the 
possession  of  sir  Heniw  Hay  Macdougal,  bart.  and 
another  painted  for  the  famous  Dr.  Pitcairn,*  was 
a  beard  of  a  most  dignified  and  venerable  ap[>ear- 
ance. 

5.  —the  spirit's  blasted  tree. — P.  90. 

1  am  permitted  to  illustrate  this  passage,  bv  in- 
serting "  Cetibrenyr  EU.yll,  or  the  Spirit's  Blasted 
Tree,"  a  legendary  tale,  by  the  reverend  George 
Warrington: 

"The  event  on  which  this  tale  is  founded,  is 
preserved  by  tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Vaugh- 
ans  of  Henwyrt:  nor  is  it  entirely  lost,  even  among 
the  common  people,  who  still  point  out  this  oak 
to  the  passenger.  The  enmity  between  the  two 
Welch  chieftains,  Howel  Sele,  and  Owen  Glyndwr, 
was  extreme,  and  marked  by  vile  treachcrv  in  tiie 
one,  and  ferocious  cruelty  in  tlie  other.f  The 
storv  is  somewhat  changed  and  softened,  as  more 
favourable  to  the  characters  of  the  two  chiefs,  and 
as  better  answering  the  puqiose  of  poetry,  by  ad- 
mitting the  passion  of  pity,  and  a  greater  degree 
of  sentiment  in  tie  description.  Some  trace  of 
Howtl  Sele's  mansion  was  to  be  seen  a  few  years 
ago,  and  may  perliaps  be  still  \isible,  in  tlie  park 
of  Xannau,  now  belonging  to  sir  Robert  Yaugiian, 
baronet,  in  the  wild  and  romantic  tracts  of  .Me- 
rionethshire. The  abbey  mentioned  passes  under 
two  names,  Vener  and  Cymnier.  The  former  is 
retained,  as  more  generally  used." 


*  The  old  gentleman  was  an  intim.*teof  this  celebrated 
genius.  Ky  the  favour  of  the  late  earl  of  Kelly,  descended 
on  the  maternal  side  tVoin  Dr.  Fitoairn,  my  father  became 
possessed  of  the  portrait  in  question. 

t  The  history  of  their  feud  may  be  found  in  Peiinant's 
Tour  in  AA'ales. 


130 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


THE  SPiniT's  BLASTED  THEE. 

Ccubren  yr  Ellyll. 

Throiiijh  Xannau's  elia<c  as  Howil  pass'd, 
A  cimf  tstftm'd  both  brave  and  kind, 

Far  distant  bovne,  the  sta^-hi)und's  cry 
Caine  murmuring  en  the  hollow  wind. 

Startini^,  he  bent  an  eap^r  ear, — 
How  should  the  sounds  return  ae^ain? 

Hi»  hounds  hiy  wearied  from  the  cnase, 
And  all  at  home  his  hunter  train. 

Then  sudden  an(;^r  ilash'd  his  eye, 
And  deep  revenge  he  vow'd  to  take. 

On  tliat  bold  man  who  dared  to  force 
His  red  deer  from  the  forest  brake. 

Unhappy  chief!  would  nought  avail, 
No  signs  impress  tliy  htart  with  fear, 

Tliy  lady's  dark  mysterious  dreajn, 
'I'hy  warning  fi-om  the  hoary  setr? 

Three  ravens  gave  the  note  of  death. 
As  through  mill  air  they  wing'd  their  way; 

Then  o"er  his  head,  in  rapid  Hight, 
They  croak,— tliey  scent  their  destined  prey. 

Ill-oraen"d  bird!  as  legends  say, 
Who  hast  the  woiid  reus  power  to  know. 

While  health  tills  high  the  throbbing  veins, 
The  fated  hour  when  blood  must  now. 

Blinded  by  rage,  alone  he  pass'd. 
Nor  sought  his  ready  vassals'  aid; 

But  what  his  fate  l.iy  long  unknown. 
For  many  an  anxious  year  delay'd. 

A  peasant  mark'd  his  angry  eye. 
He  saw  him  reach  the  lake's  dark  bourne. 

He  saw  him  near  a  blasted  oak. 
But  never  from  that  hour  return. 

Three  days  pass'd  o'er,  no  tidings  came; — 
Where  should  the  chief  his  steps  delay? 

With  wild  alarm  the  servants  ran, 
Yet  knew  not  where  to  point  their  way. 

His  vassals  ranged  the  mountain's  height. 

The  covert  close,  the  wide  spread  plain; 
But  all  in  vain  their  eager  search, 

They  ne'er  must  see  their  lord  ag^in. 
Yet  fancy,  in  a  thousand  shapes, 

Bore  to  his  home  the  chief  once  more: 
Some  saw  him  on  high  Moel's  top, 

Some  saw  him  on  the  winding  shore. 

With  wonder  fraught,  the  tale  went  round. 
Amazement  eham'd  the  hearer's  tongue; 

Each  peasant  felt  his  own  sad  loss. 
Yet  fondly  o'er  the  story  hung. 

Oft  by  the  moon's  pale  shadowy  light. 
His  aged  nurse,  and  steward  gray. 

Would  lean  to  catch  the  storied  sounds, 
Or  mark  the  flitting  spirit  stray. 

Pale  lights  on  Cader's  rocks  were  seen. 
And  midnight  voices  heard  to  moan; 

'Twas  even  said  the  blasted  oak. 
Convulsive,  heaved  a  hollow  groan 

And,  to  this  day,  the  peasant  still. 
With  cautious  fear  avoids  the  ground; 

In  each  wild  branch  a  spectre  sees,  • 
And  trembles  at  each  rising  sound. 

Ten  annual  suns  had  held  their  course. 
In  summer's  smilej  or  winter's  storm; 

The  lady  shed  the  widow 'd  tear. 
As  oft  she  traced  his  manly  form. 

Yet  still  to  hope  her  heart  would  cling. 

As  o'er  the  mind  illusions  play, — 
Of  travel  fond,  perhaps  her  lord 

To  distant  lands  had  steered  his  way. 

'Twas  now  November's  cheerless  hour. 
Which  drenching  rains  and  cloud's  deface; 

Dreary  bleak  Robell's  track  appeare<l. 
And  dull  and  dank  each  valley's  space. 

Loud  o'er  the  wier  the  hoarse  flood  fell. 
And  dashed  the  foaming  spray  on  high; 

The  wist  wind  bent  the  foi-est  tops. 
And  angry  frowned  the  evening  sky. 


A  stranger  pass'd  Llanelltid's  bourne. 
His  dark  gray  steed  with  sweat  besprent. 

Which,  wearied  with  the  lengthen'd  way, 
Could  scarcely  gain  tlie  hill's  ascent. 

The  poital  reach'd— the  iron  bell 

I.oiid  sounded  round  the  outward  wall; 
Quick  sprung  the  warder  to  the  gate. 

To  know  what  meant  the  clam'rous  call. 
"  O!  lead  me  to  your  lady  soon; 

Say,— it  is  my  sad  lot  to  tell. 
To  clear  the  fate  of  that  brave  knight. 

She  long  has  prov'd  she  lov'd  so  well." 

Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  spacious  hall. 

The  menials  look  surprise  and  fear; 
Still  o'er  his  harp  old  Modred  hung, 

And  touch'd  the  notes  for  grief's  wora  ear. 
The  lady  sat  amidst  her  ti'ain; 

A  mellow'd  sorrow  inark'd  her  look: 
Thni,  asking  what  this  mission  meant, 

The  graceful  stranger  sigh'd  and  spoke:— 
"  O  could  I  spread  one  ray  of  liope. 

One  moment  raise  thy  soul  trom  wo. 
Gladly  my  tongue  would  tell  its  tale. 

My  words  at  ease  unfetter'd  flowl 

"  Now,  lady,  give  attention  due. 
The  story  claims  thy  full  belief: 

E'en  in  the  worst  events  of  life. 
Suspense  remov'd  is  some  relief. 

"  Though  worn  by  care,  see  Madoc  here. 
Great  Glj-ndwr's  friend,  thy  kindred's  foe; 

Ah,  let  his  name  no  anger  raise. 
For  now  that  mighty  chief  lies  low! 

"  E'en  from  the  day,  when,  chain'd  by  fate, 
By  wizard's  dream,  or  jiotent  spell, 

Lingering  from  sad  Salopia's  field, 
'Reft  of  Aw  aid  the  Percy  fell;— 

"  E'en  from  that  day  misfortune  still, 

As  if  for  violated  faith. 
Pursued  him  with  unwearied  step. 

Vindictive  still  for  Hotspur's  death. 

"  Vanquished  at  length,  the  Glyndwr  fled. 

Where  winds  the  Wye  her  devious  flood; 
'l"o  find  a  casual  shelter  there, 

In  some  lone  cot,  or  desert  wood. 
"  Clothed  in  a  shepherd's  humble  guise, 

He  gain'd  by  toil  his  scanty  bread; 
He  who  had  Cambria's  sceptre  boi-ne. 

And  her  brave  sons  to  glory  led! 
"  To  penury  extreme,  and  grief. 

The  chieftain  fell  a  lingering  prey; 
I  heard  his  last  few  faltering  words. 

Such  as  with  pain  I  now  convey. 

"  '  To  Sele's  sad  widow  bear  the  tale, 

'  Nor  let  our  horrid  secret  i-est; 
'  Give  but  hi.f  corse  to  sacred  earth, 

'  Then  may  my  parting  soul  be  blest.' — 
"  Dim  wax'd  the  eye  that  fiercely  shone. 

And  faint  the  tongue  that  proudly  spoke. 
And  weak  that  arm,  still  raised  to  me. 

Which  oft  had  dealt  the  mortal  stroke, 

"  How  could  I  then  his  mandate  bear? 
.    Or  how  his  last  behest  obey? 
A  rebel  deeip'd,  with  him  I  tied; 
With  him  I  shuim'd  the  light  of  day. 

"Proscribed  by  Henry's  hostile  rage. 
My  country  lost,  despoil'd  my  laud. 

Desperate,  I  fled  my  native  soil. 
And  fought  on  Syria's  distant  strand. 

"  O,  had  thy  long-lamented  lord 
The  holy  cross  and  banner  view'd. 

Died  in  the  sacred  cause!  who  fell 
Sad  victim  of  a  private  feud! 

"  Led  by  the  anlour  of  the  chase. 
Far  distant  from  his  own  domain; 

From  where  Garthiuaelan  spreads  hfr  shades 
'I'lie  Glyndwr  sought  the  opening  plain. 

"  With  head  aloft  and  antlers  wide, 
A  red  buck  rousid  then  cross'd  in  vievt; 

Stung  with  the  sight,  and  wild  with  rage, 
Swift  from  the  wood  fierce  Howel  flew. 


MAUiUOX. 


121 


"  with  bitter  taunt,  and  keen  reproach, 
He,  all  impetuous,  pour'd  his  rage; 

Reviled  the  chief  as  weak  in  arms. 
And  bade  him  loud  the  battle  wage. 

"Glyndwr  for  once  restrained  his  sword, 
And,  still  averse,  the  fight  delays; 

But  soften'd  words,  like  oil  to  fire. 
Made  auger  more  intensely  blaze. 

"  They  fought;  and  doubtful  long  the  fray! 

The  Glyndwr  gave  the  fatal  wound! — 
Still  mournful  must  my  tale  proceed, 

And  its  last  act  all  dreadful  sound. 

"  How  could  we  hope  for  wish'd  retreat, 
His  eager  vassals  ranging  wide? 

His  bloodhounds'  keen  sagacious  scent. 
O'er  many  a  trackless  mountain  tried.' 

"  I  mark'd  a  broad  and  blasted  oak, 

Scorch'd  by  the  lightning's  livid  glai«; 
Hollow  its  stem  from  branch  to  root. 

And  all  its  shrivell'd  arms  were  bare. 
"  Be  this,  I  cried,  his  proper  grave! — 

(The  thought  in  me  was  deadly  sin,) 
Aloft  we  raised  the  hapless  chief, 

And  dropp'd  his  bleeding  corpse  within." 

A  shriek  fiom  all  the  damsels  burst. 
That  pierced  the  vaulted  roofs  below; 

While  horror-struck  the  lady  stood, 
A  living  form  of  sculptured  wo. 

With  stupid  stare,  and  vacant  gaze. 
Full  on  his  face  her  eyes  were  cast, 

Absorb'd! — she  lost  her  prese.nt  grief. 
And  faintly  thought  of  things  long  past. 

Like  wild-fire  o'er  a  mossy  heath, 
The  rumour  through  the  hamlet  ran; 

The  peasants  crowd  at  morning  dawn. 
To  hear  the  tale, — behold  the  man. 

He  lead  them  near  the  blasted  oak, 

Then,  conscious,  from  the  scene  withdrew. 
The  peasants  wo.k  with  trembling  haste, 

And  lay  the  whiten"d  bones  to  view!— 
Back  they  recoil'd— the  right  hand  still, 

Contracted,  grasp'd  the  rusty  sword; 
Which  erst  in  many  a  battle  gleam"d. 

And  proudly  deck'd  their  slaughtered  lord. 

They  bore  the  corse  to  Veners  shrine. 
With  holy  rites  and  pi-ayers  address'd; 

Nine  white-robed  monks  the  last  dirge  sang. 
And  gave  the  angry  spirit  resu 

6.  The  highlander 


Will,  on  a  Friday  mom,  look  pale. 
If  ask'd  to  tell  a  J'aii-j-  tale.— P.  90. 

The  Daoine  ski\  or  men  of  peace,  of  tlie  Scot- 
tish highlanders,  rather  resemble  the  Scandina- 
vian dner:^ar  than  the  English  fairies.  Notwith- 
standing their  name,  they  are,  if  not  absolutely 
malevolent,  at  least  peevish,  discontented,  and  apt 
to  do  mischief  on  slight  provocation.  The  belief 
of  their  existence  is  deeply  impressed  on  the  high- 
landers,  who  think  they  are  particularly  offended 
with  mortals,  who  talk  of  them,  who  wear  their 
favourite  colour,  green,  or  in  any  respect  interfere 
with  their  affairs.  This  is  especially  to  be  avoid- 
ed on  Friday,  when,  whether  as  dedicated  to  Ve- 
nus, with  whom,  in  (Jermany,  this  subterraneous 
people  are  held  nearly  connected,  or  for  a  more 
solemn  reason,  they  are  more  active,  and  possess- 
ed of  greater  power.  Some  curious  particulars 
concerning  the  popular  superstitions  of  the  high- 
landers,  may  be  found  in  Dr.  Graham's  Pictur- 
esque Sketches  of  Perthshire. 

7. the  towers  of  Franchemont,— P.  90. 

The  journal  of  the  triend  to  whom  the  fourth 
canto  of  the  poem  is  inscribed,  furnished  me  with 
the  foUowiiig  account  of  a  striking  superstition. 

"Passed  the  pretty  little  village  of  Franchemont, 


(near  Spaw,)  with  the  romantic  ruins  of  the  o.  d 
castle  of  the  counts  of  that  name.  The  road  leads 
through  many  delightful  vales,  on  a  rising  ground; 
at  the  extremity  of  one  of  them,  stands  the  ancient 
castle,  now  the  subject  of  many  superstitious  le- 
gends. It  is  firmly  believed  by  the  neighbouring 
peasantry,  that  the  last  baron  of  Franchemont  de- 
posited, in  one  of  the  vaults  of  the  castle,  a  pon- 
derous chest,  containing  an  immense  treasure  in 
gold  and  silver,  which,  by  some  magic  spell,  wiv 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  devil,  who  is  constant- 
ly found  sitting  on  the  chest  in  the  shape  of  a  hunts- 
man. Any  one  adventurous  enough  to  touch  the 
chest  is  instantly  seized  with  the  palsy.  Upon  one 
occasion,  a  priest  of  noted  piety  was  brought  to 
the  vault:  he  used  all  the  arts  of  exorcism  to  per- 
suade his  infernal  majesty  to  vacate  his  seat,  but 
in  vain;  the  huntsman  remained  immovable.  At 
last,  moved  by  the  earnestness  of  the  priest,  he 
told  him,  that  he  would  agree  to  resign  the  chest, 
if  the  exerciser  would  sign  his  name  with  blood. 
But  the  priest  understood  his  meaning,  and  refus- 
ed, as  by  that  act  he  would  have  delivered  over 
his  soul  to  the  devil.  Yet  if  any  body  can  discover 
the  mystic  words  used  by  the  person  who  deposit- 
ed the  treasure,  and  pronounce  them,  the  fiend 
must  instantly  decamp.  I  had  many  stories  of  a 
similar  nature  from  a  peasant,  who  had  liimseK 
seen  the  devil,  in  the  shape  of  a  great  cat." 

8.  The  ver>-  form  of  Hilda  fair, 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air.— P.  91. 

"  I  shall  only  produce  one  instance  more  of  the 
great  veneration  paid  to  lady  Hilda,  which  still 
prevails  even  in  these  our  days;  and  that  is,  the 
constant  opinion  that  slie  rendered,  and  still  ren- 
ders, herself  visible,  on  some  occasions  in  the  ab- 
bey of  Streanshalh,  or  Whitby,  where  she  so  long 
resided.  At  a  particular  time  of  the  year  (viz.  in 
the  summer  months,)  at  ten  or  eleven  in  tlie  fore- 
noon, the  sun-beams  fall  in  the  inside  of  the  north- 
ern part  of  the  choir;  and  'tis  then  that  tlie  spec- 
tators, who  stand  on  the  west  side  of  Whitby 
church-yard,  so  as  just  to  see  the  most  noi-tlierly 
part  of  the  abbey  past  the  north  end  of  \Miilby 
church,  imagine  they  perceive,  in  one  of  the  high- 
est windows  there,  the  resemblance  of  a  woman 
arrayed  in  a  shroud.  Though  we  are  certain  this 
is  only  a  reflection,  caused  by  the  splendour  of  the 
sun-beams,  yet  fame  reports  it,  and  it  is  constant- 
ly believed  among  tlie  vulgar,  to  be  an  appearance 
of  lady  Hilda  in  iier  shroud,  or  rather  in  a  glori- 
fied state;  before  which,  I  make  no  doubt,  the  pa- 
pists, even  in  these  our  days,  offer  up  their  pray- 
ers with  as  much  zeal  and  devotion,  as  before  anv 
other  image  of  their  most  glorified  saint." — Charl- 
ton's History  of  Whitby,  p.  33. 

9.  A  bishop  by  tjie  altar  stood.— P.  93. 

The  well  known  Gawain  Douglas,  bishop  of  Dun- 
keld,  son  of  Archibald  Bell-the-cat,  earl  of  Angus. 
He  was  author  of  a  Scottish  metrical  version  of  the 
iEneid,  and  of  many  other  poetical  pieces  of  great 
merit.  He  had  not  at  this  period  attained  the  mitre. 

10,  ——  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 
Which  wont,  of  yore,  in  battle-fray, 
His  foemen's  limbs  to  shred  away. 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray.— P.  93. 

Angus  had  strength  and  personal  activity  cor- 
responding to  his  courage.  Spens  of  Kilspindie,  a 
favourite  of  James  IV,  having  spoken  of  him  light- 
ly, the  earl  met  him  while  hawking,  and,  compel- 
ling him  to  single  combat,  at  one  blow  cut  asuu- 


122 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


dcr  his  ihigh  bone,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot. 
But  ere  he  could  oi)taiii  James's  pardon  for  this 
slaughter,  Angus  was  obliged  to  yield  his  castle 
of  Hermitage,  in  exchange  for  that  of  Bothwell, 
which  was  some  diminution  to  the  family  great- 
ness. The  sword,  with  which  he  struck  so  remark- 
able a  1)1  )w,  was  presented  by  his  descendant, 
James,  earl  of  Morton,  afterwards  regent  of  Scot- 
land, to  lord  Lindesay  of  the  Uyres,  when  he  de- 
fied Bothwell  to  single  combat  on  Carberry-hill. — 
See  Introduction  to  the  JUinstreky  of  tlie  Scottish 
Border,  p.  9. 

11.  And  hoppst  thou  hfiice  unscathed  to  go? — 
No,  by  St.  Bride  of  Holhwell,  no! 
Up  drawhridgi-,  erooras, — what,  warder,  ho! 
Lt  t  thf  portcullis  fall.— P.  93. 

This  ebullition  of  violence  in  the  potent  earl  of 
Atigus  is  not  without  its  example  in  the  real  his- 
tory of  the  house  of  Douglas,  whose  chieftains  pos- 
sessed the  ferocity,  with  the  heroic  virtues,  of  a 
savage  state.  The  most  curious  instance  occurred 
in  the  case  of  Alaclellan,  tutor  of  Boniby,  who, 
having  refused  to  acknowledge  the  pre-eminence 
claimed  by  Douglas  over  the  gentlemen  and  barons 
of  Galloway,  was  seized  and  imprisoned  bv  the 
c.yl  in  his  castle  of  the  Thrievc,' on  the  borders 
of  Kirkcudbright-shire.  Sir  Patrick  Gray,  com- 
mander of  king  James  the  second's  guard,  was 
uncle  to  the  tutor  of  Bomhy,  and  obtained  from 
the  king  a  "  sweet  letter  of  supplication,"  praying 
the  earl  to  deliver  his  prisoner  into  Gray's  hand. 
\Vhen  sir  Patrick  arrived  at  the  castle,  he  was 
received  with  all  the  honour  due  to  a  favourite 
servant  of  the  king's  household;  but  while  he  was 
at  dinner,  the  earl,  who  suspected  his  errand, 
caused  his  prisoner  to  be  led  forth  and  beheaded. 
After  dinner,  sir  Patrick  presented  the  king's  let- 
ter to  the  earl,  who  received  it  with  great  affecta- 
tion of  reverence;  "  and  took  him  by  the  hand, 
and  led  him  forth  to  the  green,  where  the  gentle- 
man was  lying  dead,  and  showed  him  the  manner, 
and  said,  '  Sir  Patrick,  you  are  come  a  little  too 
late;  yonder  is  your  sister's  son  lying,  but  he  wants 
the  head:  take  his  body  and  do  with  it  what  you 
will.'  Sir  Patrick  answered  again  with  a  sore 
heart,  and  said.  My  lord,  if  ye  have  taken  from 
him  his  head,  dispone  upon  the  body  as  ye  please: 
and  with  that  called  for  his  horse,  and  leaped  there- 
on; and  when  he  was  on  horseback,  he  said  to  the 
earl  on  this  manner,  My  lord,  if  I  live,  you  shall 
be  rewarded  for  your  labours,  that  you  have  used 
at  this  time,  according  to  your  demerits. 

"At  this  saying  the  earl  was  highly  offended, 
and  cried  for  horse.  Sir  Patrick,  seeing  the  earl's 
fury,  spurred  his  horse,  but  he  was  chased  near 
Edinburgh  ere  they  left  him;  and  had  it  not  been 
his  led  horse  was  so  tried  and  good,  he  had  been 
taken." — Pitscottie''s  History,  p.  39. 

12.  A  letter  forgt'd!  St.  .lude  to  speed! 
Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed.' — P.  94. 

Lest  the  reader  should  partake  of  the  earl's  as- 
tonishment, and  consider  the  crime  as  inconsistent 
with  the  manners  of  the  period,  I  have  to  remind 
him  of  the  numerous  forgeries  ( partly  executed  by  i 
a  female  assistant)  devised  by  Robert  of  Artois, 
to  forward  his  suit  against  the  countess  Matilda; 
which,  heing  detected,  occasioned  his  flight  into 
England,  and  proved  the  remote  cause  of  Kdward 
the  third's  memorable  wars  in  France.  John  Hard- 
ing, also,  was  expressly  hired  by  Edward  IV,  to 
forge  such  documents  as  might  appear  to  establish 


the  claim  of  fealty  asserted  over  Scotland  by  the 
English  monarchs. 
13.  Where  Lcnnel's  convent  closed  their  march. — P.  94 

This  was  a  Cistertian  house  of  religion,  now  al- 
most entirely  demolished.  Lennel  house  is  now 
the  residence  of  my  venerable  friend  Patrick  Bry- 
done,  esquire,  so  well  known  in  the  literary  world. 
It  is  situated  near  Coldstream,  almost  opposite  tj 
Corrdiill,  and  consequently  veiy  near  to  Floddea 
field. 

14.  The  Till  by  Twisel  bridge.— P.  94. 

On  the  evening  previous  to  the  memorable  battle 
of  Flodden,  Surrey's  head-quarters  were  at  Bar- 
moor-wood,  and  king  James  held  an  inaccessible 
position  on  the  ridge  of  Flodden-hill,  one  of  the 
last  and  lowest  eminences  detached  from  the  ridge 
of  Cheviot.  The  Till,  a  deep  and  slow  river,  wind- 
ed between  the  armies.  On  the  morning  of  the 
ninth  September,  1513,  Suixey  m.arched  in  a  north- 
westerly direction,  and  crossed  the  Till,  with  his 
van  and  artillery,  at  Twisel  bridge,  nigh  where 
that  river  joins  the  Tweed,  his  rear-guard  column 
passing  about  a  mile  higher,  by  a  ford.  This  move- 
ment had  the  double  effect  of  placing  his  army 
between  king  James  and  his  supplies  from  Scot- 
land, and  of  striking  the  Scottish  monarch  with 
surprise,  as  he  seems  to  have  relied- on  the  depth 
of  the  river  in  his  front.  But  as  the  passage,  both 
over  the  bridge  and  tlirough  the  foril,  was  difficult 
and  slow,  it  seems  possible  that  the  English  might 
have  been  attacked  to  great  advantage  while  strug- 
gling with  these  natural  obstacles.  1  know  not  if  we 
are  to  impute  James's  forbearance  to  want  of  milita- 
ry skill,  or  to  the  romantic  declaration  which  Pits- 
cottie  puts  in  his  mouth,  "  that  he  was  determined 
to  have  his  enemies  before  him  on  a  plain  field," 
and  therefore  would  suffer  no  interruption  to  be 
given,  even  by  artillery,  to  their  ])assingthe  river. 

The  ancient  bridge  of  Twisel,  by  which  the 
Englisli  crossed  the  Till,  is  still  standing  beneath 
Twisel  castle,  a  splendid  pile  of  Gothic  architec- 
ture, as  now  rebuilt  by  sir  Francis  Blake,  hart, 
whose  extensive  plantations  have  so  much  im- 
proved the  country  round.  The  glen  is  romantic 
and  delightful,  with  steep  banks  on  each  side, 
covered  with  copse,  particularly  with  hawthorn. 
Beneath  a  tall  rock,  near  the  bridge,  is  a  plentiful 
fountain,  called  St.  Helen's  well. 

15.  Hence  miffht  they  see  the  full  array 
Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fr.iy.— P.  95. 
The  reader  cannot  here  expect  a  full  account  of 
the  battle  of  Flodden;  but,  so  far  as  is  necessai-y 
to  understand  the  romance,  I  beg  to  remind  him, 
that  when  the  English  army,  by  their  skilful  coun- 
termarch, were  fairly  placed  between  king  James 
and  his  own  country,  the  Scottish  monarch  resolv- 
ed to  fight;  and,  setting  fire  to  his  tents,  descended 
from  the  ridge  of  Flodden  to  secure  the  neighbour- 
ing eminence  of  Branksome,  on  which  that  village 
is  built.  Thus  the  two  armies  met,  almost  with- 
out seeing  each  other,  when,  according  to  the  old 
poem  of  "  Flodden  Field," 

The  English  line  sti-etch'd  east  and  west, 

And  southward  were  thtir  faces  set; 
The  Scottish  northward  proudly  prest, 
And  manfully  their  foes  they  met. 
The  English  army  advanced  in  four  divisions.   On 
the  right,  which  first  engaged,  were  the  sons  of 
earl  Surrey,  namely,  Thomas  Howard,  the  admi- 
ral of  Fngiand,  and'  sir  Edmund,  the  knight  mar- 
shal of  the  army.    Their  divisions  were  separated 
from  each  other;  but,  at  the  request  of  sir  Edmund, 


MARMION. 


123 


his  brother's  baltiilion  was  drawn  veiy  near  to  his 
own.  The  centre  was  commanded  by  Surrey  in 
person;  and  the  left  wing  by  sir  Edward  Statlley, 
with  the  men  of  Lancashire,  and  of  the  palatinate 
of  Chester.  Lord  Dacre,  with  a  large  body  of 
horse,  formed  a  reserve.  When  the  smoke,  which 
tht  wind  had  driven  between  the  armies,  was  some- 
what dispersed,  tliey  perceived  the  Scots,  who  had 
moved  down  the  hill,  in  a  similar  order  of  battle, 
and  in  deep  silence.*  The  earls  of  Huntly  and  of 
Home  commanded  their  left  wing,  and  charged  sir 
Edmund  Howard  with  such  success,  as  entirely  to 
defeat  his  pai-t  of  the  English  right  wing.  The 
admiral,  however,  stood  firm;  and  Dacre,  iidvanc- 
ingto  his  support  with  the  reserve  of  cavalry,  prob- 
ably between  the  intervals  of  the  divisions  com- 
manded by  the  brothers  Howard,  appears  to  have 
kept  the  victors  in  effectual  check.  Home's  men, 
chiefly  borderers,  began  to  pillage  the  baggage  of 
both  armies;  and  their  leader  is  branded,  by  the 
Scottish  historians,  with  negligence  or  treacherj'. 
On  the  other  hand,  Huntley,  on  whom  they  bestow 
many  encomiums,  is  said,  by  the  English  histori- 
ans, to  have  left  the  field  after  the  first  charge. 
Meanwhile  the  admiral,  whose  flank  these  chiefs 
ought  to  have  attacked,  availed  himself  of  their  in- 
activitj-  an<f  ^usiied  forward  against  anotlier  large 
division  of  tl)»  Scottish  army  in  his  front,  headed 
by  the  earls  of  Crawford  and  Montrose,  both  of 
■whom  were  slain,  and  their  forces  routed.  On  the 
left,  the  success  of  the  English  was  yet  more  de- 
cisive; for  the  Scottish  right  wing,  consisting  of 
undisciplined  liighlanders,  commanded  by  Lenox 
and  .\rgyle,  was  unable  to  sustain  the  cliarge  of 
sir  Edward  Stanlej-,  and  especially  the  severe  exe- 
cution of  the  Lancashire  archers.  The  king  and 
Surrey,  who  commanded  the  respective  centres  of 
their  armies,  were  meanwhile  engaged  in  close 
and  dubious  conflict.  James,  surrounded  by  the 
flower  of  his  kingdom,  and  impatient  of  the  gall- 
ing discharge  of  arrows,  supported  also  by  his  re- 
serve under  Bothwell,  charged  with  such  fury, 
that  the  standard  of  Surrey  was  in  danger.  At  that 
critical  moment,  Stanley,  who  had  routed  the  left 
wing  of  the  Scottish,  pursued  his  career  of  victory, 
and  arrived  on  the  right  flank,  and  in  the  rear  of 
James's  division,  which,  throwing  itself  into  a  cir- 
cle, disputed  the  battle  till  night  came  on.  Surrey 
then  drew  back  his  forces,  for  the  Scottish  centre 
not  having  been  broken,  and  their  left  wing  being 
victorious,  he  yet  doubted  the  event  of  tlie  field. 
The  Scottish  army,  however,  felt  their  loss,  and 
abandoned  the  field  of  battle  in  disorder  before 
dawn.  They  lost,  perhaps,  from  eight  to  ten  thou- 
sand men,  but  that  included  the  very  prime  of  thejr 
nobility,  gentrj',  and  even  clergy.  Scarce  a  family 
of  eminence  but  has  an  ancestor  killed  at  Flodden; 
and  there  is  no  province  in  Scotland,  even  at  this 
day,  where  tiie  battle  is  mentioned  without  a  sen- 
sation of  terror  and  sorrow.  The  English  lost  also 
a  great  number  of  men,  perhaps  within  one-third 
of  the  vanquished,  but  thej'  were  of  inferior  note. 
—  See  the  only  distinct  detail  of  the  field  of  Flod- 
den in  Pinkertoji's  Historii,  book  xi,  all  former 
accounts  bein^  full  of  blunder  and  inconsistency. 

Tlie  spot,  fi-om  which  Clara  views  the  battle, 
must  be  supposed  to  have  been  on  a  hillock  com- 
manding the  rear  of  the  English  right  wing,  which 


*  "  Lesquels  EccJsois  descendirent  la  montagne  en 
bon  o.dre,  en  la  maiiitre  que  marchent  les  Allemans, 
sans  parler,  ni  faii-e  »ucun  bruit."  Gazette  of  the  Battle, 
Pinkerton'j  Histonj,  Appendix,  vol.  ii,  p.  453. 


was  defeated,  and  in  which  conflict  Marmion  is 
supposed  to  have  fallen. 

16. Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight. — P.  96. 

Sir  Brian  Tunstall,  called  in  the  romantic  lan- 
guage of  the  time,  Tunstall  the  undefiled,  was  one 
of  the  few  Englishmen  of  rank  slain  at  Flodden. 
He  figures  in  the  ancient  English  poem,  to  which 
I  may  safely  refer  ray  reader;  as  an  edition,  with 
full  explanatory  notes,  has  been  published  by  my 
friend  Mr.  Henry  AVeber.  Tunstall  perhaps  de- 
rived his  epithet  of  vndefiled  from  his  white  ar- 
mour and  banner,  the  latter  bearing  a  white  cock 
about  to  crow,  as  well  as  from  his  unstained  loy- 
alty and  knightly  faith.  His  place  of  residence  was 
Thurland  castle. 

17.  View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully. 
Defaced  aud  mangled  though  it  be; 
Nor  to  yon  border  castle  high 
Look  northward  with  upbraiding  eye. — P.  93. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  king  James  fell  in 
the  battle  of  Flodden.  He  was  killed,  says  tho 
curious  French  gazette,  within  a  lance's  length  ot 
the  earl  of  Surrey;  and  the  same  account  adds, 
that  none  of  his  division  were  made  prisoners, 
though  manj'were  killed:  a  circumstance  that  tes- 
tifies tlie  desperation  of  their  resistance.  The 
Scottish  historians  record  many  of  the  idle  reports 
which  passed  among  the  vulgar  of  their  day.  Home 
was  accused,  by  the  popular  voice,  not  only  of 
failing  to  support  the  king,  but  even  of  having  car- 
ried him  out  of  the  field  and  murdered  him.  And 
this  tale  was  revived  in  my  remembrance,  by  an 
unauthenticated  story  of  a  skeleton,  wrapped  in  a 
bull's  hide,  and  surrounded  with  an  iron  chain, 
said  to  have  been  found  in  the  well  of  Home  cas- 
tle; for  which,  on  inquiry,  I  could  never  find  any 
better  authority  than  the  sexton  of  the  parish 
having  said,  that  if  the  -will  ivere  cleaned  out,  he 
loould  not  be  mirprised  at  such  a  iliscovery.  Home 
was  the  chamberhun  of  the  king,  and  his  prime 
favourite:  he  had  much  to  lose,  (in  fact  did  lose 
all,)  in  consequence  of  James's  death,  and  nothing 
earthly  to  gain  by  that  event:  but  the  retreat,  or 
inactivity'  of  the  left  wing,  which  he  commanded, 
after  defeating  sir  Edmund  Howard,  and  even  the 
circumstance  of  his  returning  unhurt,  and  loaded 
with  spoil,  from  so  fatal  a  conflict,  rendered  the 
propagation  of  any  calumny  against  him  easy  and 
acceptable:  other  reports  gave  a  still  more  ro- 
mantic turn  to  the  king's  fate,  and  averred,  that 
James,  weary  of  greatness  after  the  carnage  among 
his  nobles,  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage  to  merit  ab- 
solution for  the  (leath  of  his  fitther,  and  the  breach 
of  his  oath  of  amity  to  Henry.  In  particular,  it  was 
objectf^'d  to  the  English,  that  they  could  never 
show  the  token  of  tiie  iron  belt;  which,  however, 
he  was  likely  enough  to  have  laid  aside  on  the  day 
of  battle,  as  encumbering  his  personal  exertions. 
The}'  produce  a  better  evidence,  the  monarch's 
sword  and  dagger,  which  are  still  preserved  in  the 
Herald's  college  in  London.  Stowe  has  recorded 
a  degrading  story  of  the  disgrace  with  which  the 
remiyns  of  the  unfortunate  monarch  were  treated 
in  hisatime.  An  unhewn  column  marks  the  spot 
where  James  fell,  still  called  the  king's  stone. 

13.  «  fanatic  Brook 

"f  he  fair  cathedral  storm 'd  and  took. — P.  93. 
This  storm  of  Litchfield  catheilral,  which  had 
been  garrisoned  on  tlic  part  of  the  king,  took  place 
in  the  great  civil  war.  Lord  Brooke,  who,  with 
sir  John  Gill,  commanded  the  assailants,  was  shot 
with  a  mjisket-ball  through  the  visor  of  his  hel- 


VA 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


mi't.  'riii;  ro>:ilists  remarked,  that  he  was  killed 
by  a  shot  fireii  I'roni  St.  Chad's  cathedral,  and  upon 
St.  Chad's  day,  and  received  his  death-wound  in 
the  Very  eye  with  wliich  he  had  said,  he  hoped  to 
see  tiie'niinof  all  thecathednds  in  Kngland.  The 
magnificent  church  in  (piestion  sudered  cruelly 
upon  this,  and  other  occasions;  liie  principal  spire 
being  mined  by  the  fire  of  the  besiegers. 

Upon  revising  the  poem,  it   seems  proper  to 
mentipn  the  r;)llowin<r  particulars^ 


The  lines  in  page  C8, 

Whose  doom  discording  neighbours  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought; 

have  been  unconsciously  borrowed  from  a  passage 
in  Dryden's  beautiful  epistle  to  John  Driden  of 
Chesterton.  The  ballail  of  Lochinvar,  p.  83,  is  in 
a  very  slight  degree  founded  on  a  ballad  called 
"  Katherine  Janfarie,"  which  may  be  found  in  the 
"Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border." 


Et>t  Eatrg  ot  m  ISLn^t. 


TO  THE  MOST  NOBLE  JOHN  JAMES,  MARQUIS   OF  ABERCORN,  etc. 

THIS  POEM  IS  INSCRIBED,    BT  THE  AUTHOH. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  scene  of  the  following  poem  is  laid  chiefly 
in  the  vicinity  of  Loch-Katrine,  in  the  Western 
{lighlatMis  of  i'erthshire.  The  time  of  action  in- 
cludes ^-  .  days,  and  the  transactions  of  each  day 
occupy  a  canto. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

CANTO    I. 

THE  CHASE. 

Harp  of  the  North !  that  mouldering  long  hast 
hung 

On  the  witch-elm  that  shades   Saint   Fillan's 
spring. 
And  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung, 

Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling. 
Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  string, — 

O  minstrel  harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep' 
Mid  rustling  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring, 

Still  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence  keep, 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to'weep ' 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon,  • 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festal  crt)wd. 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  wonf 

Aroused  the  feai-ful  or  subdued  the  proml. 
At  each  according  pause  was  heard  aloud  • 

Thine  ardent  symphon}'  sublime  and  hi^! 
Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bovwd; 

For  still  the  burthen  of  thy  minstrels)'     . 
Was  knighthood's   dauntless  deed  and   beauty's 
matchless  eye. 

O  wake  once  more!  how  rude  soe'er  the  hartd 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray; 
O  wake  once  more !  tho'  scarce  my  skill  compiand 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay:% 
Though  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away. 

Anil  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain;     . 
Yet,  if  one  heart  throb  higher  at  its  sway,  • 

The  wizard  note  has  not  been  touched  in  yain. 
Then  silent  be  no  more !  Enchantress,  wake  again  I 

I. 

The  Stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
iWhi-re  danced  the  raoon  on  Monan's  l•^^,' 


And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 

In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade;        * 

But  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red     ^ 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head. 

The  deep-mouthed  blood-hound's  hcaVy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way. 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne. 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

U. 

As  chief,  who  hears  his  warder  call, 

"  To  arms!  the  foemen  storm  the  wall," — 

The  antlered  monarch  of  the  waste 

Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 

But,  e'er  his  fleet  career  he  took, 

The  dew  drops  from  his  flanks  he  shook; 

Like  crested  leader  proud  and  high, 

Tossed  his  beamed  frontlet  to  the  sky; 

A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 

A  moment  snufted  the  tainted  gale, 

A  moment  listened  to  tlie  crj% 

That  thickened  as  the  chase  drew  nigh; 

Tiien,  as  the  headmost  foes  appeared, 

With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  cleared, 

Anil,  stretcliing  forward  free  and  far, 

Sougiit  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var. 

III. 

Yelled  on  the  view  the  opening  pack. 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern  paid  them  back; 
'Kp  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
Tiie  awakened  moimtain  gave  response. 
An  hundred  dogs  bayed  deep  and  strong. 
Clattered  a  hundred  steeds  along. 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out. 
An  hundred  voices  joined  the  shout: 
With  hark  and  whoop,  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlick's  echoes  knew. 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cowered  the  doe, 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high. 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
Tiie  hurricane  had  swept  the  gl&n. 
Faint,  and  more  faint,  its  failing  din 
Returned  from  cavern,  clift',  and  linn, 
And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hili. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


125 


IV. 

Less  loud  til'  sounds  of  sylvan  war 
Disturbed  Uie  heights  of  Uam-Yar, 
And  roused  the  cavern,  where,  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old:^ 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won, 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun, 
And  many  a  gallant,  stayed  per  force, 
Was  fain  to  breathe  his  faltering  horse; 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer     .a 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near; 
So  shrewdly,  on  the  mountain  side, 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  mettle  tried. 

V. 

The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now. 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith. 
With  anxious  eye  he  wandered  o'er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor. 
And  pondered  refuge  from  his  toil. 
By  far  Lochard  or  Aberfoyle. 
But  nearer  was  the  copse-wood  gray. 
That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch-Achray, 
And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Ben-venue. 
Fresh  vigour  with  the  hope  returned. 
With  flying  foot  the  heath  he  spurned. 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race, 
And  left  behind  the  panting  chase. 

Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er, 
A^  swept  the  hunt  through  Cambus-more; 
AThat  reins  were  tightened  in  despair, 
\Wien  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air; 
"\vho  flagged  upon  Bochastle's  heath, 
Who  shunned  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith, 
For  twice,  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore. 
The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far, 
That  reached  the  lake  of  Vennachar; 
And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won, 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 

vn. 

Alone,  but  with  unbated  zeal. 

That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel; 

For  jaded  now,  and  spent  witli  toil, 

I^nbossed  with  foam,  and  dark  with  soil,     * 

MTiile  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew,- 

The  labouring  stag  strained  full  in  view.* 

Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 

Unmatched  for  courage,  breath,  and  sp?ed,2» 

Fast  on  his  flying  traces  came, 

And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game;  , 

For,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  his  haunch. 

Vindictive  toiled  the  blood-hounds  stauncb; 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain, 

Nnr  farther  might  the  quaiTy  strain. 

Thus  up  the  mai-gin  of  the  lake, 

Between  the  precipice  and  brake. 

O'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take. 

VUI. 

The  hunter  marked  that  mountain  high,  •    * 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary,  • 

And  deemed  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay,    ^ 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barred  the  way; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize. 
Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes; 
For  the  death-wound,  and  death-halloo, 
Muster'd  iiis  breath,  his  whinyard  drew; — 3 


But  thundering  as  he  came  prepared, 

With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared. 

The  wily  quarry  shunned  the  shock, 

And  turned  him  from  the  opposing  rock; 

Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 

Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 

In  the  deep  Trosach's  wildest  nook 

His  solitary  refuge  took. 

There  while,  close  couched,  the  thicket  shed 

Cold  dews  and  wild  flowers  on  his  head, 

He  heard  the  baflled  dogs  in  vain 

Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain. 

Chiding  the  rocks  that  yelled  again. 

IX. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  hunter  came. 

To  cheer  them  on  the  vanished  game; 

But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell. 

The  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell. 

The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 

To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein, 

For  the  good  steed,  his  labours  o'er. 

Stretched  his  stiff"  limbs  to  rise  no  more. 

Then  touched  with  pity  and  remorse. 

He  soiTowed  o'er  the  expiring  horse:         ^'.= 

"  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 

I  slacked  upon  the  banks  of  Seine, 

That  highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed 

On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed; 

Wo  worth  the  chase,  wo  worth  the  day. 

That  costs  thy  life,  my  gallant  gray!" — 

X. 

Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds. 
From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 
Back  limped,  with  slow  and  crippled  pace. 
The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  pressed, 
With  drooping  tail  and  humbled  crest; 
But  still  the  dingle's  hollow  throat 
Prolonged  the  swelling  bugle-note. 
The  owlets  started  from  their  dream. 
The  eagles  answered  with  tlicir  scream. 
Round  and  around  the  sounds  were  cast. 
Till  echo  seemed  an  answering  blast; 
And  on  the  hunter  hied  his  way. 
To  join  some  comrades  of  the  day; 
Yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road. 
So  wond'rous  were  the  scenes  it  showed. 

XI.  ^ 

"t  Tlie  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
Rolled  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way; 
Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire, 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below. 
Where  twined  the  path  in  shadow  hid, 
Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid;  ^ 
Shooting  abruptly  from  the^dell 
Its  thunder-splintered  pinnacle; 
Round  many  an  insulated  mass, 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass. 
Huge  as  the  tower  whiclkbuiUers  vain 
Presumptuous  piled  on  ShuTkr's  plain. 

'  The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 
Formed  turret,  dome,  or  battlement, 
Or  seemed  fantastically  set' 
With  cupoJ5~br  minaret^ 
Wild  crests  as  pa^^od  ever  decked. 
Or  musque  of  eastern  architect. 
Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  hare, 
Nor  lacked  they  many  a  banner  fair; 


125 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


For,  from  their  shivcr'd  brows  display'd, 
Far  u'er  (lie  uiifalhomHble  gln(le, 
All  iwinklirvj;  w  itli  llie  dew-drops  sheen, 
The  briar-rose  fell  in  streamers  green, 
And  ci-eepint;  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes. 
Waved  in  the  west- wind's  summer  sighs. 

XII. 

]?oon  nature  scattor'd,  free  and  wild, 

E:ich  plant,  or  llower,  the  mountain's  child. 

Here  cglantint;  embaliii'd  tlie  air, 

-Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingled  there; 

^I'he  pria\rose  pale,  and  violet  flower. 
Found  in  each  cliff  a  narrow  bower; 
Fox-glove  and  nigiit-shade,  side  by  side, 
Emblems  of  punisiimenl  and  pride, 
G'.-oup'd  their  dark  hues  with  every  stain 
'1  ae  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 
W  itli  l)()ugbs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 
Gray  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath; 
Aloft,  tlie  ash  and  warrior  oak 
Cast  anchor  in  the  rifted  rock; 
And,  higlier  yet,  the  pine-tree  hung 
His  slialter'd  trunk,  and  frequent  flung. 
Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  boughs  athwart  the  narrov.'d  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced. 
Where  glist'ning  streamei's  waved  and  danced, 
The  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view 
The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue; 
So  wond'rous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream. 

XIll. 

Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 
A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 
Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  brim, 
As  sei-ved  the  wild  duck's  brood  to  swim. 
I^ost  for  a  space,  through  thickets  veering, 
fiut  broader  when  again  appearing, 
Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  their  face 
Could  on  the  dark-blue  mirror  trace; 
And  fai-lher  as  the  hunter  strayed. 
Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made. 
The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood, 
Emerging  from  entangled  wood, 
Hut,  wave-encircled,  seemed  to  float. 
Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat; 
Yet  broader  floods  extending  still. 
Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill, 
Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 
An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 

XIV. 
And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 
No  pathway  meets  tlie  wanderer's  ken. 
Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 
A  lur  projecting  precipice.'i 
The  broom's  tough  root  his  ladder  made. 
The  hazel  saplings  lent  their  aid; 
And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won, 
^^■here,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 
One  burnished  sheet  of  living  gold, 
Loch-Katrine  lay  beneath  him  rolled, 
In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay, 
With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay, 
And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright. 
Floated  amid  the  livelier  light. 
And  mountains,  that  like  giaius  stand. 
To  sentinel  enciianted  land. 
Higl)  on  the  soutii,  huge  Jien-venue 
Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 
Crags,  knnlls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurled, 
The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world; 


A  wildering  forest  feathered  o'er 
His  ruined  sides  and  summit  hoar, 
While  on  the  north,  tiirough  middle  air, 
Ben-an  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare. 

XV. 

From  the  steep  promontory  gazed 

The  stranger,  raptured  and  amazed. 

And  "  ^Vhat  a  (Scene  were  here,"  he  cried, 

"  For  princelytpomp,  or  churchman's  pride! 

On  this  bold  brow,  a  lordly  tower; 

In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower: 

On  yonder  meadow,  far  away, 

Tlie  turrets  of  a  cloister  gray. 

How  bliiidy  might  the  bugle  horn 

Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  mom! 

How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute 

Chime,  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute! 

And,  when  ilie  midnight  moon  should  lave 

Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave. 

How  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 

The  holy  matin's  distant  hum. 

While  the  deep  peal's  commanding  tons 

Should  wake,  in  yonder  islet  lone, 

A  sainted  hermit  from  his  cell. 

To  drop  a  bead  with  ever}'  knell— 

And  bugle,  lute,  and  bell,  and  all. 

Should  each  bewildered  stranger  call 

To  friendly  feast,  and  lighted  hall. 

XVI. 

'*  Blith  were  it  then  to  wander  here ! 
But  now, — beshrew  yon  nimble  deer, — 
Like  that  same  hermit's,  tiiin  and  spare, 
The  copse  must  give  my  evening  fare; 
Some  mossy  bank  my  couch  must  be. 
Some  rustling  oak  my  canopj'. 
Yet  pass  we  that; — the  war  and  chase 
Give  little  choice  of  resting  place;— 
A  summer  night,  in  green  wood  spent. 
Were  but  to-nf&rrow's  merriment:— 
But  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  abound, 
Such  as  are  better  missed  than  found; 
To  meet  with  highland  plunderers  here 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer.^ 
I  am  alone; — my  bugle  strain 
May  call  some  straggler  of  the  train; 
Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide. 
Ere  ryjw  this  falchion  has  been  tried." 

XVII. 

But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound. 

When  lo!  forth  starting  at  the  sound, 

Fnona  underneath  an  aged  oak. 

That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 

^  damsel  guider  of  its  way, 

A  little  skilf  shot  to  the  bay. 

That  round  the  promontory  steep 

ted  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep, 

Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave. 

The  weeping-willow  twig  to  lave, 

'And'kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 

The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 

The'boat  had  touched  this  silver  strand, 

Just  js  the  hunter  left  his  stand, 

And  stood  concealed  amid  the  brake, 

To  view  this  lady  of  the  lake. 

The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 

She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 

With  head  up-raised,  and  look  intent. 

And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent. 

And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 

Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 


THE  LADY  OF   THE  LAKE. 


127 


In  listening  mood,  she  seemed  to  stand, 
The  guardian  naiad  of  the  strand. 

xvni. 

And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace 
A  nymph,  a  naiad,  or  a  grace, 
Ot  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face ! 
What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown. 
Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with  brown. 
The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light, 
Had  died  her  glowing  hue  so  bright. 
Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 
Short  glinipses  of  a  breast  of  snow; 
What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 
To  measured  mood  had  trained  her  pace, — 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 
Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dashed  the  dew; 
E'en  the  slight  hare-bell  raised  its  head. 
Elastic  from  her  airy  tread: 
What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 
The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue, — 
yThose  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear, 
The  list'ner  held  his  breath  to  hear. 

XIX. 

A  chieftain's  daughter  seemed  the  maid; 
Her  satin  snood,  her  silken  plaid, 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  bii-th  betrayed. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Wliose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing; 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair. 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care, 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy. 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye; 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue. 
Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true, 
Than  every  free-born  glance  confessed 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  wo  or  pity  claimed  a  sigh. 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there. 
Or  meek  devotion  poured  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  called  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  north. 
One  only  passion,  unrevealed, 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  concealed. 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame — ■ 
O  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name! 

XX. 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn,  • 

Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne: 
"  Father!"  she  cried;  the  rocks  around 
Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. — 
A  while  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — 
"  Malcolm,  wis  thine  the  blast?"  the  name 
Less  resolutely  uttered  fell. 
The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 
"  A  stranger  1,"  tlie  huntsman  said. 
Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  maid,  alarmed,  with  hasty  oar. 
Pushed  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore, 
And,  when  a  space  was  gained  between. 
Closer  she  drew  her  bosom  screen; 
(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swmg. 
So  turn  to  prune  liis  ruftled  wing;) 
Then  safe,  though  fluttered  and  amazed. 
She  paused,  and  on  tlie  stranger  gazed. 
Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye. 
That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly. 


XXI. 

On  his  bold  visage  mitUlle  age 
|iHad  slightly  pressed  its  signet  sage, 
^  Yet  had  not  quenched  the  open  truth. 
And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth; 
P'orward  and  frolic  glee  was  there. 
The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare. 
The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire. 
Of  hasty  love,  or  headlong  ire. 
His  limbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould, 
For  hardy  sports,  or  contest  bold; 
And  though  in  peaceful  garb  arrayed, 
And  weaponless  except  his  blade. 
His  stately  mien  as  well  implied 
A  high  born  lieart,  a  martial  pride, 
As  if  a  baron's  crest  he  wore. 
And  sheathed  in  armour  trod  the  shore. 
Sligliting  the  petty  need  he  showed. 
He  told  of  liis  benighted  road; 
His  ready  speech  flowed  iair  and  free. 
In  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy: 
Yet  seemed  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland, 
Less  used  to  sue  than  to  command. 

XXII. 
Awhile  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed. 
And,  re-assured,  at  length  replied. 
That  highland  halls  were  open  still 
To  wildered  wanderers  of  the  hill. 
Nor  think  you  unexpected  come 
To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  home; 
Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew. 
This  morn,  a  couch  was  pulled  for  you; 
On  yonder  mountain's  purple  head 
Have  ptarmigan  and  heath-cock  bled. 
And  our  broad  nets  liave  swept  the  mere. 
To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cheer." 
"  Now,  by  the  rood,  my  lovely  maid. 
Your  courtesy  has  erred,"  he  said; 
"  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced, 
The  welcome  of  expected  guest. 
A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost. 
My  way,  my  friends,  my  courser  lost, 
I  ne'er  before,  believe  me,  fair, 
Have  ever  drawn  your  mountain  air. 
Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand, 
1  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land. " 

xxm. 

"  1  well  believe,"  the  maid  replied. 
As  her  light  skiff  ap    oached  the  side, 
"  I  well  believe,  that  ne'er  before 
Your  foot  has  trod  Loch-Katrine's  shore; 
But  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight, 
Old  Allan-bane  foretold  your  plight, — 
A  gray-haired  sire,  whose  ej'e  intent 
Was  on  the  visioned  future  bent.^ 
He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  gray. 
Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way; 
Painted  exact  your  form  and  mien. 
Your  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green. 
That  tasseled  horn  so  gayly  gilt, 
That  falchion's  crooked  blade  and  hilt. 
That  cap  with  heron's  plumage  trim. 
And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark  and  grim. 
He  l)ade  that  all  should  ready  be. 
To  grace  a  guest  of  fair  degree; 
But  ligljiLl  held  his  prophecy, 
And  deemed  it  was  ray  father's  horn, 
Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne." 

xxiy. 

The  stranger  smiled: — "  Since  to  your  home 
A  destined  crranL-knight  1  c^nie. 


128 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


\nnounce(l  by  prophet  sooth  and  old, 

Doomed  doubtless,  lor  achievement  bold, 

I'll  ligiuly  front  each  lii^;h  emprize, 

For  one  liind  glance  of  those  bright  eves. 

Permit  me,  first,  the  task  to  guide 

Your  fairy  frigate  o'er  the  tide." 

Tlie  maid,  with  smile  suppressed  and  sly, 

The  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try; 

For  seldom,  sure,  if  e'er  before, 

His  noble  hand  had  grasped  an  oar: 

Yet  witli  main  strength  his  strokes  he  drew. 

And  o'er  tlie  lake  the  shallop  flew: 

With  heads  erect,  and  whimpering  cry, 

The  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 

A'or  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break 

'I'hc  diukening  mirror  of  the  lake, 

Uniil  the  rocky  isle  they  reach. 

And  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach. 

XXV. 

The  stranger  viewed  the  shore  around ; 
'Twas  all  so  close  with  copse-wood  bound, 
Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 
That  humaa  foot  frequented  there. 
Until  the  mountain  maiden  sliowed 
A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 
Tiiat  M  inded  through  the  tangled  screen. 
And  opened  on  a  narrow  green, 
^V"here  weeping  birch  and  w-iUow  round 
With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 
Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 
Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower.' 

xxyi. 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size, 

But  strange  of  structure  and  device; 

Of  such  materials,  as  around 

The  workman's  hand  had  readiest  found. 

Lopped  of  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks  bared, 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared. 

To  give  the  walls  their  destined  height. 

The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite; 

M'hile  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combined 

To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind. 

The  lighter  pine-trees,  over  head. 

Their  slender  length  for  rafters  spread. 

And  withered  heath  and  rushes  dry 

Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 

Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green, 

A  rural  portico  was  seen. 

Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne. 

Of  mountain  fir  witli  bark  unshorn. 

Where  Ellen's  hand  had  taught  to  twine 

The  i\7  and  Idsean  vine, 

Tlie  clematis,  the  favoured  flower 

Which  boasts  the  name  of  virgin-bower. 

And  every  hardy  plant  could  bear 

Loch-Katrine's  keen  and  searching  air. 

An  instant  in  this  porch  she  staid. 

And  gayly  to  the  stranger  said, 

"  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call. 

And  enter  the  enchanted  hall ! " 

XXVII. 

"  My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be, 

Mv  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." — 

He  crossed  the  threshold — and  a  clang 

Of  angrv  steel  that  instant  rang. 

To  bis  bold  brow  his  spirit  rushed,  -• 

Hut  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blushed, 

^Vhen  on  the  floor  he  saw  displayed, 

Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  blade 

Dropped  from  the  sheath,  that  careless  flung, 

Upon  a  stag's  1  uge  antlers  swung; 


I  For  all  around,  the  walls  to  grace, 
Hung  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase: 

aA  target  tiiere,  a  bugle  here, 

TA  battle-axe,  a  huntmg  spear, 
And  broad-swords,  bows,  and  arrows,  store. 
With  the  tusked  trophies  of  the  boar. 
Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died. 
And  there  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide 
The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns. 
Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns: 
Pennons  and  flags  defaced  and  stained. 
That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retained. 
And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun  and  white, 
With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite. 
In  rude  and  uncouth  tapestry  all, 
To  garnish  forth  the  sylvan  hall. 

XXVIII. 
Tht  wondering  stranger  round  him  gazed, 
And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised; 
Few  were  the  arms  whose  sinewy  strength 
.Sufficed  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length. 
And  as  the  brand  he  poised  and  swayed, 
"  I  never  knew  but  one,"  he  said, 
"  Whose  stalwart  arm  might  brook  to  wield 
A  blade  like  this  in  battle  field." 
She  sighed,  then  smiled,  and  took  the  wordj 
"  You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword; 
As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand, 
As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand; 
My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 
Of  Fen-agus,  or  Ascapart:^ 
But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold 
Are  women  now,  and  menials  old." 

XXIX. 

The  mistress  of  the  mansion  came. 

Mature  of  age,  a  graceful  dame; 

Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 

Had  well  become  a  princely  court, 

To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew, 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due. 

Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  she  made, 

And  every  courteous  rite  was  paid, 

That  hospitality  could  claim. 

Though  all  unasked  his  birth  and  name.^ 

Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest. 

That  fellest  foe  might  join  the  feast. 

And  from  his  deadliest  foeman's  door 

Unquestioned  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 

At  length  his  rank  the  stranger  names, 

"  The  knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James; 

Lord  of  a  barren  heritage, 

^Vhich  his  brave  sires,  from  age  to  age. 

By  their  good  s-*ords  had  held  with  toil; 

His  sire  had  fallen  in  such  turmoil. 

And  he,  God  wot,  was  forced  to  stand 

Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 

This  morning  with  lord  Moray's  train 

He  chased  a  stalwart  stag  in  vain, 

Outstripped  his  comrades,  missed  the  deer. 

Lost  his  good  steed,  and  wandered  here." 

XXX. 

Fain  would  the  knight  in  turn  require 
The  name  and  state  of  Ellen's  sire; 
Well  showed  the  elder  lady's  mien. 
That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen; 
Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  displayed 
The  simple  grace  of  sylvan  maid. 
In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face. 
Showed  slie  was  come  of  gentle  race; 
'Twere  strange  in  ruder  rank  to  find 
Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


129 


Each  hint  the  knight  of  Snowdoun  gave, 
Dame  Margaret  heard  vnth  silence  gi-ave; 
Or  Ellen,  innocently  gay, 
Turned  all  inquiry  light  away: 
"  Wierd  women  we!  by  dale  and  down 
We  dwell,  afar  from  lower  and  town. 
We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast. 
On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast; 
While  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string, 
Tis  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing." 
She  sung,  and  still  a  harp  unseen 
Filled  up  the  symphony  between.  •" 
XXXI. 

SONG. 

"  Soldier,  rest!  thy  warfare  o'er, 

Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking; 
Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more. 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall. 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairj'  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er. 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more; 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking. 
Mom  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

"  No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear. 

Armour's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 
Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 
Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come. 

At  the  day-break  from  the  fallow. 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum. 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near, 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here. 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans  or  squadrons  stamping. " 

xxxu. 

She  paused — ^then,  blushing,  led  the  lay 
To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 
Her  mellow  notes  awhile  prolong 
The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 
Till  to  her  lips  in  measured  frame 
The  minstrel  verse  spontaneous  came. 

SONG  COSTrSUED. 

"  Huntsman,  rest!  thy  chase  is  done. 

While  our  slumbrous  spells  assail  ye, 
Dream  not,  with  the  rising  sun. 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveillie. 
Sleep!  the  deer  is  in  his  den; 

Sly~.n!  the  hounds  are  by  thee  lying; 
Sleeovrnor  dream  in  yonder  glen, 

Htsn'thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 
Hun  ■    lan,  rest!  thy  chase  is  done, 
Thin^  not  of  the  rising  sun. 
For  at  dawning,  to  assail  ye, 
Here  no  bugles  sound  reveillie." 

XXXIII. 
The  hall  was  cleared — the  stranger's  bed 
Wa?  there  of  mountain  heather  spread. 
Where  oft  an  hundred  guests  had  lain. 
And  dreamed  their  forest  sports  again. 
But  vainly  did  the  heath-flower  shed 
Its  moorland  fragrance  round  his  head; 
Not  EUlen's  spell  had  lulled  to  rest 
The  fever  of  his  troubled  breast. 
In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 
Of  varied  perils,  pains,  and  woea; 
His  steed  now  flounders  in  the  brake, 
Now  sinks  liis  barge  upon  the  liike: 


Now  leader  of  a  broken  host. 

His  standard  falls,  his  honour's  lost. 

Then,  from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might 

Chase  that  worst  phantom  of  the  night! — 

Again  returned  the  scenes  of  youth. 

Of  confident  undoubting  ti-uth; 

Again  his  soul  he  interchanged 

With  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 

They  come,  in  dim  procession  led. 

The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead; 

As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay. 

As  if  they  parted  yesterday.  "  > 

And  doubts  distract  him  at  the  view,  P 

O  were  his  senses  false  or  true? 

Dreamed  he  of  death,  or  broken  vow, 

Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now? 

XXXIV. 

Af  '<^n?;th,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

He  seemed  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love; 

biie  listened  with  a  blush  and  sigh. 

His  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high. 

He  sought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp, 

And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp; 

The  phantom's  sex  was  changed  and  gone. 

Upon  its  head  a  helmet  shone; 

Slowly  enlarged  to  giant  size. 

With  darkened  cheek  and  threatening  eyes. 

The  grisly  visage,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  Ellen  still  a  likeness  bore. — 

He  woke,  and,  panting  with  affright. 

Recalled  the  vision  of  the  night. 

The  hearth's  decaying  brands  were  red. 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  shed. 

Half  showing,  half  concealing  all 

The  uncouth  trophies  of  the  hall. 

'Mid  those  the  stranger  fixed  his  eye 

Where  that  huge  falchion  hung  on  high. 

And  thoughts  on  thoughts,  a  countless  throng. 

Rushed,  chasing  coundess  thoughts  along. 

Until,  the  giddy  whirl  to  cure. 

He  rose,  and  sought  the  moonshine  pure. 

XXXV. 

The  wild  rose,  eglantine,  and  broom, 

Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume; 

The  birch  trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm. 

The  aspen  slept  beneath  the  calm; 

The  silver  light,  with  quivering  glance. 

Played  on  the  water's  still  expanse, — 

Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passion's  sway 

Could  rage  beneath  the  sober  ray! 

He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest. 

While -thus  he  communed  with  his  breast: — 

"  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  I  trace 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race' 

Can  I  not  mountain  maiden  spy, 

But  she  must  bear  the  Douglas  e)'e ? 

Can  I  not  view  a  highland  brand. 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand  ? 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fevered  dream, 

But  still  the  Douglas  is  the  theme? 

I'll  dream  no  more — by  manly  mind 

Not  e'en  in  sleep  is  will  resigned. 

My  midnight  orisons  said  o'er, 

I'll  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more." 

His  midnight  orison  he  told, 

A  prayer  with  ever}-  bead  of  gold. 

Consigned  to  heaven  his  cares  and  woes, 

And  sunk  in  undisturbed  repose; 

Until  tlie  heath  cock  shrilly  crew, 

And  morning  dawned  on  Ben-vanne. 


130 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


THK    ISLAXTt, 
1. 

At  morn  the  black-cock  trims  his  jetty  wing, 

'Tis  morninp;  promijls  the  linnet's  blithest  lay; 
All  nature's  children  loel  tiie  matin  spring 

Of  life  revivinjj;,  with  reviving  day; 
And  while  yon  little  bark  glides  down  the  bay, 

Wafting  the  stranger  on  his  way  again, 
Morn's  genial  inlUience  roused  a  minstrel  gi'ay,' 

And  sweetlv  o'er  the  lake  was  heard  thy  strain, 
Mixed  with  the   sounding  harp,  O  white  haired 
Allan-bane ! 

II. 

SONG. 

'  Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might 

flings  from  their  oars  the  spray. 
Not  faster  yonder  rippling  bright. 
That  tracks  the  shallop's  course  in  light, 

Melts  in  the  lake  awa}". 
Than  men  from  memory  erase 
The  benefits  of  former  days; 
Then,  stranger,  go!  good  speed  the  while. 
Nor  think  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

"  High  place  to  thee  in  royal  court. 

High  place  in  battle  line, 
Good  hawk  and  hound  for  sylvan  sport, 
Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort. 

The  honoured  meed  he  thine ! 
True  be  thy  sword,  thy  friend  sincere, 
Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear, 
And  lost  in  love's  and  frie\idship's  smile, 
Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

III. 

soya  CONTINUED. 
"  But  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

A  plaided  stranger  roam, 
Whose  drooping  crest  and  stifled  sigh. 
And  sunken  cheek  and  heavy  eye. 

Pine  for  his  highland  home; 
Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 
The  care  that  sooths  a  wanderer's  wo; 
Remember  then  thy  hap  ere  while, 
A  stranger  in  the  lonely  isle. 

*'  Or,  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 

Mishap  shall  mar  ihy  sail, 
If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain, 
Wo,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale; 
Waste  not  a  sigh  on  fortune  changed. 
On  thankless  courts,  or  friends  estranged,  ■ 
But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  smile. 
To  greet  thee  in  the  lonely  isle." 

IV. 

As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide. 
The  shallop  reached  the  mainland  side. 
And  ere  his  onward  way  he  took. 
The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look, 
Where  easily  his  eye  might  reach 
Tlie  harper  on  the  islet  beach. 
Reclined  against  a  blighted  tree, 
As  wasted,  gray,  and  worn  as  he. 
'I'o  minstrel  meditation  given. 
His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven. 
As  from  the  rising  sun  to  claim 
A  sparkle  of  inspiring  flame. 
His  hand,  reclined  upon  the  wire. 
Seemed  watching  the  awakening  fire; 


So  still  he  sate,  as  those  who  wait 

Till  judgment  speak  the  doom  of  fate; 

So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 

To  lift  one  lock  of  hoary  hair; 

So  still,  as  life  itself  were  fled, 

In  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped. 

V. 

Upon  a  rock  with  lichens  wild, 
Beside  him  Ellen  sate  and  smiled. 
Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 
Lead  forth  his  fleet  upon  the  lake, 
While  her  vexed  spaniel,  from  the  beach. 
Bayed  at  the  prize  beyond  his  reach! 
Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows, 
Why  deepened  on  her  cheek  the  rose?*"" 
Forgive,  forgive,  fidelity! 
Perchance  tlie  maiden  smiled  to  see 
Yon  parting  lingerer  wave  adieu. 
And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew; 
And,  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 
Condemn  the  heroine  of  mj'  lyre, 
Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy. 
And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye ! 

AT. 
While  yet  he  loitered  on  the  spot. 
It  seemed  as  Ellen  marked  him  not; 
But  when  he  tui'ned  him  to  the  glade. 
One  courteous  parting  sign  she  made: 
And  after,  oft  tlie  knight  would  say. 
That  not  when  prize  of  festal  day 
VVas  dealt  him  by  the  brightest  fair. 
Who  e'er  wore  jewel  in  her  hair, 
So  highly  did  his  bosom  swell. 
As  at  that  simple,  mute  farewell. 
Now  with  a  trusty  mountain  guide. 
And  his  dark  stag-hounds  by  his  side. 
He  parts — the  maid,  unconscious  still. 
Watched  him  wind  slowly  round  the  hill: 
But  when  his  stately  form  was  hid, 
The  guardian  in  'ner  bosom  chid — 
"  Thy  Malcolm!  vain  and  selfish  maid!" 
'Twas  thus  upbraiding  conscience  said, 
"  Not  so  had  Malcolm  idly  hung 
On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue; 
Not  so  had  Malcolm  strained  his  eye 
Another  step  than  thine  to  spy. — 
Wake,  Allan-bane,"  aloud  she  cried. 
To  the  old  minstrel  by  her  side, 
"  Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream! 
I'll  give  thy  harp  heroic  theme. 
And  warm  thee  with  a  noble  name; 
Pour  forth  the  glory  of  the  Graeuii .  "2 
Scarce  from  her  lip  the  word  had  rushed. 
When  deep  the  conscious  maiden  blushed; 
For  of  his  clan,  in  hall  and  bower. 
Young  Malcolm  Grreme  was  held  the  flower, 

VII. 

The  minstrel  waked  his  harp — three  times 
Arose  the  well-known  martial  chimes, 
And  thrice  their  high  heroic  pride 
In  melancholy  murmurs  died. 

"  Vainly  thou  bid'st,  O  noble  maid," 

Clasping  his  withered  hands,  he  said, 

"  Vainly  thou  bid'st  me  wake  the  strain. 

Though  all  unwont  to  bid  in  vain. 

Alas!  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 

Has  tuned  my  harp,  ray  strings  has  spanoed! 

I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 

And  mournful  answer  notes  of  wo; 

And  the  proud  march,  which  victors  tread, 

Sinks  in  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


131 


O  \rell  for  me,  if  mine  alone 

That  dirge's  deep  prophetic  tone! 

If,  as  my  tuneful  fathers  said, 

This  harp,  which  erst  saint  ^Slodaa  swajed,3 

Can  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell, 

Thea  welcome  be  the  minstrel's  knell ! 

vur. 

"  But  ah!  dear  lady,  thus  it  sighed 

The  eve  thy  sainted  mother  died; 

And  such  the  sounds  which,  wliile  I  strove 

To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love. 

Came  mannng  all  the  festal  mirth, 

Appalling  me  who  s;ave  them  birth, 

And,  disobedient  to  my  call. 

Wailed  loud  through  Bothwell's  bannered  hall, 

Ere  Douglasses,  to  ruin  driven. 

Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven. — * 

Oh!  if  yet  worse  mishap  and  wo 

My  master's  house  must  undergo. 

Or  aught  but  weal  to  Ellen  fair. 

Brood  in  these  accents  of  despair. 

No  future  bard,  sad  harp !  shall  fling 

Triumph  or  rapture  from  thy  string; 

One  short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow, 

Fraught  with  unutterable  wo, 

Then  shivered  shall  thy  fragments  lie, 

Thy  master  cast  him  down  and  die." 

IX. 

Soothing  she  answered  him,  "  Assuage, 

Mine  honoiu-ed  friend,  the  fears  of  age; 

All  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 

That  harp  has  rung,  or  pipe  has  blown, 

In  lowlanc^  vale  or  highland  glen, 

From  Tweed  to  Spey — what  marvel,  then. 

At  times,  unbidden  notes  should  rise. 

Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 

Entangling,  as  they  rush  along. 

The  war-march  with  the  funeral  song?— 

Small  ground  is  now  for  boding  fear; 

Obscure,  but  safe,  we  rest  us  here. 

My  sire,  in  native  virtue  great. 

Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state. 

Not  then  to  fortune  more  resigned. 

Than  yonder  oak  might  give  the  wind; 

The  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave. 

The  noble  stem  thev  cannot  grieve. 

For  me" — she  stooped,  and,  looking  round, 

Plucked  a  blue  hare-bell  from  the  ground, 

"  For  me,  whose  memory  scarce  convevs 

An  image  of  more  splendid  days, 

This  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea, 

May  well  my  simple  emblem  be: 

It  drinks  heaven's  dew  as  blith  as  rose 

That  in  the  king's  own  garden  grows; 

And  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair, 

Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear 

He  ne'er  saw  coronet  so  fair." 

Then  playfully  the  chaplet  wild 

She  wreathed  in  her  dark  locks,  and  smiled. 

X. 

Her  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway, 
Wiled  the  old  hai-per's  mood  awav. 
With  such  a  look  as  hermits  throw 
^Vhen  angels  stoop  to  soolh  their  wo. 
He  gazed,  till  fond  regret  and  pride 
Thrilled  to  a  tear,  then  thus  replied: 
"  Loveliest  and  best!  thou  little  know'st 
The  rank,  the  honours  thou  hast  lost! 
O  might  1  live  to  see  thee  grace, 
In  Scotland's  court,  thy  birth-right  place, 


To  see  my  favourite's  step  advance. 
The  lightest  in  the  courtly  dance, 
The  cause  of  everj'  gallant's  sigh. 
And  leading  star  of  ever)'  eye. 
And  theme  of  every  minstrel's  art. 
The  lady  of  the  bleeding  heart!"* 

Xt. 

"  Fair  dreams  are  these,"  the  maiden  cried, 
(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sighed,) 
"  This  mossy  rock,  my  friend,  to  me 
Is  worth  gay  chair  and  canopy; 
Nor  would  my  footstep  spring  more  gay 
In  courtly  dance  than  blith  strathspey. 
Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 
To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  thine; 
And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high, 
To  bend  before  my  conquering  eye, 
Thou,  flattering  bard,  thyself  wilt  say. 
That  grim  sir  Koderick  owns  its  sway. 
The  Saxon  scourge,  Clan-Alpine's  pride. 
The  terror  of  Loch-Loraond's  side. 
Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st  delay 
A  Lennox  foray — for  a  day. " 

XU. 

The  ancient  bard  his  glee  repressed: 

"  111  hast  thou  chosen  theme  for  jest! 

For  who,  through  all  this  western  wild, 

Named  black  sir  Roderick  e'er,  and  smiled^ 

In  Holy-Rood  a  knight  he  slew;^ 

I  saw,  when  back  the  dirk  he  drew. 

Courtiers  gave  place  before  the  stride 

Of  the  undaunted  homicide: 

And  since,  though  outlawed,  hath  his  hand 

Full  sternly  kept  his  mountain  land. 

Who  else  dared  give' — ah!  wo  the  dav. 

That  I  such  hated  truth  should  say —  ' 

Tlie  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer. 

Disowned  by  every  noble  peer,^ 

E'en  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here! 

Alas,  this  wild  marauding  chief 

Alone  might  hazard  our  relief. 

And,  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand, 

Looks  for  his  guerdon  in  thy  hand; 

Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought. 

To  back  his  suit,  from  Rome  be  brought. 

Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hill, 

Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 

Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear; 

But  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear. 

That  thou  might'si  guide  with  silken  thread. 

Slave  of  thy  will,  this  chieftain  dread, 

Yet,  O  loved  maid,  thy  mirth  refrain! 

Thy  hand  is  on  a  lion's  mane." 

XIII. 

"  Minstrel,"  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 
"  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know: 
All  that  a  mother  could  bestow. 
To  lady  Margaret's  care  I  owe. 
Since  first  an  orphan  in  the  wild 
She  sorrowed  o'er  her  sister's  child: 
To  her  brave  chieftain  son,  from  ire 
Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds  my  sire, 
A  deeper,  holier  debt  is  owed; 
And,  could  1  pay  it  with  my  blood, 
Allan  !  sir  Roderick  should  command 
Aly  blood,  my  life — but  not  my  hand. 
Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 
A  votaress  in  Maronnan's  cell;' 


•  The  well-known  cognizance  of  the  Douglas  family. 


132 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Rather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  world's  cold  charity. 
Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 
And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard, 
An  outcast  pilgrim  will  she  rove, 
Than  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love. 

XIV. 
"Thou  shakest,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  gray- 
That  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 
But  what  1  owni* — I  grant  him  brave, 
But  wild  as  Bracklinn's  thundering  wave;8 
And  generous — save  vindictive  mood, 
Or  jealous  transport,  cliafe  his  blood: 
I  grant  him  true  to  friendly  band, 
As  his  claymore  is  to  his  hand; 
But  O!  that  very  blade  of  steel 
More  mercy  for  a  foe  would  feel: 
I  grant  him  liberal,  to  fling 
Among  his  clan  the  wealth  they  bring, 
When'back  by  lake  and  glen  they  wind, 
And  in  the  lowland  leave  behind, 
Where  once  some  pleasant  hamlet  stood, 
A  mass  of  ashes  slaked  with  blood. 
The  hand  that  for  my  father  fought, 
I  honour,  as  his  daughter  ought; 
But  can  1  clasp  it  reeking  red. 
From  peasants  slaughtered  in  their  shed  ? 
No!  wildly  while  his  virtues  gleam, 
They  make  his  passions  darker  seem, 
And  flash  along  his  spirit  high. 
Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 
While  yet  a  child, — and  children  know, 
Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe, — ■ 
I  shuddered  at  his  brow  of  gloom, 
His  shadowy  plaid,  and  sable  plume; 
A  maiden  gro\vn,  I  ill  could  bear 
His  haughty  mien  and  lordly  air; 
But,  if  thou  join'st  a  suitor's  claim. 
In  serious  mood,  to  Roderick's  name, 
1  thrill  with  anguish!  or,  if  e'er 
A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 
To  change  such  odious  theme  were  best, — 
What  think'st  thou  of  our  stranger  guest?" 

XV. 
'« What  think  I  of  him?  wo  the  while 
That  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle! 
Thy  father's  battle  brand,  of  yore 
For  Tyne-man  forged  by  fairy  lore,^ 
What  time  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes. 
His  border  spears  with  Hotspur's  bows. 
Did,  self-unscabbarded,  fore-show 
The  footsteps  of  a  secret  foe.'O 
If  courtly  spy  had  harboured  here, 
What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear? 
What  for  this  island,  deemed  of  old 
Clan- Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold? 
If  neither  spy  nor  foe,  I  pray. 
What  yet  may  jealous  Roderick  say ! 
Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdainful  head ! 
Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 
That  kindled  when  at  Beltane  game 
Thou  led'st  the  dance  with  Malcolm  Grseme; 
Still,  tliough  thy  sire  the  peace  renewed. 
Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud; 
Beware! — But  hark,  what  sounds  are  these? 
My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 
No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspen's  wake. 
Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  the  lake, 
SJtill  is  the  canna's*  hoary  beard, — 
Yet,  by  my  minstrel  faith,  I  heard — 


And  hark  again!  some  pipe  of  war 
Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar." 

XVI. 

Far  up  the  lengthened  lake  were  spied 
Four  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide, 
That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view, 
Four  manned  and  masted  barges  grew. 
And,  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyle, 
Steered  lull  upon  the  lonely  isle; 
The  point  of  Brianchoil  they  passed. 
And  to  the  windward  as  they  cast. 
Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 
The  bold  sir  Roderick's  bannered  pine. 
Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear. 
Spears,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 
Now  might  you  see  the  tartans  brave, 
And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave; 
Now  sec  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 
As  his  tough  oar  the  rower  plies; 
See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 
The  wave  ascending  into  smoke; 
See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow. 
And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 
From  their  loud  chanters*  down,  and  sweep 
The  fun-owed  bosom  of  the  deep. 
As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain, 
They  plied  the  ancient  highland  strain. 

XVII. 

Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 

And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud." 

At  first  tiie  sound,  by  distance  tame, 

Mellowed  along  the  waters  came, 

And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay. 

Wailed  every  harsher  note  away; 

Then  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear. 

The  clan's  shrill  gathering  they  could  hear; 

Tliose  thrilling  sounds,  that  call  the  might 

Of  old  Clan- Alpine  to  the  fight. 

Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 

The  mustering  hundreds  shake  the  glen, 

And  hurrying  at  the  sigiial-dread. 

The  battered  earth  returns  their  tread. 

Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone. 

Expressed  their  merry  marching  on, 

Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose. 

With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows: 

And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward. 

As  broadsword  upon  target  jan-ed ; 

And  groaning  pause,  e'er  yet  again. 

Condensed,  tlie  battle  yelled  amain; 

The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout, 

Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout. 

And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare, 

Clan-Alpine's  conquest — all  were  there. 

Nor  ended  thus  the  strain;  but  slow 

Sunk  in  a  moan  prolonged  and  low, 

And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell. 

For  wild  lament  o'er  those  iliat  fell. 

XVIIT. 

The  war-pipes  ceased;  but  lake  and  hill 
Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still; 
And,  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 
Bade  their  hoarse  chorus  wake  again, 
While  loud  a  hundred  clans-men  i-aise 
Their  voices  in  their  chieftain's  pi-aise. 
Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar. 
With  measured  sweep  the  burthen  bore, 
In  such  wild  cadence,  as  the  breeze 
Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 


*  CotteM  grass. 


•  The-dreae-of4iie-bag'^if«.. 


^^ 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


133 


The  chorus  first  could  Allen  know, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine,  ho!  iero!" 
And  near,  and  nearer,  as  they  rowed, 
Ojstinet  the  martial  ditty  flowed. 

XIX. 

BOAT  SONG. 

Hail  to  the  chief  who  in  triumph  advances ! 

Honoured  and  blessed  be  the  ever-green  pine! 
Long  may  the  tree  in  his  banner  that  glances 
Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line! 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow; 

While  every  highland  glen 

Sends  our  shout  back  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe!"'2 

Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  at  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stripped  every  leaf  on 
the  mountain, 
The  more  shall  Clan- Alpine  exult  in  her  Itiatle. 
Moored  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 
Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow: 
Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then. 
Echo  his  praise  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe!" 

^■*'  '    •  XX. 
Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrilled  in  Glen  Fruin, 
And  Bannochar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied, 
Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch-Lomond  lie  dead  on  her 
side.  13 
Widow  and  Saxon  maid 
Long  shall  lament  our  aid. 
Think  of  Clan- Alpine  with  fear  and  with  wo; 
Lennox  and  Leven-glen  ^ 

Shake  when  they  hear  agen, 
"Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroe!" 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  highlands! 
Stretch  to  your  oars  for  the  ever-green  pine ! 
O!  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands 
Were   wreathed   in  a  garlana  ai'ound  him  to 
twine! 
O  that  some  seedling  gem, 
Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honoured  and  blessed  in  their  shadow  might  gi-ow ! 
Loud  should  Clan- Alpine  then 
Ring  from  her  deepmost  glen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dliu,  ho!  ieroe!" 

XXI. 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band, 
Had  laay  Margaret  sought  the  strand. 
Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew, 
And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  threw; 
As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 
And  chorus  wild,  the  chieftain's  name; 
While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art. 
The  darling  passion  of  his  heart, 
The  dame  called  Ellen  to  the  strand, 
To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land: 
"  Come,  loiterer,  come!  a  Douglas  thou. 
And  shun  to  wreath  a  victor's  brow!" — 
Reluctantly,  and  slow,  the  maid 
The  unwelcome  summoning  obeyed. 
And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung, 
In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung: — 
"List,  Allan-bane!  from  main  land  cast, 
I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 


Be  ours,"  she  cried,  "the  skiff  to  guide, 
And  waft  him  from  the  mountain  side." 
Then,  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright, 
She  darted  to  her  shallop  light. 
And,  eagerly  while -Roderick  scanned, 
For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band^ 
The  islet  far  behind  her  lay, 
And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

xxn. 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given, 
With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven 
And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 
From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 
A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 
It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek, 
'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 
Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head! 
And  as  tlie  Douglas  to  his  breast 
His  darling  Ellen  closely  pressed, 
Such  holy  drops  her  tresses  steeped. 
Though  'twas  a  hero's  eye  that  weeped. 
Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue 
Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 
Marked  she,  tliat  fear  (affection's  proof) 
Still  held  a  gi-aceful  youth  aloof; 
No!  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 
Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Grseme. 

xxin. 

Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while. 

Marked  Roderick  landing  on  the  isle; 

His  master  piteously  he  eyed, 

Then  gazed  upon  the  chieftain's  pride. 

Then  dashed,  with  hasty  hand,  away 

From  his  dimmed  eye  the  gathering  spray; 

And  Douglas,  as  his  hand  he  laid 

On  Malcolm's  shoulder,  kindly  said, 

"  Canst  thou,  young  friend,  no  meaning  spy 

In  ray  poor  follower's  glistening  eye? 

I'll  tell  thee: — he  recals  the  day, 

Wlien  in  my  praise  he  led  the  lay 

O'er  the  arched  gate  of  Bothwell  proud, 

While  many  a  minstrel  answered  loud. 

When  Percy's  Norman  pennon,  won 

In  bloody  field,  before  me  shone, 

And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 

As  mighty  as  yon  chief  may  claim, 

Gracing  my  pomp,  behind  me  came. 

Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 

Was  I  of  all  that  marshalled  crowd, 

Though  the  waned  crescent  owned  my  might,- 

And  in  my  train  trooped  lord  and  knight, 

Though  Blantyre  hymned  her  holiest  lays. 

And  Bothwell's  bards  flung  back  my  praise. 

As  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear, 

And  this  poor  maid's  affection  dear, 

A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true, 

Than  auglit  my  better  fortunes  knew. 

Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast; 

O!  it  out-beggars  all  1  lost!" 

xxiv. 

Delightful  praise ! — like  summer  rose, 
That  brighter  in  the  dew  drop  glows, 
The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appeared. 
For  Douglas  spoke,  and  Malcolm  heard. 
The  flush  of  shame-faced  joy  to  hide. 
The  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  cares  divide: 
The  loved  caresses  of  the  maid 
The  dogs  with  crouch  and  whimper  paid; 
And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 
The  falcon  took  his  favourite  stand, 


134 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOIUsS. 


Closed  his  dark  wing,  relaxed  his  eye, 

Nor,  though  unhooded,  sought  to  fly, 

And,  trust,  wiiile  in  such  guise  she  stood, 

Like  fabled  goddess  of  the  wood. 

That  if  a  father's  partial  thought 

O'er  weighed  her  worth  and  beauty  aught, 

Well  might  the  lover's  judgment  fail 

To  balance  with  a  juster  scale; 

For  witii  each  secret  glance  he  stole, 

The  fond  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 

XXV. 

Of  stature  tall,  and  slender  frame, 

But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Grseme. 

The  belted  plaid  and  tartan  hose 

Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose; 

His  flaxen  hair,  of  sunny  hue. 

Curled  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue. 

Trained  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 

The  ptarmigan  in  snow  could  spy: 

Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath, 

He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith; 

Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark  brown  doe, 

AVhen  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow. 

And  scarce  that  doe,  though  winged  with  fear, 

Out-stripped  in  speed  the  mountaineer: 

Right  up  Ben-Lomond  could  he  press, 

And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 

His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 

Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind; 

A  blither  heart,  till  Ellen  came, 

Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame; 

It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast. 

As  plaj'ed  the  feather  on  his  crest. 

Yet  friends  who  nearest  knew  the  youth, 

His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth. 

And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold, 

When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old, 

Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 

Not  long  should  Roderick  Dhu's  renown 

Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame. 

But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Grseme. 

xxyi. 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  wa}-, 
And,  "  O  my  sire!"  did  Ellen  say, 
"  Why  urge  thy  chase  so  far  astray? 
And  w'hy  so  late  returned '  And  why" — 
The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 
"  My  child,  the  chase  1  follow  far, 
'Tis  mimicry  of  noble  war; 
And  with  that  gallant  pastime  reft 
Were  all  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 
I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  strayed 
Far  eastward,  in  Glenfinlas'  shade 
Nor  strayed  I  safe:  for,  all  around. 
Hunters  and  horsemen  scoured  the  ground. 
This  youth,  though  still  a  royal  ward. 
Risked  life  and  land  to  be  my  guard. 
And  through  tlie  passes  of  the  wood 
Guided  my  steps,  not  unpursued; 
And  Roderick  shall  his  welcome  make, 
Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 
Then  must  he  seek  Stratii-Endrick  glen, 
Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen. " — 

XXVIL 

Sir  Roderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 
Reddened  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Grsme. 
Vet,  not  in  action,  word,  or  eye. 
Failed  auglit  in  hospitality. 
In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 
The  morning  of  that  summer  day; 


But  at  high  noon  a  courier  light 
Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight; 
Whose  moody  aspect  soon  declared. 
That  evil  were  the  news  lie  heard. 
Deep  thought  seemed  toiling  in  his  head; 
Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made. 
E'er  he  assembled  round  the  flame. 
His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Grseme, 
And  Ellen,  too;  then  cast  around 
Hia  eyes,  then  fixed  them  on  the  ground, 
As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 
Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale. 
Long  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  played, 
Then  raised  Ids  haughty  brow,  and  said: 

xxvin. 

"  Short  be  my  speech; — nor  time  affords, 

Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozing  words. 

Kinsman  and  father, — if  snch  name 

Douglas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim; 

Mine  honoured  mother; — ^Ellen — why, 

My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye? 

And  Grseme;  in  whom  I  hope  to  know 

Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe. 

When  age  shall  give  thee  thy  command. 

And  leading  in  thy  native  laud, — 

List  all! — The  king's  vindictive  pride 

Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  border-side, '< 

Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 

To  share  their  monarch's  sylvan  game. 

Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared, 

And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared, 

And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flung. 

O'er  their  own  gateway  struggling  hung. 

Loud  cries  their  blood  from  Meggat's  mead, 

From  Yarrow  braes,  and  banks  of  Tweed, 

Where  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  glide, 

And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side; 

The  dales  where  martial  clans  did  ride 

Are  now  one  sheep-walk  waste  and  wide. 

This  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  throne, 

So  faithless  and  so  ruthless  known, 

Now  hither  comes;  his  end  the  same, 

The  same  pretext  of  sylvan  game. 

What  grace  for  highland  chiefs  judge  ye, 

By  fate  of  border  chivalry.  '^ 

Yet  more;  amid  Glenfinlas'  green, 

Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen. 

This  by  espial  sure  I  know; 

Your  counsel  in  the  streight  I  show." — 

xxix. 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

Sought  comfort  in  each  other's  eye. 

Then  turned  their  ghastly  look,  each  one. 

This  to  her  sire,  that  to  her  son. 

The  hasty  colour  went  and  came 

In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcolm  Grxme: 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appeared, 

'Twas  but  for  Ellen  that  he  feared; 

While  sorrowful,  but  undismayed. 

The  Douglas  thus  his  counsel  said: 

"  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar. 

It  may  but  thunder  and  pass  o'er; 

Nor  will  I  here  remain  an  hour. 

To  draw  tlie  lightning  on  thy  bower; 

For,  well  thou  know'st,  at  this  gray  head 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped. 

For  thee,  who,  at  thy  king's  command, 

Canst  aid  him  with  a  gallant  band, 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride. 

Shall  turn  tiie  monarch's  wrath  aside. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


135 


Poor  remnants  of  the  bleeding  heart, 
Ellen  and  1  will  seek,  apart. 
The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell. 
There,  like  the  hunted  quarry,  dwell, 
Till  on  the  mountain  and  the  moor. 
The  stern  pursuit  be  past  and  o'er. " — 

XXX. 

"  No,  by  mine  honour,"  Rodei-ick  said, 

"  So  help  me,  heaven,  and  my  good  blade! 

No,  never!  blasted  be  yon  pine, 

My  fathers'  ancient  crest  and  mine. 

If  from  its  shade  in  danger  p;irt 

The  lineage  of  the  bleeding  heart! 

Hear  my  blunt  speech,  grant  me  this  maid 

To  wife,  thy  counsel  to  mine  aid; 

To  Douglas,  leagueii  with  Roderick  Dhu, 

AVill  friends  and  allies  flock  enow; 

Like  cause  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  grief, 

Will  bind  to  us  each  ^^■ei^tern  chief. 

M'lien  the  loud  pipes  my  l)ridal  tell, 

The  links  of  Forth  siiall  iiear  the  knell, 

The  guards  sliall  start  in  Stirling's  porch; 

And,  when  1  light  the  nuptial  torch, 

A  thousand  villa2;es  in  flames 

Sliall  scare  the  slumbers  of  king  James! 

— Nay,  Ellen,  blench  not  thus  away, 

And,  mother,  cease  these  signs,  I  pray; 

I  meant  not  all  my  lieart  might  say. 

Small  need  of  im-oad,  or  of  fight, 

When  the  sage  Douglas  may  unite 

Each  mountain  clan  in  friendly  band. 

To  guard  the  passes  of  their  land, 

Till  the  foiled  king,  from  pathless  glen, 

Shall  bootless  turn  him  home  agen." 

XXXI. 
There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour. 
In  slumber  scaled  a  dizzy  tower, 
And,  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 
Tlie  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar. 
Dreamed  calmly  out  their  dangerous  dream. 
Till  wakened  by  the  morning  beam, 
When,  dazzled  by  tlie  eastern  glow. 
Such  startler  cast'his  glance  below. 
And  saw  unmeasured  depth  around. 
And  heard  unintermilted  sound. 
And  thouglit  tlie  battled  fence  so  frail, 
It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale; 
Aniid  his  senses'  giddy  wheel. 
Did  lie  not  desperate  i'nipulse  feel, 
Headlong  to  plunge  iiimsclf  below', 
And  meet  the  worst  iiis  fears  foreshow? — 
Thus,  Ellen,  dizzy  and  astound. 
As  sudden  ruin  yawned  around, 
I3y  crossing  terrors  wildly  tossed 
Still  for  the  Douglas  fearing  most, 
Could  scarce  Ihedesperate  thought  witlistaud. 
To  buy  his  safety  wiih  her  hand. 

xxxir. 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcohn  spy 
In  Ellen's  quivering  lij)  and  eve, 
A.nd  eager  rose  to  speak — but  ere 
His  tongue  could  liurry  forth  liis  fear. 
Had  Douglas  marked  the  liectic  strife. 
Where  death  seemed  combating  witii  life; 
For  to  her  cheek,  in  fevt- rish  flood, 
One  instant  rushed  the  throbbing  blood, 
Then  ebbing  back,  with  sudden  sway. 
Left  its  domain  as  wan  as  clav. 
"  Roderick,  enough!  enough!"  he  cried, 
"  My  daughter  cannot  be  thy  bride; 
11 


Not  that  the  blush  to  wooer  dear, 
Nor  paleness  that  of  maiden  fear. 
It  may  not  bc^forgive  her,  chief, 
Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  relief. 
Against  his  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er 
Will  level  a  rebellious  spear. 
'Twas  I  that  taught  bis  youthful  hand 
To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand; 
I  see  him  yet,  the  princely  boy! 
Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  and  joy: 
I  love  liim  still,  despite  my  wrongs, 
13y  hasty  wraili  and  slanderous  tongues. 

0  seek  tlic  grace  you  well  may  find. 
Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined." 

XXXHI. 

Twice  through  the  hall  the  chieftain  strode; 
The  waving  of  his  tartans  broad, 
And  darkened  brow,  where  wounded  pride 
Vv  ilh  ire  and  disappointment  vied. 
Seemed,  by  the  torch's  gloomy  light, 
Like  the  ill  demon  of  the  night, 
Stooping  ids  pinions'  shadowy  sway 
Upon  the  'nigbted  pilgrim's  way: 
Hut,  unrequited  love!  tjiy  dart 
Plunged  deepest  its  envenomed  smart. 
And  Roderick,  with  thine  anguish  stung, 
At  length  the  hand  of  Douglas  wrung, 
While  eyes,  that  mocked  at  tears  before, 
With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'ei\ 
The  death  pangs  of  long-cherished  hope 
Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope, 
But,  struggling  with  his  spirit  pi'oud. 
Convulsive  heaved  its  chequered  shroud, 
While  every  sob — so  mute  were  all — 
Was  lieard  distinctly  through  the  hall. 
The  son's  despair,  the  mother's  look, 
111  might  liie  gentle  Ellen  brook; 
She  rose,  and  to  her  side  there  came, 
Ti/  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Grseme. 

XXXIV. 

Then  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke — 
As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke. 
Kindling  its  wreaths,  long,  dark,  and  low. 
To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow. 
So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair 
Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. — 
With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid: 
"  Back,  beardless  boy!"  he  sternly  said, 
"  Back,  minion!  hold'st  thou  thus  at  naught 
The  lesson  I  so  lately  taught? 
This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid, 
Thank  thou  for  punishment  delayed." 
Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game, 
Fiercely  with  Roderick  grappled  Grwmc. 
"  Perish  my  name,  if  auii^ht  attbrd 
Its  chieftain  safety,  save  his  sword!" 
Thus  as  they  strove,  their  desperate  hand 
Griped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand. 
And  death  had  been — but  Douglas  rose. 
And  thrust  between  the  struggling  toes 
His  giant  strength: — "  Chieftains,  forego! 

1  hold  the  first  wlio  strikes,  my  foe. — 
Madmen,  forbear  your  frantic  jar! 
What!  is  the  Douglas  fallen  so  far. 

His  daughter's  hand  is  deemed  the  spoil 

Of  such  dislionourable  broil !" 

Sullen  and  slowly  they  uiiolasi). 

As  struck  with  slianie,  their  desperate  srasp, 

And  eacli  upon  Ids  rival  glared. 

With  foot  advaiiccd,  and  blade  half  bared. 


136 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXXV. 

Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung, 
Margaret  on  Uoderick's  mantle  hung. 
And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen  scream, 
As  faltered  through  terrific  dream. 
Tlicn  Roderick  plunged  in  sli(;atli  his  sword. 
And  veiled  liis  wralii  in  scornriil  word. 
"  Rest  safe  till  morning;  pity  'twere 
Such  cheek  sliould  feel  the  midnight  airl'C 
Then  mavi'<:t  thou  to  James  Stuart  tell, 
Roderick' will  keep  ihe  lake  and  fell. 
Nor  lackey,  with  his  frceborn  clan. 
The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 
More  would  he  of  Clan-Alpine  know. 
Thou  canst  our  strength  and  passes  show. — 
^Slalise,  what  lio  I"— his  hench-man  camei" 
"  (iive  our  safe-conduct  to  the  Grceme." 
Young  Malcolm  answered,  calm  and  bold, 
"  Fear  noliiing  for  thy  favourite  hold: 
The  spot  an  angel  deigned  to  grace. 
Is  blessed  though  robbers  haunt  the  place. 
Thy  churlish  courtesy  for  those 
Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 
As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 
At  midnight,  as  in  blaze  of  day, 
Though  with  his  boldest  at  his  back, 
E'en  Roderick  Dim  be'^et  the  track. — 
Brave  Douglas, — lovely  Ellen,  nay. 
Nought  here  of  parting  will  I  say. 
Eartli  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen, 
So  secret,  but  we  meet  agen. — 
Chieftain!  we  too  shall  find  an  hour." 
He  said,  and  left  the  sylvan  bovver. 

XXXVI. 

Old  Allan  followed  to  the  strand, 

(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command,) 

And  anxious  told,  how,  on  the  morn. 

The  stern  sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn, 

Tiie  fieiy  cross  should  circle  o'er 

Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down,  and  moor. 

Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Grseme, 

From  those  who  to  the  signal  came: 

Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land. 

Himself  would  row  him  to  tlie  strand. 

He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  wind, 

\Vhile  Malcolm  did,  unheeding,  bind. 

Round  dirk,  and  pouch,  and  broadsword  rolled. 

His  ample  plaid  in  tightened  fold, 

And  stripped  his  limbs  to  such  array, 

As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way. 

XXXVII. 

Then  spoke  abrupt:  "  Farewell  to  thee. 

Pattern  of  old  fidelity!" 

The  minstrel's  hand  he  kindly  pressed, — 

"  O !  could  I  point  a  place  of  rest! 

My  sovereign  holds  in  ward  my  land, 

My  uncle  leads  my  vassal  band. 

To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid, 

Poor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blade. 

Yet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Gra;mc, 

Who  loves  the  chieftain  of  his  name. 

Not  long  shall  honoured  Douglas  dwell. 

Like  hunted  stag,  in  mountain  cell; 

Nor,  ere  yon  pride-swollen  robber  dare, — 

I  may  not  give  the  resi  to  air! — 

Tell' Roderick  Dhu,  1  owed  him  nought. 

Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat. 

To  waft  me  to  yon  mountain  side." — 

Then  plunged  he  in  tlie  Hashing  tide. 

Bold  o'er  the  Hood  his  head  lie  bore. 

And  rloutly  steered  him  from  the  shore; 


And  Allan  strained  his  anxious  eye 
Far  mid  the  lake,  his  form  to  spy 
Darkening  across  each  puny  wave, 
To  which  the  moon  her  silver  gave. 
Fast  as  the  cormorant  could  skim, 
The  swimmer  plied  each  active  limb; 
Tiien,  landing  in  the  moonlight  dell, 
Loud  shouted  of  his  weal  to  tell. 
The  minstrel  heard  tlie  far  halloo, 
And  joyful  from  the  shore  withdrew. 

CANTO    III. 

THE    GATHERING. 

I. 

Time  rolls  his  ceaseless  course.  The  race  of  yore 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee, 
And  told  our  marvelling  boyhood  legends  store, 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happ'd  by  land  or  sea, 
How  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be! 

How  few,  all  weak  and  withered  of  their  force, 
Wait,  on  ttie  verge  of  dark  eternity, 

Like  stranded  wrecks,  the  tide  returning  hoarse. 
To  sweep  them  from  our  sight!  Time  rolls  his 
ceaseless  course. 

Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  well. 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  bugle  blew. 
Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,  cliff,  and  dell. 

And  solitary  heath,  the  signal  knew; 
And  fast  the  faithful  clan  around  him  drew. 

What  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly  wound, 
What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew. 

While  clamorous  war-pipes  yelled  the  gather- 
ing sound. 
And  while  the  fiery  cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor, 
round. ' 

II. 
The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 
To  purple  changed  Loch-Katrine  blue; 
Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 
Just  kissed  the  lake,  just  stirred  the  trees, 
And  tlie  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 
Trembled,  but  dimpled  not  for  joy;  | 

The  mountain  shadows  on  her  breast 
Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest; 
In  bright  uncertainty  they  lie, 
Like  future  joys  to  fancy's  eye. 
The  water  lily  to  the  light 
Her  chalice  reared  of  silver  bright; 
The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 
Begemmed  with  dew-drops,  led  her  fawn; 
The  gray  mist  left  the  mountain  side. 
The  torrent  showed  its  glistening  pride; 
Invisible  in  flecked  sky. 
The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry; 
The  black-bird  and  the  speckled  thrush 
Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  bush; 
In  answer  cooed  the  cushat  dove 
Her  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  and  love. 

III. 
No  thought  of  peace,  no  thought  of  rest, 
Assuaged  the  storm  in  Roderick's  breast. 
With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand. 
Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand. 
And  eyed  the  rising  sun,  and  laid 
His  hand  on  his  impatient  blade, 
lleneath  a  rock,  his  vassal's  care 
Was  prom])t  the  ritual  to  prepare, 
With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught; 
For  sucli  anliquiiy  had  taught 
Was  preface  meet,  ere  yet  abroad 
The  cross  of  fire  should  lake  its  road. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


137 


The  shrinking  band  stood  oft  aghast 
At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast; — 
Such  glance  the  mountain  eagle  threw, 
As,  from  tlie  clift's  oF  Ben-venue, 
She  spread  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind. 
And,  high  in  middle  heaven  reclined, 
"With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake. 
Silenced  the  warblers  of  the  brake. 

IV. 

A  heap  of  withered  boughs  was  piled, 

Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild. 

Mingled  with  shivers  from  the  oak. 

Rent  by  the  liglitniug's  recent  stroke. 

Brian,  the  hermit,  by  it  stood. 

Barefooted,  in  his  frock  and  hood. 

His  gi'isled  beard  and  matted  hair 

Obscured  a  visage  of  despair; 

His  naked  arms  and  legs,  seamed  o'er, 

The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face,^ 

The  impending  danger  of  his  race 

Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude. 

Far  in  Benharrow's  bosom  rude. 

Not  his  the  mien  of  Christain  pi-iest. 

But  Druid's,  from  the  grave  released. 

Whose  hardened  heart  and  ev  e  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mixed  in  the  charms  he  muttered  o'er. 

The  hallowed  creed  gave  only  worse 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse; 

No  peasant  sought  that  hermit's  prayer. 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunned  with  care; 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound. 

And  in  mid  chase  called  off  his  hound; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath. 

The  desert-dweller  met  his  path. 

He  prayed,  and  signed  the  cross  between. 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien. 


Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told;' 

His  mother  watched  a  midnight  fold. 

Built  deep  within  a  drearv'  glen, 

Mliere  scattered  lay  the  bones  of  men. 

In  some  forgotten  battle  slain. 

And  bleached  by  drifting  wind  and  rain. 

It  might  have  tamed  a  waixinr's  heart. 

To  view  such  mockeiy  of  his  art? 

The  knot-gi-ass  fettered  there  the  hand. 

Which  once  could  burst  an  iron  band; 

Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone. 

That  bucklered  heart  to  fear  unknown, 

A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest, 

The  field-fare  framed  her  lowlv  nest; 

There  liie  slow  blind-worm  left  bis  slime 

On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mocked  at  time; 

And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull. 

Still  wreathed  with  chaplet,  fluslied  and  full. 

For  heath-bell,  with  her  purple  bloom. 

Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plunie. 

All  night,  in  this  sad  glen,  the  maid 

Sate,  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade: 

She  said,  no  shepherd  sought  her  side. 

No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untied. 

Yet  ne'er  again  torbraid  her  hair 

Tiie  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear;'' 

Gone  was  her  maiden  glee  and  sport. 

Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short, 

Xor  sought  she,  from  that  fatal  night,  - 

Or  holv  church,  or  blessed  rite, 


But  locked  her  secret  in  her  breast. 
And  died  in  travail,  tinconfessed. 

VI. 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeerSj 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  bo)% 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 
Bearing  each  tauiit  which  careless  tongue 
On  his  mysterious  lineage  flung. 
NA'iiole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale, 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail. 
Till,  frai\tic,  he  as  truth  received 
Wliat  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 
And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire,    ' 
To  meet" and  know  his  phantom  sire! 
In  vain,  to  sooth  his  wayward  fate. 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate; 
In  vain,  the  learning  of  the  age 
Unclasped  the  sable-lettered  page; 
E'en  ill  its  treasures  he  could  find 
Food  for  the  fever  of  his  mind. 
Eagei-  he  read  whatever  tells 
Of  magic,  cabala,  ami  spells, 
And  ever)  dark  pursuit  allied 
To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride; 
Till,  witii  fired  brain  and  nerves  o'erstrung, 
And  heart  with  mystic  hoixors  wrung, 
Desi)erale  he  sought  Benharrow's  den. 
And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

vn. 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild. 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.* 

Where  with  black  clift's  the  torrents  toil, 

He  watched  the  wheeling  eddies  boil. 

Till,  from  their  foam,  his  dazzled  eyes 

Beiield  the  river  demon  rise; 

The  mountain-mist  took  form  and  limb, 

Of  noontide  hag,  or  goblin  gi'ira; 

The  midnight  wind  came  wild  and  dread, 

Swelled  with  the  voices  of  the  dead; 

Far  on  the  future  battle-heath 

His^ye  beheld  the  ranks  of  death: 

Thus'tlie  lone  seer,  from  mankind  hurled, 

Sliaped  i'ortli  a  disembodied  world. 

One  lingering  sympathy  of  mind 

Still  bound  him"  to  the  mortal  kind; 

The  only  parent  he  could  claim 

Of  ancient  Alpine's  lineage  came. 

Late  liad  he  heard  in  prophet's  dream. 

The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream;^ 

Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast. 

Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 

Along  Beiiliarrow's  sliiugly  side, 

W  here  mortal  liorseman  ne'er  might  ride:'' 

The  thunder-bolt  had  split  the  pine, — 

All  augured  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 

He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 

The  signals  of  impeniling  wo. 

And  nuw  stood  prompt  to  bless  or  ban. 

As  bade  llie  chieftain  of  his  clan. 

VIII. 
'Twas  all  prepared; — and  from  the  rock, 
A  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  flock. 
Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid. 
And  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 
Patient  the  sickening  victim  eyed 
The  life-blood  ebb  in  crimson  tide, 
Down  his  clogged  Ij-anl  and  shaggy  limb, 
Till  darkness  glazeii  liis  e^e-balls  dim. 
The  grislv  \)riest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 
A  slender  tros^kt,  formed  «ilh  c;u-o. 


133 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  cubit's  lenp;tli  in  measure  due; 
The  shafts  and  liinl)s  were  rods  of  yew, 
Whose  parents  in  Incli-Cailliach  wave 
Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave,^ 
And,  answering';  Lomond's  bivezes  deep, 
Sooth  many  a  chieftain's  endless  sleep. 
The  cross,  thns  formed,  he  held  on  high, 
With  wasted  hand,  and  haggard  eye, 
And  strange  and  mingled  feelings  woke. 
While  his  anathema  he  spoke: 

IX. 
"  Wo  to  the  clansman,  who  shall  view 
This  symbol  of  sepulchral  yew, 
Forgetful  that  its  brandies  grew 
Where  weep  the  heavens  their  holiest  dew 

On  Alpine's  dwelling  low! 
Deserter  of  his  chieftain's  trust, 
He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  dust, 
15ut,  from  ids  sires  and  kindred  thrust. 
Each  clansman's  execration  just 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  wo." 
He  paused^ — the  word  the  vassals  took, 
With  forward  step  a.nd  fiery  look, 
O.i  high  tiieir  naked  brands  they  shook, 
Their  clattering  targets  wildly  strook; 

And  first,  in  murmui"  low. 
Then,  like  the  billow  in  liis  course. 
That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source. 
And  flings  to  shore  his  mustered  force. 
Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

"Wo  to  the  traitor,  wo!" 
Ben-an's  gray  scalp  the  accents  knew, 
The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew, 
TliL"  exulting  eagle  screamed  afar, — 
They  knew  tiie  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 

X. 
The  shout  was  hushed  on  Like  and  fell. 
The  monk  resumed  his  muttered  spell. 
Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came. 
The  while  he  scathed  llie  cross  with  flame; 
And  the  few  words  that  reached  the  air. 
Although  the  holiest  name  was  there, 
Had  more  of  blasphemy  than  prayer. 
But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd 
Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud: — 
"  Wo  to  the  wretch,  wlio  fails  to  rear 
At  this  dread  sign  the  ready  spear! 
For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear, 
His  home,  the  refuge  of  his  fear, 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know; 
J'ar  o'er  its  roof  the  volumed  flame 
Clan-Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim. 
While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 
Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  shame, 

And  infamj'  and  wo." 
Then  rose  the  cry  of  females,  shrill 
As  goss-hawk's  whistle  on  the  hill. 
Denouncing  misery  and  ill, 
Mingled  with  childhood's  babbling  trill 

Of  curses  stammered  slow. 
Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 
"  Sunk  be  his  home  in  embers  red! 
And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 
That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head. 

We  doom  to  want  and  wo!" 
A  sharp  and  shrieking  echo  gave, 
Coir-Uriskin,  thy  goblin  cave! 
And  the  gray  pass  where  birches  wave, 
On  Beala-nam-bo. 

XI. 
Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  anew. 
And  hard  his  labouring  breath  he  drew. 


While,  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hand, 
And  eyes  that  glowed  like  fiery  brand. 
He  meditated  curse  more  dread, 
And  deadlier  on  tlie  clans-man's  head, 
Who,  summoned  to  his  chieftain's  aid, 
The  signal  saw  and  disobeyed. 
The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood 
He  quenched  among  the  bubbling  blood, 
And,  as  again  the  sign  lie  reared. 
Hollow  and  hoarse  his  voice  was  heard: 
"  When  flits  this  cross  from  man  to  man, 
Vich-Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 
Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed ! 
Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed! 
iMay  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes. 
Wolves  make  the  coward  heart  their  prize! 
As  sinks  that  blood-stream  in  the  earth. 
So  may  his  heart's  blood  drench  his  hearth! 
As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark. 
Quench  thou  his  light,  destruction  dark! 
And  be  the  grace  to  him  denied, 
Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside!"— 
He  ceased:  no  echo  gave  agen 
The  murmur  of  the  deep  amen. 

xn. 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look. 

From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took: 

"  Speed,  Malise,  speed!"  he  said,  and  gave 

The  crosslet  to  his  hcnch-man  brave. 

"The  muster-pLice  be  Lanric  mead — 

Instant  the  time — speed,  Malise,  speed!" 

Like  heath-bird,  when  the  hawks  pursue, 

A  barge  across  Loch-Katrine  flew: 

High  stood  the  hcnch-man  on  the  prow, 

So  rapidly  the  barge-men  row, 

The  bubbles,  where  they  lanched  the  boat, 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat. 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still, 

When  it  had  neared  the  mainland  hill; 

And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide, 

When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 

The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

XIII. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed!  the  dun  deer's  hide 

On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied. 9 

Speed,  Malise,  speed!  sucli  cause  of  haste 

Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 

Bend  'gainst  the  steepy  hill  thy  breast. 

Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest; 

With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 

The  trembling  bog  and  false  morass; 

Across  the  brook  like  roebuck  bound. 

And  thread  tiie  brake  like  (juesting  hound; 

The  crag  is  high,  the  scaur  is  deep. 

Yet  shrink  not  irom  the  desperate  leap; 

Parched  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow. 

Yet  by  tlie  fountain  pause  not  now; 

Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear, 

Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career! 

The  wounded  hind  thou  track'st  not  now, 

Pursuest  not  inaid  tlirough  green-wood  bough. 

Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flyitig  pace. 

With  rivals  in  the  mountain-race; 

But  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed, 

Are  in  thy  course — Speed,  Malise,  speed! 

XIV. 

Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  fiies, 
111  arms  tlie  huts  and  hamlets  rise; 
From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown, 
Tiiey  iiourcd  each  hardy  tenant  down. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


139 


Nor  slacked  the  messenger  his  pace; 
He  showed  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 
And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind, 
Lett  clamour  and  surprise  behind. 
Tlie  fisherman  forsook  the  strand. 
The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand; 
With  changed  cheer,  the  mower  blith 
Left  in  the  half  cut  swathe  his  sithe; 
The  herds  without  a  keeper  strayed, 
The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid, 
The  ialc'ner  tossed  his  hawk  away, 
The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay; 
Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms, 
Each  son  of  Alpiue  rushed  to  arms; 
So  swept  the  tumult  and  affray 
Along  the  margin  of  Achray. 
Alas !  thou  lovely  lake !  that  e'er 
Thy  banks  should  echo  sounds  of  fear! 
The  rocks,  the  bosky  thickets,  sleep 
So  stilly  on  thy  bosom  deep. 
The  lark's  blith  carol,  from  the  cloud. 
Seems  for  the  scene  too  gayly  loud. 

XV. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed!  the  lake  is  past, 

Duncraggan's  huts  appear  at  last. 

And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen. 

Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green; 

There  mayst  thou  rest,  thy  labour  done, 

Their  lord  shall  speed  the  signal  on. — 

As  stoops  the  hawk  upon  his  prey. 

The  hench-man  shot  him  down  the  way. 

Wlrit  woful  accents  load  the  gale? 

The  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail ! — 

A  gallant  hunter's  sport  is  o'er, 

A  valiant  warrior  fights  no  more. 

"Who,  in  the  battle  or  the  chase. 

At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place? 

"Within  the  hall,  where  torches'  ray 

Supplied  the  excluded  beams  of  day, 

Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier. 

And  o'er  him  streams  his  widow^'^  tear. 

His  stripling  son  stands  mournful  oy, 

His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not  why; 

The  village  maids  and  matrons  round 

The  dismal  coronach*io  resound. 

XVI. 

COROXACH. 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest. 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

"When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font,  reappearing, 

From  the  rain  drops  shall  borrow, 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow ! 

The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  maiihood  in  glory; 
The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest. 
But  our  flower  vt-as  in  flushing. 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi,t 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber. 
Red  hand  in  the  foray. 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber! 


•  Funeral  song. 

t  Or  corri— The  hollow  side  of  the  hill,  where  game 
usuallr  lies. 


Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain. 
Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 

Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain, 
Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever ! 
XML 
See  Stumah,*  who,  the  bier  beside, 
His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed. 
Poor  Stumah!  whom  his  least  halloo 
Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew. 
Bristles  his  crest,  and  points  his  ears. 
As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 
'Tis  not  a  mourner's  muffled  tread, 
Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead. 
But  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear, 
Urge  the  precipitate  career. 
All  stand  aghast: — unheeding  all. 
The  hencli-raan  bursts  into  the  hall: 
Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood, 
Held  forth  the  cross  besmeared  with  blood; 
"  The  muster-place  is  Lam-ic  mead; 
Speed  forth  the  signal!  clansmen,  speed!" 

XV  m. 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line, 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 

His  father's  dirk  and  broad-sword  tied; 

But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 

Watch  him  in  speechless  agony. 

Back  to  her  opened  arras  he  flew. 

Pressed  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu — 

"  Alas!"  she  sobbed, — "  and  yet  be  gone, 

And  speed  thee  forth  like  Duncan's  son!" 

One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier, 

Dashed  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear. 

Breathed  deep,  to  clear  his  labouring  breast. 

And  tossed  aloft  his  bonnet  crest. 

Then,  like  the  hi^h-bred  colt,  when,  freed. 

First  he  essays  liis  fire  and  speed. 

He  vanished,  and  o'er  moor  and  moss 

Sped  forward  with  the  fiery  cross. 

Suspended  was  the  widow's  tear, 

\V'hile  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear; 

And  when  she  marked  the  bench-man's  eye 

Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy, 

"  Kinsman,"  she  said,  "  his  race  is  run. 

That  should  have  sped  thine  errand  on; 

The  oak  has  fallen — the  sapling  bough 

Is  all  Duncraggan's  siielter  now. 

Yet  trust  I  well,  his  duty  done. 

The  orphan's  God  will  guard  my  son. — 

And  you,  in  many  a  danger  true. 

At  Duncan's  hest  your  blades  that  drew. 

To  arms,  and  guard  that  orphan's  head! 

Let  babes  and  women  wail  the  dead." 

Tlien  weapon-clang,  and  martial  call. 

Resounded  through  the  funeral  hall. 

While  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 

Snatched  sword  and  targe,  yith  hurried  hand; 

And  short  and  flitting  energj" 

Glanced  from  the  mourner's  sunken  eye. 

As  if  the  sounds,  to  warrior  dear, 

Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 

But  faded  soon  that  borrowed  force; 

Grief  claimed  his  right,  and  tears  their  course. 

XIX. 

Benledi  saw  the  cross  of  fire. 
It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire." 
O'er  dale  and  hill  the  summons  flew. 
Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew; 


Fa  it /if II  I— The  name  of  a  dog. 


140 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS 


Tlic  tear  that  j^allu'retl  in  Iiis  eye. 
He  left  the  momitjiiti  breeze  to  dry; 
Until,  vvlierc  Teitli's  young  waters  roll, 
Betwixt  him  and  a  wooded  knoll. 
That  {jraccil  the  sable  stralii  with  green. 
The  rliapel  of  saint  Hride  was  seen. 
Swoln  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge, 
lint  Angus  paused  not  on  the  edge; 
Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 
Thougli  reeled  liis  sympallietic  eye, 
He  dashed  amid  tiic  torrent's  roar; 
His  right  liand  high  tiie  crosslet  bore. 
His  left  the  pole-axe  grasped,  to  guide 
And  stay  his  fooling  in  the  tide. 
He  stund)led  twice — the  foam  splashed  high, 
Witli  iioarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by; 
And  had  he  fallen, — forever  there, 
Farewell  Duncraggan's  orplian  heir! 
But  still,  as  if  in  parting  life, 
Firmer  he  grasped  tiie  cross  of  strife. 
Until  the  opposing  hank  he  gained. 
And  up  the  chapel  patliway  strained. 

XX. 

A  blithsome  rout,  that  morning  tide. 
Had  snugiit  the  chapel  of  saint  Bride. 
Her  troth  Tombea's  IMary  gave 
To  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
And,  issuing  from  the  Gothic  arch, 
The  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 
In  rude,  but  glad  procession,  came 
Bonnetted  sire  and  coif-clad  dame; 
And  plaided  youth,  with  jest  and  jeer. 
Which  snooded  maiden  would  not  hear; 
And  ciiildren,  that,  unwitting  why, 
l^enl  the  gay  shout  their  shrilly  cry; 
And  minstrels,  tliat  in  measures  vied 
Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride, 
W"hose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 
The  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 
With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand. 
She  held  the  kerchief's  snowj'  band; 
The  gallant  bridegroom,  by  her  side. 
Beheld  his  prize  witii  victor's  pride. 
And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 
Was  closely  wjiispering  word  of  cheer. 

XXI. 

^^'ho  meets  them  at  the  church-yard  gate? — 

The  messenger  of  fear  and  fate ! 

Haste  in  his  hurried  accent  lies. 

And  grief  is  swimming  in  his  eyes. 

All  dripping  from  the  recent  Hood, 

Panting  and  travel-soiled  he  stood, 

The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sworfl 

Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  word; 

"The  muster-place  is  Laurie  mead; 

Speed  forth  the  signal!  Norman,  speed!" — 

And  must  he  change  so  soon  tiie  hand, 

Just  linked  to  iiis  by  holy  band. 

For  the  fell  cross  of  blood  and  brand? 

And  must  the  day,  so  blitii  tiiiit  rose. 

And  promised  rapture  in  the  close, 

l}efore  its  setting  hour,  divide 

The  bridegroom  from  the  pliglited  bride'' 

O  fatal  doom! — it  must!  it  must! 

Clan-Alpine's  cause,  her  chictftain's  trust. 

Her  summons  dread,  brooks  no  delay; 

Stretch  to  the  race — away!  away! 

XXII. 

Ytt  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside, 
And,  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride. 


Until  he  saw  the  starting  tear 

Speak  wo  he  might  not  stop  to  cheer; 

Then,  trusting  not  a  second  look, 

In  haste  he  sped  him  up  the  brook,  ' 

Nor  backward  glanced  till  on  the  heath, 

Where  Ijubnaig's  lake  supplies  the  Teith.— 

What  in  the  racer's  bosom  stirred? — 

The  sickened  jjang  of  hope  deferred, 

And  memory,  with  a  torturing  train 

Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain. 

Mingled  with  love's  impatience,  came 

The  manly  tliirst  for  martial  fame: 

The  stormy  joy  of  mountaineers. 

Ere  yet  tiiey  rush  upon  the  spears; 

And  zeal  for  clan  and  chieftain  burning, 

And  hope,  from  well-fought  field  returning, 

With  war's  red  honours  on  his  crest. 

To  clasp  his  Mary  to  his  breast. 

Stung  by  his  thoughts,  o'er  bank  and  brae, 

Like  fire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 

While  high  resolve,  and  feeling  strong. 

Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

XXllI. 

SOSTG. 

The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 
The  bracken*  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Far,  far  from  love  and  thee,  Mary! 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid. 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid. 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid ! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Marj' ! 

1  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now 

The  grief  that  clouds  tliy  lovely  brow, 

I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow. 

And  all  it  promised  me,  JNIary ! 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know; 
When  bui'sts  Clan-Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow. 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary  ! 
A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught; 
P'or,  if  1  fall  in  battle  fought. 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  lliought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary! 
And  if  returned  from  conquered  toes, 
How  hlitbly  will  the  evening  close. 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose, 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Mary  ! 

XXIV. 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze, '^ 
Itushing,  in  conflagration  strong, 
'['by  deep  ravines  and  dells  along. 
Wrapping  thy  clift^s  in  purple  glow. 
And  reddening  tlie  dark  lakes  below; 
Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far. 
As  o'er  thy  heaths  the  voice  of  war. 
The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil 
The  sullen  mai'gin  of  Loch-Voil, 
Waked  still  Loch-Doine,  and  to  the  source 
Alarmed,  Balvaig,  thy  swampy  course; 
Thence,  southward  turned  its  rapid  road 
Adown  Stratli-Gartney's  valley  broad. 
Till  rose  in  arms  each  man  might  claim 
.-V  portion  in  Clan-Alpine's  name; 
From  the  gray  sire,  whose  trembling  hand 
Could  hardly  buckle  on  his  brand. 
To  the  raw  boy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 
Were  yet  scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 


'  Bracken— Fern. 


THK  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


141 


Each  valley,  eacli  sequestered  glen, 

Mustered  its  little  horde  of  men. 

That  met  as  toirents  ft-om  the  height 

In  highland  dales  their  streams  iiniLC, 

Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 

A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong. 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood 

By  hundreds,  prompt  for  hlows  and  blood; 

Each  trained  to  arms  since  life  began, 

Owning  no  lie  but  to  his  clan, 

No  oath,  but  by  his  chieftain's  hand, '3 

No  law,  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command. 

XXV. 

That  summer  morn  had  Roderick  Dhu 
Surveyed  the  skirts  of  Ben-venue, 
And  sent  his  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath, 
To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 
All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce; 
Still  lay  each  martial  Grceme  and  Bruce, 
In  Rednock  courts  no  horsemen  wait. 
No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 
On  Duchray's  towers  no  beacon  shone, 
Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch-Con: 
All  seemed  at  peace. — Now,  wot  ye  why 
The  chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 
Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair, 
This  western  frontier  scanned  with  carer — 
In  Ben-venue's  most  darksome  cleft, 
A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left; 
For  Douglas,  to  his  piomise  true. 
That  morning  from  tlie  isle  withdrew. 
And  in  a  deep  sequestered  dell 
Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 
By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 
Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin'-i  been  sung; 
A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave. 
And  called  the  grot  the  Goblin-cave. 

XXVI. 
It  was  a  w  ild  and  strange  retreat. 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell,  upon  the  mountain's  crest, 
Yawned  like  a  gash  on  warrior's  breast; 
Its  trench  had  stayed  full  many  a  rock. 
Hurled  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Ben-venue's  gray  summit  wild; 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled, 
They  frowned  incumbent  o'er  the  spot. 
And  formed  the  rugged  sylvan  grot. 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made. 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone,     . 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth,  futurity. 
No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still. 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill: 
But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake. 
A  sullen  sound  would  upward  break. 
With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
Suspended  clift's,  v  ith  hideous  sway, 
Seemed  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  gray. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung, 
In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young: 
Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair. 
Sought,  for  a  space,  their  safety  there. 
Gray  superstition's  whisper  dread 
Debarred  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread: 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort. 
And  satyrs*  hold  their  sylvan  court. 


'  The  Uiisk,  or  highland  satyr,— See  note. 


By  nionnlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 
And  blast  the  rash  beiiolder's  gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now  eve,  with  western  shadows  long. 

Floated  on  Katrine  bright  and  strong, 

When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 

Repassed  the  heights  of  Ben-venue. 

Above  the  goblin-cave  tiiey  go. 

Through  the  wild  pass  of  Beal-nam-bo;'^ 

The  prompt  retainers  speed  before, 

To  lauch  the  shallop  from  the  shore. 

For  'cross  Loch-Katrine  lies  his  way, 

To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 

And  place  his  clansmen  in  array. 

Yet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind, 

Unwonted  sight,  his  men  behind. 

A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword, 

Alone  attended  on  his  lord;i8 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

And  soon  await  hira  by  tlie  lake. 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight. 

To  view  them  from  the  neighbouring  height. 

By  the  low  levelled  sunbeam's  light; 

For  strength  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man. 

As  e'en  afar  might  well  be  seen. 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien. 

Their  feathers  dance,  their  tartans  float, 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  by  the  boat 

A  wild  and  warlike  group  they  stand. 

That  well  became  such  mountain  strand. 

XXVIII. 
Their  chief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 
Was  lingering  on  the  craggy  hill, 
Hard  by  where  turned  apart  the  road 
To  Douglas's  obscure  abode. 
It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn 
That  Roderick  Dhu  jiad  proudly  sworn. 
To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar. 
Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more; 
But  he  wlio  stems  a  stream  with  sand, 
And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  band, 
Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove — 
By  firm  resolve  to  conquer  love! 
Eve  finds  the  chief,  like  restless  ghost. 
Still  hovering  near  iiis  treasure  lost; 
For  though  his  haughty  heart  deny 
A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye. 
Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear, 
!  The  accents  of  her  voice  to  hear, 
I  And  inly  did  he  curse  tlie  breeze 
That  Maked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 
But  hark!  what  mingles  in  the  strain? 
It  is  the  harp  of  AUau-bane, 
I  That  wakes  its  measures  slow  and  high, 
I  Attuned  to  sacred  minstrelsy. 
What  melting  voice  attends  the  strings' 
I  'Tis  Ellen,  or  an  angel,  sings. 

j  XXIX. 

I  HOtX  TO  THE  VIRGIN. 

lAve  Maria!  maiden  mild! 
1     Listen  to  a  maiden's  prayer; 
I  Thou  canst  hear  though  from  the  wild, 
j     Thou  canst  save  amid  despair. 
Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  thy  care, 

Though  banished,  outcast,  and  reviled — 
Maiden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer; 
Mother,  hear  a  suppliant  child ! 

Ave  Maria! 
Ave  Jtlaria!  undefiled ! 

The  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share 


U2 


SCOTT'S  POETiCAI.  WORKS. 


Slinll  seem  Avilli  down  of  eider  iiiled, 

If  lliy  proU'Ction  hover  there. 
The  murky  cavi'rn's  heavy  air 

Shall  breathe  of  hahii  iftliouhast  smiled; 
Then,  maidf-n,  hear  a  maiden's  prayer, 

iSIother,  list  a  suiipliant  child! 

^ve  Maria! 
Ave  JMaria!  Stainless  styled  ! 

Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air, 
From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 

Shall  flee  before  thy  j.resence  iVir. 
We  bow  us  to  tliy  lot  of  care, 

Beneath  tliy  guidance  reconciled; 
Hear  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  prayer, 

And  for  a  fatlier  liear  a  child! 

Ave  .Maria.' 
XXX. 
Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn — 
Unmoved  in  altitude  and  limb, 
As  listening  still,  Clan-Alpine's  lord 
Stood  leaning  on  his  lieavy  sword, 
Until  the  page,  w  ith  humJile  sign. 
Twice  pointed  to  the  sun's  decline. 
Tlien,  while  his  plaid  he  round  him  cast, 
"  It  is  the  last  time — 'tis  tlie  last," — 
He  muttered  thrice, — "the  la^t  time  e'er 
That  angel-voice  sliall  Roderick  hear!" 
It  was  a  goading  thought — his  stride 
Hied  hastier  down  the  mountain  side; 
Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat. 
And  instant  crosis  the  lake  it  shot. 
Tlie}-  landed  iu  that  silverv  bay. 
And  eastward  held  their  hasty  wav. 
Till,  with  the  latest  beams  of  light, 
Tlie  band  arrived  on  Lanric  height. 
Where  mustered,  iu  the  vale  below, 
Clan-Alpine's  men  in  martial  show. 

XXXI. 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made, 

Some  sate,  some  stood,  some  slowly  strayed; 

But  most,  with  mantles  folded  round, 

Were  couched  to  rest  upon  the  ground, 

Scai'ce  to  be  known  by  curious  eye. 

From  the  dee;)  heatlier  where  they  lie. 

So  well  was  matched  the  tartan  screen 

With  heath-btll  duik  and  brackens  green; 

Unless  wliere,  liere  and  there,  a  blade, 

Or  lance's  point,  a  glimmer  made. 

Like  glow-w  orm  twinkling  through  the  shade. 

But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom. 

They  saw  the  chieftain's  eagle  plume, 

Their  shout  of  welcome,  shrill  and  wide, 

Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 

Thrice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 

Tliree  times  returned  the  martial  yell; 

It  died  upon  Bochastle's  plain. 

And  silence  claimed  her  evening  reisn. 


fAXTO  IV. 

THE  PROPHECY. 

1, 

"The  rose  is  fr.irest  when  'tis  budding  new. 

And  hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears; 
The  rose  is  sweetest  washed  with  morning  dew, 

And  love  is  loveliest  when  eml)almed  in  tears, 
O  wilding  rose,  wliom  fancy  thus  endears, 

1  bid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave, 
Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years!" 

Thus  spokeyoung  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
What  lime  the  sun  arose  on  Vennachar's  broad 
wave. 


II. 

Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung, 

Love  prompted  to  the  bridegi'oom's  tongue. 

All  while  he  stripped  the  wild-rose  spray. 

His  axe  and  bow  beside  him  lay, 

For  on  a  pass  "twixt  lake  and  wood, 

A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood. 

Hark ! — on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung. 

And  instant  to  his  arms  he  sprung. 

"  Stand,  or  thou  diest! — What,  Malise! — soon 

Art  thou  returned  from  braes  of  Doune. 

By  thj'  keen  step  and  glance  1  know. 

Thou  bring'st  us  tidings  of  the  foe."- 

f  For  while  the  fiery  cross  hied  on, 

On  distant  scout  had  Malise  gone.) 

"  Where  sleeps  the  chief  ?"  the  hench-man  said. 

"Apart,  iu  yonder  misty  glade; 

To  his  lone  couch  I'll  be  your  guide." — 

Then  called  a  slumberer  by  his  side. 

And  stirred  him  with  his  slackened  bow — 

"  L"p,  up,  Glentarkin!  rouse  thee,  ho! 

We  seek  the  chieftain;  on  ihe  track. 

Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back." 

III. 

Together  up  the  pass  they  sped: 

"  What  of  the  foemen?"  Norman  said. — 

"  Varying  reports  from  near  and  far: 

This  certain — that  a  band  of  war 

Has  for  two  days  been  ready  boune. 

At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doune; 

King  .lames,  the  while,  with  princely  powers, 

Holds  revelry-  in  Stirling  towers. 

Soon  w  ill  this  dark  and  gathering  cloud 

Speak  on  our  glens  in  tiitmder  loud. 

Inured  to  bide  such  hitler  bout, 

The  w  aii'ior's  plaid  may  bear  it  out: 

But,  Norman,  how  wilt  lliou  provide 

A  shelter  for  thy  bonny  bride?" — 

"  Wh;.t!  know  ye  not  tliat  Roderick's  care 

To  tlie  lone  isle  hatli  c&used  repair 

Eacli  maid  and  matron  of  the  clan, 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

Unfit  for  arms;  and  given  his  charge. 

Nor  skift'  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge. 

Upon  these  lakes  shall  float  at  large, 

But.!4ll  beside  tlie  islet  moor, 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure?" 

IV. 

"  'Tis  well  advised — the  chieftain's  plan 

Besj)eaks  the  fatlier  of  his  clan. 

Hut  wherefore  sleeps  sir  Roderick  Dhu 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true?" 

"  It  is  because  last  evening  tide 

Brian  an  augury  hath  ti'ied, 

Of  that  di-ead  kind  which  must  not  be 

Unless  in  dread  extremitj-. 

The  taghairm  called;  by  which,  afar. 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war.  i 

Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew." 

MALISE. 

'  Ah !  well  die  gallant  brute  I  knew ! 
Tlie  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had. 
When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad,^ 
His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark. 
His  red  eye  glowed  like  fierv  spark; 
So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet. 
Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat. 
And  kept  our  stoutest  kernes  in  awe. 
E'en  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'maha. 
But  steep  and  flinty  was  the  road. 
And  sharp  the  hurrying  pikeman's  goad, 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


US 


And  when  we  came  to  Dennan's  row 
A  child  might  scatheless  stroke  his  brow." 
V. 

?fORMAjr. 

"  That  bull  was  slain:  his  reeking  hide 
They  stretched  the  cataract  beside, 
WTiose  waters  their  wild  tumidt  toss 
Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 
Of  that  huge  cliif,  whose  ami)le  verge 
Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.^ 
Couched  on  a  shelve  beneath  its  brink, 
Close  where  the  thundering  torrents  sink, 
Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway. 
And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  sjjray, 
Midst  groan  of  rock,  and  roar  of  stream, 
The  wiz.ird  waits  prophetic  dream. 
Nor  distant  rests  the  chief; — but,  hush! 
See,  gliding  slow  through  mist  and  bush. 
The  hermit  gains  yon  rock,  and  stands 
To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 
Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost. 
That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughtered  host? 
Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak. 
That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke,* 
His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak ?"•! 
— "  Peace!  \)eace!  to  other  than  to  me. 
Thy  words  were  evil  augury;  ^ 

But  still  I  hold  sir  Roderick's  blade 
Clan- Alpine's  omen  and  her  aid, 
Not  aught  that,  gleaned  from  heaven  or  hell, 
Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell. 
The  chieftain  joins  him,  see — and  now, 
Together  they  descend  the  brow." — 

VI. 
And,  as  they  came,  with  Alpine's  lord 
The  hermit  monk  held  solemn  word: 
"  Roderick!  it  is  a  fearful  strife, 
For  man  endowed  with  mortal  life. 
Whose  shroud  of  sentient  clay  can  still 
Feel  feverish  pang  and  fainting  chill. 
Whose  eye  can  stare  in  stony  trance, 
Whose  hair  can  rouse  like  warrior's  lance, — 
'Tis  hard  for  such  to  view,  unfurled, 
The  curtain  of  the  future  world. 
Yet,  witness  every  quaking  limb, 
My  sunken  pulse,  mine  eye-balls  dim, 
My  soul  with  harrowing  anguish  torn. 
This  for  my  chieftain  have  1  borne! — 
The  shapes  that  sought  my  fearful  couch, 
A  liuman  tongue  raaj'  ne'er  avouch: 
No  mortal  man, — save  he,  who,  bred 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead. 
Is  gifted  beyond  nature's  law, — 
Had  e'er  survived  to  say  he  saw. 
At  length  the  fateful  answer  came. 
In  characters  of  living  flame ! 
Not  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll. 
But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul; — 
Which  spills  the  foremost  foemaii's  life, 
That  party  con(juers  in  the  strife."^ 

"Thanks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care! 
Good  is  thine  augury,  and  fair. 
Clan-Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  stood. 
But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood. 
A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 
Self-offered  to  the  auspicious  blow: 
A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  morn. 
No  eve  shall  witness  his  return ! 
My  followers  guard  each  pass's  mouth, 
To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south; 


*  Quarti.-i-{-d.— See  note. 


Red  Murdoch,  bribed  to  be  his  guide, 
Has  charge  to  lead  his  steps  aside. 
Till,  in  deep  path  or  dingle  brown. 
He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  rlown.  — 
But  see,  who  comes  his  news  to  show! 
Malise!  what  tidings  of  the  foe?" 

vm. 

"  At  Doune,  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive. 

Two  barons  proud  their  banners  wave, 

1  saw  the  Moray's  siher  star. 

And  marked  the  sable  pale  of  Mar." — 

"  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those! 

I  love  to  hear  of  worthy  foes. 

When  move  they  on?" — "  To-morrow's  noon 

Will  see  them  here  for  battle  boune." 

"  Then  shall  it  see  a  meeting  stern! 

But,  for  the  place — say,  couldst  thou  learn 

Nouglit  of  the  friendly  clans  of  Earn? 

Strengthened  by  them,  we  well  might  bide 

Tlie  battle  on  Benledi's  side. — 

Thou  couldst  not? — well!  Clan- Alpine's  men 

Shall  man  the  Trosach's  shaggy  glen; 

Within  Loch-Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight, 

All  in  our  maids'  and  matrons'  sight, 

Each  for  his  hearth  and  household  fire, 

Father  for  child,  and  son  for  sire, 

Lover  for  maid  beloved  ! — but  why — 

Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye? 

Or  dost  thou  come,  ill-omened  tear, 

A  messenger  of  doubt  and  fear? 

No !  sooner  may  the  Saxon  lance 

Unfix  Benledi  from  his  stance. 

Than  doubt  or  terror  can  pierce  through 

The  unyielding  heart  of  Roderick  Dhu! 

'Tis  stubborn  as  his  trusty  targe 

Each  to  his  post! — all  know  their  charge." 

The  pibroch  sounds,  the  bands  advance. 
The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance. 
Obedient  to  the  chieftain's  glance. 
I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar. 
And  seek  Coir-Uriskin  once  more. 

IX. 

Where  is  the  Douglas' — he  is  gone; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  gr.iy  stone 
Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan; 
'While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  poured  on  her  unheeding  ear. — 
"  He  will  return — dear  lady,  trust! 
With  joy  return; — he  will — he  must. 
\V^ell  was  it  time  to  seek,  afar. 
Some  refuge  from  im^.ending  war. 
When  e'en  Clan-Alpine's  rugged  swarm 
Are  cowed  by  tiie  approaching  storm, 
I  saw  their  boats,  with  many  a  light. 
Floating  the  live-long  yesternight, 
Shifting  like  flashes  darted  forth 
By  the  red  streamers  of  the  north; 
I  marked  at  morn  how  close  they  ride, 
Thick  moored  by  the  lone  islet's  side. 
Like  wild  ducks  couching  in  the  fen, 
WTien  stoops  the  hawk  upon  the  glen. 
Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 
The  peril  on  the  main-land  side, 
Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  care 
Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare?"— 

X. 

ELLEN. 

"  No,  Allan,  no!  pretext  so  kind 
My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 
When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave, 
Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave, 


144 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  tear  that  glistened  in  his  eye 

Drowned  not  his  purpose  fixed  and  high. 

My  soul,  though  tcminine  and  weak, 

Can  image  his,  e'en  as  the  lake. 

Itself  disturbed  by  slightest  stroke, 

Ketlects  the  invulnerable  rock. 

He  hears  report  of  buttle  rife. 

He  deems  himself  tlie  cause  of  strife. 

I  saw  him  redden  when  the  theme 

Turned,  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream, 

Of  Malcolm  Gi-ieme  in  fetters  bound, 

Which  I,  thou  saidst,  about  him  wound. 

Think'st  thou  he  trowed  thine  omen  aught' 

Oh  no!  'twas  apprehensive  thought 

For  the  kind  youth, — for  Roderick  too — 

SLet  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true; 
n  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause! 
IMinstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 
AAHiy  else  that  solemn  warning  given, 
'If  not  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven'' 
Why  else,  to  Cambus-Kenneth's  fane, 
If  eve  return  him  not  again, 
Am  I  to  hie  and  make  me  known? 
Alas!  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne. 
Buys  his  friends'  safety  with  his  own;- 
He  goes  to  do — what  1  had  done, 
Had  Douglas'  daughter  been  his  son!" 
XI. 

ALLAX. 

"  Xay,  lovely  Ellen! — dearest,  nay! 
If  aught  should  his  return  delay, 
He  only  named  yon  holy  fane. 
As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 
Be  sure  he's  safe:  and  for  the  Grteme, 
Heaven's  blessing  on  his  gallant  name! 
My  visioned  sight  may  yet  prove  true, 
Nor  bode  of  ill  to  him  or  you. 
When  did  my  gifted  dream  beguile? 
Think  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle, 
And  think  upon  the  harpings  slow, 
That  presaged  this  approaching  wo! 
Sooth  was  my  prophecy  of  fear; 
Believe  it  when  it  augurs  cheer. 
Would  we  had  left  this  dismal  spot! 
Ill-luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  grot. 
Of  such,  a  wond'rous  tale  1  know — 
Dear  lady,  change  that  look  of  wo! 
My  harp  was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer." 

ELLES. 

'  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt;  I  hear. 
But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear." 
The  minstrel  tried  his  simple  art. 
But  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart. 

XII. 

BALLAD. 
ALICE  BRAND. 6 

Merry  it  is  in  the  good  green  wood. 

When  the  mavis*  and  merlef  are  singing, 

When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are 
cry. 
And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

"  O  Alice  Brand,  mj'  native  land 

Is  lost  for  love  of  you; 
And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold. 

As  outlaws  wont  tp  do. 

"  O  Alice,  'twas  for  all  thy  locks  so  bright. 
And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue, 

That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight. 
Thy  brother  bold  1  slew. 


'Ihrush. 


t  Blackbird. 


"  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beach, 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 
For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed, 

And  stakes  to  fence  oui"  cave. 

"  And,  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

That  wont  on  harp  to  stray, 
A  cloak  must  shear  from  the  slaughtered  deer, 

To  keep  the  cold  away." 

"  O  Richard  !  if  my  brother  died, 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance; 
For  darkling  was  the  battle  tried, 

And  fortune  sped  the  lance. 

"  If  pall  and  vair  no  more  I  wear. 

Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen, 
As  warm,  we'll  say,  is  the  russet  gray, 

As  gay  the  forest  green. 

'  And,  Richard,  if  our  lot  be  hard. 

And  lost  thy  native  land. 
Still  Alice  has  her  own  Richard, 
And  he  his  Alice  Brand." — 
XIII. 

BALLAD    C0>TI>-XED. 

'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry  in  good  green  wood. 

So  blith  lady  Alice  is  singing; 
On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side. 

Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

Up  spoke  the  moody  elfin  king. 

Who  won'd  within  the  hill, — ' 
Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruined  church. 

His  voice  was  ghostly  shrill. 
"  Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beach  and  oak, 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen? 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  elfin  queen?s 
Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies'  fatal  green?9 

"  Up,  Urgan,  up!  to  yon  mortal  hie. 

For  thou  wert  christened  man;'" 
For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly. 

For  muttered  word  or  ban. 

"  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  withered  heart, 

The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eve; 
Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  his  life  would  part, 

Nor  vet  find  leave  to  die." 
XIV. 

BALLAD    COSTIXrED. 

'Tis  raern",  'tis  men-y  in  good  green  wood. 
Though  the  birds  have  stilled  their  singing; 

The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise. 
And  Richard  is  faggots  bringing. 

Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf. 

Before  lord  Richard  stands, 
And,  as  he  crossed  and  blessed  himself, 
"  1  fear  not  sign,"  quoth  the  grislj-  elf, 

"  That  is  made  with  bloody  hands." — 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

That  woman  void  of  fear, — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 

'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer." — 
"  Now  loud  thou  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood! 

It  cleaves  unto  his  hand. 
The  stain  of  thine  own  kindly  blood. 

The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand." 

Then  forward  stepped  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  holy  sign, — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  on  Richard's  hand, 

A  spotless  hand  is  mine. 


THE  LADY  OF   THE  LAKE. 


145 


"  And  I  conjure  thee,  demon  elf, 

By  him  who  demons  feai-, 
To  show  us  whence  tliou  art  thyself, 

And  what  thine  eiTand  here?"— 

XV. 

BAHAD    COXTISTJED. 

"  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry  in  fairy  land. 
When  fairy  birds  are  singing, 

When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch's  side, 
W^ith  bit  and  bridle  ringing: 

••  And  gaylj-  shines  the  fairy  land- 
But  all  is  glistening  show," 

Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 
Can  dait  on  ice  and  snow. 

"  And  fading  like  that  varied  gleam. 
Is  our  inconstant  shape, 

^Vho  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 
And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

"  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

\Vlien  the  fairy  king  has  power, 
That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray. 
And,  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatched  away 

To  the  joyless  elfin  bower,  i- 

"  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold. 

Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign, 
1  might  regain  my  mortal  mold, 

As  fair  a  form  as  thine." — 

She  crossed  him  once,  she  crossed  him  twice^ 

That  lady  was  so  brave; 
The  fouler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 

The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

She  crossed  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold; 

He  rose  beneath  her  hand 
The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mold. 

Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand  I 

Merrj'  it  is  in  good  green  wood. 

When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing. 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermline  gray. 
When  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 

XM. 

Just  as  the  minstrel  sounds  wei'e  staid, 

A  stranger  climbed  the  steepy  glade; 

His  martial  step,  his  stately  mien. 

His  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green, 

His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims — 

'Tis  Snowdoun's  knight,  'tis  James  f  itz-James. 

Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream. 

Then,  starting,  scarce  suppressed  a  scream: 

"  O  stranger!  in  such  hour  of  fear, 

What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here'" 

"  An  evil  hap!  how  can  it  be, 

That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee' 

By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide 

Met  me  betimes  this  morning  tide. 

And  marshalled,  over  bank  and  bourne. 

The  happy  path  of  my  return." — 

'♦  The  happy  path! — v.hat!  said  he  nought 

Of  war,  of  battle  to  be  fought. 

Of  guarded  pass'" — "  Xo,  by  my  faith! 

Xor  saw  I  aught  could  augur  scathe." 

"  O!  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, — 

Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern; 

Learn  thou  his  pui-pose,  and  conjure 

That  he  will  guide  the  stranger  sure! — 

What  prompted  thee,  unhappy  man? 

The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 

Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear, 

Unknown  to  him  to  guide  thee  here."— 


XYIT. 

"  Sweet  Ellen,  dear  my  life  must  be. 

Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee; 

Yet  life  1  hold  but  idle  breath, 

\Mien  love  or  honour's  weighed  with  death. 

Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance. 

And  speak  my  jiurpose  bold  at  once. 

I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild. 

Where  ne'er  before  such  blossom  smiled; 

Hy  this  soft  hand  to  lead  thee  far 
From  frantic  scenes  offend  and  war. 
Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait. 
They  bear  us  soon  to  Stirling  gate: 
I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 

I'll  guard  thee  like  a  tender  flower " 

"  Oh,  hush,  sir  knight!  'twere  female  art 

To  say  I  do  not  read  thy  heart; 

Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 

Was  idly  soothed  my  praise  to  hear. 

That  fatal  bait  hath  lured  thee  back, 

In  deathful  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track! 

And  how,  O  how,  can  I  atone 

The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on; — 

One  May  i-emains — I'll  teirhim  all — 

Yes!  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shall! 

Thou,  whose  light  folly  bears  the  blame. 

Buy  thine  own  pardon  with  thy  shame! 

But  first — ray  father  is  a  man  ' 

Outlawed  and  exiled,  under  ban; 

The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head. 

With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed. — 

Still  wouldst  thou  speak' — then  hear  the  truth 

Fitz-Jaraes,  there  is  a  noble  youth, — 

If  yet  he  is! — exposed  for  me 

And  mine  to  dread  extremity — 

Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my  heart; 

Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart." 

XYIII. 

Fitz-James  knew  everv"  wily  train 

A  lady's  fickle  heart  to  gain, 

But  here  he  knew  and  felt  them  vain. 

There  shot  no  glance  fi'om  Ellen's  ej'e. 

To  give  her  steadfast  speech  the  lie; 

In  maiden  confidence  she  stood. 

Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  tlie  blood. 

And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 

Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony. 

As  death  had  sealed  her  ^Ialcolm's  doom, 

And  she  sat  sorrowing  on  his  tomb. 

Hope  vanished  from  Fitz-James's  eve. 

But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 

He  proffered  to  attend  her  side,  < 

As  brother  would  a  sister  guide. — 

"  O!  little  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart! 

Safer  for  both  we  go  apart. 

O  haste  thee,  and  from  Allan  learn. 

If  thou  may'st  trust  yon  wily  kern." — 

\\'ith  hand  upon  his  forehead  laid. 

The  conflict  of  his  mind  to  shade, 

A  parting  step  or  two  he  made; 

Then,  as  some  thought  had  crossed  his  brain 

He  paused,  and  turned,  and  came  agam. 

XIX. 
"  Hear,  lady,  yet,  a  parting  word ! — 
It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 
Preserved  the  life  of  Scotland's  lord. 
This  ring  the  grateful  monarch  gave. 
And  bade,  when  I  had  boon  to  crave. 
To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  claim 
The  recompense  tliat  I  would  name. 


146 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ellen,  I  am  no  courtly  lord, 

But  one  wlio  lives  by  lance  and  sword, 

Whose  castle  is  liis  helm  and  shield, 

His  lordship  the  embattled  field. 

What  from  a  prince  can  1  demand. 

Who  neither  reck  of  state  nor  land? 

Ellen,  thy  iiand — the  ring  is  thine; 

Eacii  guard  and  usher  knows  the  sign. 

Seek  tliou  the  king  witiiout  delay; 

This  siijnet  shall  secure  tiiy  way; 

And  claim  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 

As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me." — 

He  placed  the  golden  circlet  on. 

Paused — kissed  her  hand — and  then  was  gone. 

The  aged  minstrel  stood  aghast. 

So  hastily  Fitz-Jumes  shot  past. 

He  joined  his  guide,  and  wending  down 

Tiie  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown. 

Across  the  stream  tiiey  took  their  way. 

That  joins  Lock-Katrine  to  Achraj\ 

XX. 

All  in  the  Trosacli's  glen  was  still, 
Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill: 
Sudden  his  guide  -whooped  loud  and  high — 
"  Murdocii!  was  that  a  signal  cry?" 
He  stammered  forth, — "  1  shout  to  scare 
Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare." 
He  looked — he  knew  the  raven's  prey. 
His  own  brave  steed: — "Ah!  gallant  gray  ! 
For  thee — for  me,  perchance — 'twere  well 
We  ne'er  had  left  the  Trosach's  dell. 
Murdoch,  move  first — but  silently; 
Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shalt  die." 
Jealous  and  sullen  on  they  fared. 
Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard. 

XXI. 
Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge. 
"\Viien  lo !  a  wasted  female  form, 
Bliglited  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 
In  tattered  weeds  and  wild  array, 
Stood  on  a  clift' beside  the  way. 
And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye, 
Upon  the  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky. 
Seemed  nought  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy. 
Her  brow  was  wreathed  w  ith  gaudy  broom; 
With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume 
Of  feathers,  w  hich  the  eagles  fling 
To  crag  and  cliff  from  dusky  wing; 
Such  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought. 
Where  scarce  was  footing  for  the  goat. 
The  tartan  plaid  she  first  descried, 
And  shrieked  till  all  the  rocks  replied; 
As  loud  she  laughed  when  near  they  drew, 
For  then  the  lowland  garb  she  knew; 
And  then  her  hands  she  wildly  wrung. 
And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung.— 
She  sung: — the  voice,  in  better  time. 
Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime; 
And  now,  though  strained  and  roughened,  still 
Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hill. 

XXII. 

SOXG. 

"  They  bid  me  sleep,  tiiey  bid  me  pray. 
They  say  my  brain  is  warped  and  wrung — 

I  cannot  sleep  on  highland  brae, 
I  cannot  pray  in  highland  tongue. 

Hut  were  1  now  where  Allan  glides, 

Ur  lieard  niy  native  Devan's  tides. 

So  sweetly  would  I  rest,  and  pray 

That  heaven  would  close  my  wintry  day ! 


"  'Twas  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid, 

They  bade  me  to  the  church  repair; 
It  was  my  bridal  morn,  they  said. 

And  my  tnie  love  would  meet  me  there. 
But  wo  betide  the  cruel  guile, 
That  drowned  in  blood  the  morning  smile! 
And  wo  betide  tiie  fairy  dream ! 
1  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream." 

XXIII. 
"  Who  is  this  m.aid'  what  means  her  lay? 
She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way. 
And  flutters  wide  her  mantle  gray. 
As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing. 
By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring." 
"  'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,"  Murdoch  said, 
"  A  crazed  and  captive  lowlantl  muid, 
Ta'en  on  the  morn  she  was  a  bride. 
When  Roderick  forayed  Devan  side. 
The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made. 
And  felt  our  chief's  unconquered  blade. 
1  marvel  she  is  now  at  large. 
But  oft  she  'scapes  from  Maudlin's  charge. 
Hence,  brain-sick  fool!" — He  raised  his  bow: 
"  Now,  if  thou  strikest  her  but  one  blow, 
I'll  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 
As  ever  peasant  pitched  a  bai'. " 
"  Tlianks,  champion,  thanks!"  the  maniac  cried. 
And  pressed  her  to  Fitz-James's  side. 
"  See  the  gray  pennons  I  prepare. 
To  seek  my  true-love  through  the  air! 
I  will  not  lend  that  savage  groom. 
To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume! 
No! — deep  among  disjointed  stones, 
The  wolves  shall  batten  on  his  bones, 
And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 
By  bush  and  brier  in  mid  air  staid, 
^Vave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free, 
Meet  signal  for  their  revelry." 

XXIV. 
"  Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still!' 
"  O!  thou  look'st  kindly,  and  I  will. 
Mine  eye  has  dried  and  wasted  been. 
But  still  it  loves  the  Lincoln  green; 
And  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung. 
Still,  still  it  loves  the  lowland  tongue. 
"  For  O,  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true, 

He  stole  poor  Blanclie's  heart  away! 
His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  green  wood  hue. 

And  so  blithly  he  trilled  the  lowland  lay ! 
"  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell — 
But  thou  art  wise,  and  guessest  well." 
Then,  in  a  low  and  broken  tone. 
And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on. 
Still  on  the  clansman,  fearfully. 
She  fixed  her  apprehensive  eye; 
Then  turned  it  on  the  knight,  and  then 
Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

XXV. 
"  The  toils  are  pitched,  and  the  stakes  ai-i  set. 

Ever  sing  merrily,  meiTily; 
The  bows  they  bend,  and  the  knives  they  whet, 

Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 
"  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  often,* 

Bearing  his  branches  stui-dily; 
He  came  stately  dnwn  the  glen. 

Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 
"  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  doe, 

She  was  bleeding  deathfully; 
She  warned  him  of  the  toils  below, 

O,  so  faithfully,  faithfully! 


'  Having  ten  branches  on  his  autlei-s. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


^47 


"  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed, 

Ever  sing  warily,  warily; 
He  had  a  foot,  and  he  coiald  speed — 

Hunters  watch  so  narrowly." 
XXVJ. 
Fitz-James's  mind  was  passion-tossed, 
When  Ellen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost; 
But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 
And  Blanche's  song  conviction  brought. — 
Not  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare, 
But  lion  of  the  hunt  aware, 
He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high, 
"Disclose  thy  treacherj",  or  die!" — 
Forth  at  full  speed  the  clansman  flew, 
But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  drew. 
The  shaft  just  grazed  Filz-James's  crest. 
And  thrilled  in  Blanche's  faded  breast. — 
Murdoch  of  Alpine,  prove  thy  speed. 
For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  need! 
"With  heart  of  fire  and  foot  of  wind, 
The  fierce  avenger  is  behind ! 
Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife 
The  forfeit  death — the  prize  is  life ! 
Thy  kindred  ambush  lies  before, 
Close  couched  upon  the  heathery  moor; 
Them  could'st  thou  reach! — it  may  not  be — 
Thine  ambushed  kin  thou  ne'er  shall  see, 
The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee! 
— Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust. 
As  lightning  strikes  the  pine  to  dust; 
With  foot  and  hand  Fitz-James  must  strain, 
Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 
Bent  o'er  the  fallen,  with  falcon  eye, 
He  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die; 
Then  slower  wended  back  his  way, 
Where  the  poor  maiden  bleeding  lay. 

XX\T1. 

She  sate  beneath  the  birchen  tree, 

Her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee; 

She  had  withdrawn  the  fatal  shaft. 

And  gazed  on  it,  and  feebly  laughed; 

Her  wreath  of  broom  and  feathers  gi'ay, 

Daggled  with  blood,  beside  her  lay. 

The  knight,  to  stanch  the  life-stream  tried, - 

"Stranger,  it  is  in  vain!"  she  cried, 

"  This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more 

Of  reason's  power  than  years  before; 

For,  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay. 

My  frenzied  visions  fade  away. 

A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die, 

And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye. 

That  thou  wert  my  avenger  born. 

Seest  thou  this  tress?" — O!  still  I've  worn  ' 

This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair. 

Through  danger,  frenzy,  and  despair! 

It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine. 

But  blood  and  tears  have  dimmed  its  shine. 

I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  shi-ed, 

Xor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head — 

My  brain  would  turn ! — but  it  shall  wave 

Like  plumage  on  thy  helnnet  brave. 

Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 

And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again. — 

1  waver  still.     O  God!  nioie  bright 

Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light! 

O!  by  thy  kni;^hthood's  honoured  sign, 

And  for  ihy  life  preserved  by  mine, 

When  lliou  slialt  see  a  darksaniL-  man, 

M'lio  boasts  him  chief  cf  Alpine's  clan, 

Wiih  tartans  broad  and  bliai!u«y  plume. 

And  hand  of  blood,  and  brow  of  gloom, 


Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong. 
And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong! 
They  watch  for  thee  by  pass  and  fell — 
Avoid  tlie  path — O  God! — farewell!" 

xxvni. 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz-James; 

Fast  poured  his  eye  at  pity's  claims. 

And  now,  with  mingled  grief  and  ire. 

He  saw  the  murdered  maid  expire. 

"  God,  in  my  need,  be  mj'  relief, 

As  1  wreak  this  on  yonder  chief  !" 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tresses  fair 

He  blended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair; 

The  mingled  braid  in  blood  he  died, 

And  placed  it  on  his  bonnet  side: 

"  By  Him  whose  word  is  truth!  I  sweat", 

Xo  other  favour  will  I  wear. 

Till  this  sad  token  I  embrue 

In  the  best  blood  of  Rodei-ick  Dhu! 

— But  hark!  what  means  yon  faint  halloo? 

The  chase  is  up, — but  they  shall  know. 

The  stag  at  bay's  a  dangerous  foe." 

Barred  from  the  known  but  guarded  way, 

Tlu-ough  copse  and  cliffs  Fitz-James  must  stray. 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track. 

By  stream  and  precipice  tunrd  back. 

Heartless,  fatigued,  and  faint,  at  length. 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength, 

He  couched  him  in  a  thicket  hoar. 

And  thought  his  toils  and  perils  o'er: 

"  Of  all  my  rash  adventures  past. 

This  frantic  feat  must  prove  the  last! 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  guessed. 

That  all  this  highland  hornet's  nest 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon 

As  e'er  they  heard  of  bands  at  Doune? 

Like  bloodhounds  now  they  search  me  out, — 

Hark,  to  the  whistle  and  the  shout! 

If  farther  through  the  wilds  1  go, 

I  only  fall  upon  the  foe; 

I'll  couch  me  here  till  evening  gray. 

Then  darkling  trj'  my  dangerous  way. " — 

XXIX. 
The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down. 
The  woods  ai'e  wrapped  in  deeper  brown. 
The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell. 
The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell; 
Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light. 
To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright. 
Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 
His  figure  lo  the  watchful  foe. 
With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake. 
He  climbs  the  crag,  and  threads  the  brake; 
And  not  the  summer  solstice,  there. 
Tempered  the  midnight  mountain  air. 
But  eveiy  breeze,  that  swept  the  wold. 
Benumbed  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold. 
In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 
Famished  and  chilled,  thi'ough  ways  unknown. 
Tangled  and  steep,  he  journeyed  on; 
Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turned, 
A  M'atch-fire  close  beside  him  burned. 

XXX. 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear. 

Basked,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer; 

And  up  he  sprung,  with  sword  in  hand, — 

"  Thy  name  and  purpose!  Saxon,  stand!" 

"  A  stranger." — "What  dost  thou  require'" 

"  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 

My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 

The  gale  has  chilled  mv  limbs  with  frost.  ' 


148 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick!"' — "  No." — 

"  Thou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foej"' 

•'I  dare!  to  him  and  all  the  band 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand." 

"Bold  words!— but,  though  the  beast  of  game 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim, 

Though  space  and  law  the" stag  we  lend, 

Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 

Wlio  ever  recked  where,  how,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapped  and  slain ?i3 

Thus  U-eacherous  scouts, — yet  sure  they  lie. 

Who  sav  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy!" — 

♦'They  do,  by  heaven! — Come  Roderick  Dhu,. 

And  of  his  clan  tlie  boldest  two, 

And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest, 

I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest." — 

"  If  by  the  blaze  1  mark  aright. 

Thou  bearest  the  belt  and  spur  of  knight." 

"  Then  by  these  tokens  raay'st  thou  know 

Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe. " 

*'  Enough,  enough;  sit  down  and  share 

A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare." — 

XXXI. 

He  gave  him  of  his  highland  cheer. 

The  hardened  flesh  of  mountain  deer;'^ 

Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid, 

And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 

He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest. 

Then  thus  his  further  speech  addressed. 

"  Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 

A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true; 

Each  word  against  his  honour  spoke 

Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke; 

Yet  more, — upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 

A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 

It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, — 

Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne; 

It  rests  with  me,  here,  brand  to  brand, 

Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand: 

But,  not  for  clan,  nor  kindred's  cause, 

Will  I  depart  from  honour's  laws; 

To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 

And  stranger  is  a  holy  name; 

CJuidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fife. 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

Then  rest  thee  here  till  daw^n  of  day; 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way, 

O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Till  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard, 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword." 

"1  take  thy  courtesy,  by  heaven. 

As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given !" — 

"  Well,  rest  thee;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." — 

With  that  he  shook  tlie  gathered  heath, 

And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath; 

And  the  brave  foemon,  side  by  side. 

Lay  peaceful  down  like  brothers  tried. 

And  slept  until  the  dawning  beam 

Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream. 

CANTO   V. 

THE   COMBAT. 

I. 

Fair  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  light, 
When  first,  by  the  bewildered  pilgrim  spied, 

It  smiles  upon  tlie  dreary  brow  of  niglit. 
And  silvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 

Ai;;I  l':jus  the  feari'ul  path  on  mountainside; 


Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far, 
Giving  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride, 

Shiiie  martial  faith,  and  courtesy's  bright  stai', 
Through  all  tlie  wreckful  storms  that  cloud  the 
brow  of  war. 

U. 
That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen, 
Was  twinkling  through  the  hazel  screen, 
When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 
The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 
Looked  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
Muttered  their  soldier  matins  by. 
And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal, 
As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael*  around  him  threw 
His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue. 
And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way. 
By  thicket  green  and  mountain  gi'ay. 
A  wildering  path! — They  winded  now 
Along  the  precipice's  brow, 
Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath, 
The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 
And  all  the  vales  between  that  lie. 
Till  Stirling's  turrets  melt  in  sky; 
Then,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 
Gained  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 
'Twas  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain 
Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain; 
So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  through. 
Each  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew, 
That  diamond  dew,  so  pure  and  clear, 
It  rivals  all  but  beauty's  teai"! 

m. 

At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep. 

The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 

Here  Vennachar  in  silver  flows. 

There,  ridge  on  ridge,  Benledi  rose; 

Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on. 

Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone; 

An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 

With  hardihood  against  a  host. 

The  rugged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 

Was  dwarfish  shrubs  of  birch  and  oak. 

With  shingles  bare,  and  cliff's  between. 

And  patches  bright  ot  bracken  green. 

And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  high. 

It  held  the  copse  in  rivalry. 

But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still. 

Dank  osiers  fringed  the  swamp  and  hill ; 

And  oft  both  path  and  hill  were  torn. 

Where  wintry  torrents  down  had  borne. 

And  heaped  upon  the  cumbered  land 

Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rocks,  and  sand. 

So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace, 

The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace, 

Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaw'S, 

And  asked  Fitz-James,  by  what  strange  cause 

He  souglit  these  wilds,  traversed  by  few. 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

IV. 
"Brave  Gael,  my  pass,  in  danger  tried, 
Hangs  in  ray  belt,  and  bv'  ray  side; 
Yet,  sooth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  I  dreamed  not  now  to  claim  its  aid. 
When  here,  but  tliree  days  since,  I  came. 
Bewildered  in  pursuit  of  game. 
All  seemed  as  peaceful  and  as  still. 
As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill; 
Thy  dangerous  chief  was  then  afar, 
Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 


•  The  Scottish  highlander  calls  himself  Gael,  or  Gaul, 
and  terms  tht  low  landers,  Sassenach,  or  Saxons. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


149 


Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain  gu»<J?' 
Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villam  lied. 
«  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try?" — 
"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why! 
Moves  our  free  course  by  such  fixed  cause, 
As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws? 
F.uough,  1  sought  to  drive  away 
The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day; 
Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 
A  knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide,— 
A  falcon  flown,  a  gray-hound  strayed, 
The  meny  glance  of  mountain  maid; 
Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known. 
The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone."— 

V. 
"  Thy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not; — 
Yet,  ere  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 
Say,  heai-d  ye  nought  of  lowland  war. 
Against  Clan-Alpine,  raised  by  Mar?" 
<'  No,  by  my  word;  of  bands  prepared 
To  guard  king  James's  sports  I  heard; 
Nor  doubt  I  aught,  but,  when  they  hear 
This  muster  of  the  mountaineer. 
Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung, 
Which  else  in  Doune  had  peaceful  hung." 
«  Free  be  they  flung! — for  we  were  loth 
Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth. 
Free  be  they  flung !  as  free  shall  wave 
Clan-Alpine's  pine  in  banner  brave. 
But,  stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came. 
Bewildered  in  the  mountain  game. 
Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 
Vich- Alpine's  vowed  and  mortal  foe?" 
'«  Warrior,  but  yester-morn  1  knew 
Nought  of  thy  chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 
Save  as  an  outlawed  desperate  man. 
The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan. 
Who,  in  the  regent's  court  and  sight, 
With  ruffian  dagger  stabbed  a  knight: 
Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 
Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart." 

VI. 
Wrothful  at  sucli  arraignment  foul, 
Dark  loured  the  clansman's  sable  scowl. 
A  space  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 
"  And  heard'st  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade? 
Heard'st  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 
Brouo-ht  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe? 
Whaf  recked  the  chieftain  if  he  stood 
On  highland  heath,  or  Holy-Rood? 
He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 
If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven. " 
"  Still  was  it  outrage;— yet  'tis  true,  ^  . 

Not  then  claimed  sovereignty  his  due; 
While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand. 
Held  borrowed  truncheon  of  command,' 
Tiie  young  king,  mewed  in  Stirling  tower. 
Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 
But  then,  thy  chieftain's  robber  life ! 
Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife. 
Wrenching  from  ruined  lowland  swain 
His  herds  and  harvest  reared  in  vain, — 
Methinks  a  soul,  like  thine,  should  scorn 
The  spoils  fioiu  such  foul  foray  borne. " 

VII. 
The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while. 
And  answered  with  disdainful  smile, — 
"  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high, 
I  marked  thee  send  delighted  eye. 
Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 
Extended  in  succession  gay, 


Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green, 
With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between; 
These  fertile  plains,  that  softened  vale, 
Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael; 
The  stranger  came  with  iron  hand. 
And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 
\Vhere  dwell  we  now  ?    See,  rudely  swell 
Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 
Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread. 
For  fattened  steer  or  household  bread; 
Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 
And  well  the  mountain  might  reply, — 
'  To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore. 
Belong  the  target  and  claymore ! 
I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 
Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest' 
Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  north, 
Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth. 
To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 
And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey? 
Ay,  by  my  soul! — While  on  yon  plain 
The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain; 
While,  often  thousand  herds,  there  strays 
But  one  along  yon  river's  maze, 
The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir. 
Shall,  with  strong  hand,  redeem  his  share.2 
Where  live  tlie  mountain  chiefs  who  hold, 
That  plundering  lowland  field  and  fold 
Is  aught  but  retribution  true? 
Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu. " 

VIII. 
Answered  Fitz-Jaimes, — "And,  if  1  sought, 
Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought? 
What  deem  ye  of  my  path  way-laid? 
My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  i"' 
"  As  of  a  meed  to  rashness  due; 
Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, 
1  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  strayed, 
I  seejj,  good  faith,  a  highland  maid; 
Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go; 
But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 
Nor  yet,  for  this,  e'en  as  a  spy, 
Hadst  thou,  unheard,  been  doomed  to  die, 
Save  to  fulfil  an  augury." 
"  Well,  let  it  pass;  nor  will  I  now 
Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow. 
To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 
Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 
To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride: 
Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpine's  glen 
In  peace;  but  when  I  come  agen, 
I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow. 
As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe. 
For  love-lorn  swain  in  lady's  bower. 
Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  horn*, 
As  I,  until  before  me  stand 
This  rebel  chieftain  and  his  band." 

IX. 
"  Have,  then,  thy  wish!" — he  whistled  shrill. 
And  he  was  answered  from  the  hill; 
Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlieu. 
From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew. 
Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 
Bonnets,  and  spears,  and  bended  bows;- 
On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 
Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe; 
From  shingles  gray  tlieir  lances  start, 
The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart, 
The  rushes  and  the  willow-wand 
Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand. 
And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 
To  plaided  wan-ior  armed  for  strife. 


150 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  whistle  garrisoned  the  glen 

At  once  with  lull  five  hundred  men, 

As  it" the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given. 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still; 

Like  tlie  loose  crags  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass. 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge. 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung. 

Upon  the  mountain-side  they  hung. 

The  mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side. 

Then  fixed  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-Jaraes — "  How  say'st  thou  now? 

These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true; 

And,  Saxon, — 1  am  Roderick  Dhu!" 


Fitz-.Tames  was  brave: — Though  to  his  heart 

The  life-blood  thrilled  with  sudden  start, 

He  manned  himself  with  dauntless  air. 

Returned  the  ctiief  his  haughty  stare. 

His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 

And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before. 

"  Come  one,  come  all!  this  rock  shall  fly 

From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I. " 

Sir  Roderick  marked — and  in  his  eyes 

Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 

And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 

In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 

Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  his  hand: 

Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band; 

Each  warrior  vanished  where  he  stood, 

In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood; 

Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow. 

In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low; 

It  seemed  as  if  their  mother  earth 

Had  swallowed  up  her  warlike  birth. 

The  wind's  last  breath  had  tossed  in  air, 

Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair, — 

The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill  side. 

Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide; 

The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted  back, 

From  spear  and  glaive,  from  targe  and  jack, — 

The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 

On  bracken  green,  and  cold  gray  stone. 

XI. 

Fitz-James  looked  round — yet  scarce  believed 

The  witness  that  his  sight  received; 

Such  apparition  well  might  seem 

Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 

Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed, 

And  to  his  look  the  chief  replied, 

"  Fear  nought — nay,  that  I  need  not  say — 

But  doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 

Thou  art  my  guest;  I  pledged  my  word 

As  far  as  Coilanlogle  ford: 

Nor  would  1  call  a  clansman's  brand 

For  aid  .against  one  valiant  hand. 

Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 

Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael. 

So  move  we  on;  I  only  meant 

To  show  the  reed  on  wliich  you  leant. 

Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue. 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu.  "3 

They  moved: — I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave. 

As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive; 

Yet  dare  not  say,  that  now  his  blood 

Kept  on  its  wont  and  tempered  flood. 


As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 
That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 
Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 
With  lances,  that,  to  take  his  life, 
^V"aited  but  signal  from  a  guide, 
So  late  dishonoured  and  defied. 
Ever,  by  stealth,  his  eye  sought  round 
The  vanished  guardians  ot  the  ground, 
And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep, 
Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep. 
And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain. 
The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 
Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 
The  pass  was  left;  for  then  they  wind 
Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 
\Vliere  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen. 
Nor  rush,  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near. 
To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 

XII. 

The  chief  in  silence  strode  before, 

And  reached  that  torrent's  sounding  shore, 

Wliich,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes. 

From  Vennachar  in  silver  breaks. 

Sweeps  through  the  plain,  and  ceaseless  mines 

On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines, 

Where  Rome,  the  empress  of  the  world. 

Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurled.* 

And  here  his  course  the  chieftain  staid, 

Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid, 

And  to  the  lowland  warrior  said: 

"  Bold  Saxon!  to  his  promise  just, 

V'ich-Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 

This  murderous  chief,  this  ruthless  man. 

This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan, 

Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Far  past  Clan- Alpine's  outmost  guard. 

Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 

A  chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 

See,  here,  all  vantageless  I  stand. 

Armed,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand ;» 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 

And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword. " 

xm. 

The  Saxon  paused: — "I  ne'er  delayed, 

WTien  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade; 

Nay  more,  brave  chief,  I  vowed  thy  death : 

Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith, 

And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 

A  better  meed  have  well  deserved: 

Can  nought  but  blood  our  feud  atone? 

Are  there  no  means?" — "No,  stranger,  none! 

And  hear, — to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal. 

The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel; 

For  thus  spoke  fate,  by  prophet  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead: — 

'  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life. 

His  party  conquers  in  the  strife.'  " 

"Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 

."Tlie  riddle  is  already  read. 

Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  clifT, 

There  lies  red  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 

Thus  fate  has  solved  her  prophecy. 

Then  yield  to  fate,  and  not  to  me. 

To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go. 

When,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe. 

Or  if  the  king  shall  not  agree 

To  grant  thee  grace  and  favour  free, 

I  plight  mine  honour,  oath,  and  word. 

That,  to  thy  native  strengths  restored, 

With  each  advantage  siialt  thou  stand, 

'That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land." 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


151 


XIV. 
Dark  Lghtning  flashed  from  Roderick's  eye — 
I  "  Soars  thy  presumption  then  so  high, 

Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew, 
Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dhu' 
He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  fate ! 
Thou  add'st  but  fuel  to  my  hate: 
My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. — 
Not  yet  prepared^ — By  heaven,  I  change 
My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valour  light 
As  that  of  some  vain  carpet-knight, 
Who  ill  deserved  mj"  courteous  care, 
And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 
A  braifl  of  Ids  fair  lady's  hair." — 
"  I  thank  ihee,  Roderick,  for  the  word ! 
It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword; 
For  1  have  sworn,  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  blest  blood  th.-it  warms  thy  vein. 
Now-,  truce,  farewt-11!  and,  rulii,  be  gone! — 
Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone. 
Proud  ciiiefl  can  courtesy  be  shown; 
Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn, 
Start  at  my  nhistle  clansmen  stern. 
Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 
Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast. 
But  fear  not — doubt  not — w  hich  thou  wilt— 
We  try  this  quarrel  liilt  to  hilt." — 
Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew. 
Each  on  the  grouna  his  scabbard  threw-. 
Each  looked  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain. 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again; 
Then  fool,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed, 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed. 

XV. 

Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
That  on  tlie  field  Jiis  targe  lie  threw, » 
Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-liide 
Had  death  so  often  dashed  aside; 
For,  trained  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield.' 
He  practised  every  pass  and  w  ard, 
To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard; 
While  less  expert,  tiiougU  stronger  far, 
The  Gael  maintained  unequal  war. 
Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood. 
And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  di-ank  blood. 
No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide. 
The  gushing  flood  the  t:'.rtans  dyed. 
Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 
And  showered  his  blows  like  wintry  rain; 
And,  as  firm  rock,  or  castle  roof. 
Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof, 
The  foe,  invulnerable  still, 
J'oiled  iiis  wild  rage  bv  steadv  skill; 
Till,  at  advantage  ta'eii,  his  brand 
ForL-ed  Roderick's  weai)on  from  his  haiid. 
And,  backward  borne  upon  the  lea, 
Brouglit  the  proud  chiefiain  to  his  knee. 

XM. 
"  Now,  yield  ye,  or,  by  Him  who  made 
The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dyes  my  blade!" 
"  Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  1  defy ! 
Let  recreant  yield,  who  tears  to  die." — 
Like  adtier  darting  from  his  coil, 
Like  wolf  that  dashes  tlirough  tlie  toil, 
Like  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  young. 
Full  at  Fitz-Jamcs's  throat  he  s|)rung;8 
Received,  but  recked  not  of  a  wound, 
And  locked  his  arms  his  foeman  round. — 
Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thi.ie  own! 
No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown! 

12 


That  desperate  grasp  thy  frame  might  feel, 
Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel! 
They  lug,  they  strain; — down,  down,  they  go, 
The  Gael  above,  Fitz-James  below. 
The  chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compressed, 
His  knee  was  planted  in  his  breast; 
His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw, 
Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew, 
From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight. 
Then  gleamed  aloft  his  dagger  bright! — 
— But  iiate  and  fury  ill  sup[)lied 
The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide, 
.\nd  all  loo  late  the  advantage  came, 
To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game; 
For  while  the  dagger  gleamed  on  high, 
Reeled  soul  and  sense,  reeled  brain  and  eye. 
Down  came  the  blow;  but  in  the  heath 
The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 
The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 
i  The  fainting  chief's  relaxing  grasp; 
'  L'nwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
I  But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose. 

XML 

;  He  faltered  thanks  to  heaven  for  life, 
i  Redeemed,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife; 
I  Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  cast, 
(  Whose  every  gasp  appeared  his  last; 
I  In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipped  the  braid, — 
i  "  Poor  Blanche !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid; 
I  Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die,  or  live, 
The  praise  that  faith  and  valour  give." — 
;  With  tiiat  he  blew  a  bugle  note. 
Undid  tlie  collar  from  his  throat, 
Unbonnetted,  and  by  the  wave 
Sat  down,  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 
Then  faint  afar  are  heard  the  feet 
Of  rushing  steeds  in  gallop  fleet; 
The  sounds  increase,  and  now  are  seen 
Four  mounted  squires  in  Lincoln  green; 
Two  w  ho  bear  lance,  ami  two  who  lead. 
By  loosened  rein,  a  saddled  steed; 
Each  onward  held  his  headlong  course, 
And  by  Fitz-James  reined  up  his  horse— 
With  wonder  viewed  the  bloody  spot — 
— "  Exclaim  not,  gallants!  question  not,— 
You,  Herbert  and  Luifness,  alight. 
And  bind  the  wjunds  of  yonder  knight; 
Let  ihe  gray  pidfrey  bear  his  weight, 

I  We  destined  for  a  t\.irer  freight, 

j  And  bring  him  on  to  Stirling  straight; 

I I  will  before  at  better  speed, 

I  To  seek  fresh  horse  ami  tilting  weed. 
[The  sun  rides  high; — 1  must  be  boune 
j  To  see  the  archer-game  at  noon; 
I  Jiut  lightly  Bayard  clears  the  lea.— 
De  Vaux  and  ilerries,  follow  me. 

xvin. 

*'  Siand,  Bayard,  stand!" — the  steed  obeyed, 

With  arching  neck  and  bended  head. 

And  glancing  eye,  and  (juivering  ear. 

As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  hear. 

No  foot  Fiiz-Jamea  in  sliri-u|»  staid, 

Xo  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid. 

But  wreathed  his  lefi  hand  in  the  mane, 

And  lightly  bounded  from  the  plain. 

Turned  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel. 

And  stirred  his  courage  uitli  the  steel. 

Uoundeil  the  fiery  steed  in  air. 

The  rider  sate  erecl  and  fair. 

Then,  like  a  bolt  from  steel  cross-bow 

Forth  lanched,  aljng  the  plain  llier  go. 


152 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


They  (lashed  that  rajjid  torrent  through, 
And  up  Carhonie's  hill  they  flew; 
Still  at  the  gallop)  pricked  the  knight, 
His  nieri'v-mi'n  toUowed  as  they  might. 
Along  lliy  hanks,  swift  Teith!  they  ride, 
And  in  tlie  race  tlicy  mock  thy  tide; 
Torrv  and  Lcndrick  now  arc  jjast. 
And  iDeanstown  lies  l)eliiiid  them  cast; 
They  rise,  the  bannered  towers  of  Doune, 
Thev  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon; 
Klai'r-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire, 
They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre; 
They  mark  just  glance  and  disappear 
The'lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier; 
They  bathe  their  coursers'  sweltering  sides, 
Dark  Forth!  amid  thy  sluggish  tides, 
And  on  the  op))osing  shore  take  ground, 
With  i)lash,  with  scramble,  and  with  bound. 
Right  hand  they  leave  thy  cliffs,  Craig-Forth .' 
And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  north, 
Gray  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  town. 
Upon  their  fleet  career  looked  down. 

XIX. 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strained. 

Sudden  his  steed  the  leader  reined; 

A  signal  to  his  squire  he  flung, 

Who  instant  to  his  stirrup  sprung: 

"  Seest  thou,  De  Vanx,  yon  woodsman  gray, 

Who  townward  holds  the  rockj'  way, 

Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 

Mark'st  thou  the  firm,  yet  active  stride. 

With  which  he  scales  tiie  mountain  side? 

Know'st  thou  from  whence  he  comes,  or  whom?'' 

"  No,  by  my  word; — a  burley  groom 

He  seems,  who  in  the  field  or  chase 

A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace." 

"  Out,  out,  De  Vaux!  can  fear  supply, 

And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye? 

Afar,  ere  to  the  liill  he  drew, 

That  stately  form  and  step  1  knew: 

Like  form  in  Scotland  is  not  seen. 

Treads  not  such  step  on  Scottish  green. 

'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  St.  Serle! 

The  uncle  of  the  banished  earl. 

Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 

The  near  approach  of  dreaded  foe: 

The  king  must  stand  upon  his  guard: 

Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared." 

Then  right  hand  wheeled  their  steeds,  and  strait 

They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate. 

XX. 

The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 

From  Cambus-Kenneth's  abbey  gray. 

Now,  as  he  climbed  the  rocky  shelf. 

Held  sad  communion  with  himself: — 

"  Yes!  all  is  true  my  fears  could  frame: 

A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Grseme, 

And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 

The  vengeance  of  the  royal  steel. 

I,  only  I,  can  ward  their  fate, 

God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late! 

The  abbess  hath  her  promise  given, 

My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  heaven: 

Be  pardoned  one  repining  tear! 

For  He,  who  gave  her,  knows  how  dear, 

How  excellent! — but  that  is  by. 

And  now  my  business  is — to  die. 

— Ye  towers!  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled. 

And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound ! 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound," 


.\s  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Fell  the  stern  headsman's  bloody  hand, 

The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb 

Prepare,  for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom! 

— liut  hark!  what  blith  and  jolly  peal 

Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel? 

And  see!  upon  the  crowded  street. 

In  motley  groups  what  masciuers  meet! 

lianner  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum, 

And  merry  morrice-ilancers  come. 

I  guess,  by  all  this  quaint  array, 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day. 'O 

.James  will  be  there;  he  loves  such  show, 

Where  the  good  yeoman  bends  his  bow, 

And  tlie  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe. 

As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career. 

The  high-born  tilter  shivers  spear. 

I'll  follow  to  the  castle-park. 

And  play  my  prize:  king  James  shall  mark, 

If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark. 

Whose  force  so  oft,  in  happier  days, 

His  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praise." 

XXI. 

The  castle  gates  were  open  flung, 

The  quivering  drawbridge  rocked  and  rung. 

And  echoed  loud  the  flinty  street 

Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet. 

As  slowly  down  the  deep  descent 

Fair  Scotland's  king  and  nobles  went. 

While  all  along  tiie  crowded  way 

Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 

And  ever  James  was  bending  low. 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle  bow, 

Doffing  his  cap  to  city  dame. 

Who  smiled  and  blushed  for  pride  and  shame. 

And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain,— 

He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 

Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 

Commends  each  pageant's  quaint  attire. 

Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud. 

And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd. 

Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 

"  Long  live  the  commons'  king,  king  James!" 

Behind  the  king  thronged  peer  and  knight. 

And  noble  dame  and  damsel  bright. 

Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brooked  the  stay 

Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 

But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 

Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stern; 

There  nobles  mourned  their  pride  restrained. 

And  the  mean  burghers' joys  disdained; 

And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan. 

Were  each  from  home  a  banished  man, 

There  thought  upon  their  own  gray  tower, 

Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 

And  deemed  themselves  a  shameful  part 

Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

XXII. 

Now,  in  the  castle-park,  drew  out 
Their  chequered  bands  the  joyous  rout. 
There  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel. 
And  blade  in  hand,  their  mazes  wheel; 
Hut  chief,  beside  the  butts,  there  stand 
Bold  Robin  Hood"  and  all  his  band, — 
Friar  Tuck,  with  quarter-staff  and  cowl, 
Old  Scathelocke,  with  his  surly  scowl, 
Maid  Marion,  fair  as  ivory  bone. 
Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  and  Little  John; 
Their  bugles  challenge  all  that  will, 
In  archery  to  prove  their  skill. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


15: 


The  Douglas  bent  a  bow  ot  miglit, 
His  first  sliaft  centered  in  the  white, 
And  when  in  turn  he  shot  again, 
His  second  split  the  first  in  twain. 
From  the  king's  hand  must  Douglas  take 
A  silver  dart,  the  archer's  stake; 
Fondly  he  watched,  with  watery  eje, 
Some  answering  glance  of  sympathy,— 
No  kind  emotion  made  reply ! 
Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight. 
The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright. '^ 

XXIII. 

Now,  clear  the  ring  I  for,  hand  to  hand, 
The  manly  wrestlers  take  tlieir  stand. 
Two  o'er  the  rest  sujierior  rose. 
And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes, 
Nor  called  in  vain;  for  Douglas  came. 
— For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame; 
Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fore. 
Whom  senseless  home  iiis  comrades  bear. 
Prize  of  llie  wrestling  match,  the  king 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring,'^ 
While  coldly  glanced  his  eye  of  blue, 
As  frozen  drop  ot  wintry  dew. 
Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 
His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppressed: 
Indignant  then  he  turned  him  where 
Their  arms  the  brawny  yeomen  bare. 
To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  ;iir. 
"When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 
The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 
From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high. 
And  sent  the  fragment  througli  the  sky, 
A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark; — 
And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  i)ark, 
The  gray-liaireil  sires,  who  know  the  past. 
To  strangers  point  the  Douglas-cast, 
And  moralize  on  tlie  decay 
Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day. 

XXIV. 

The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang. 
The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang. 
The  king,  with  look  unmoved,  bestowed 
A  pui-se  well  filled  with  pieces  broad. 
Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 
And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd. 
Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder,  scan. 
And  sliarper  glance,  the  dark  gray  man; 
Till  whispers  rose  among  the  throng. 
That  heart  so  free,  and  liand  so  strong, 
AIusl  to  the  Douglas'  blood  belong: 
The  old  men  marked,  and  shook  the  licvd. 
To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread. 
And  winked  aside,  and  told  each  son 
Of  feats  upon  the  English  done, 
Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand 
Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 
The  women  praised  his  stately  form, 
Though  wrecked  by  many  a  winter's  storm; 
The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 
His  strength  surpassing  nature's  law. 
Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 
Till  murmur  rose  to  clamours  loud. 
But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 
Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  king, 
With  Douglas  held  communion  kind. 
Or  called  the  banished  man  to  mind; 
No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 
Once  held  his  side  the  honoured  place, 
Begirt  his  board,  and,  in  the  field, 
Found  safety  underneath  his  shield: 


For  he  whom  royal  eyes  disown, 
When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known? 

XXV. 

The  monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag. 

And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag. 

Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown. 

Two  favourite  greyhounds  should  pull  down, 

That  venison  free,  and  Bourdeau.x  wine 

Might  serve  the  archery  to  dine. 

But  Lufi-a, — whom  from  Douglas'  side, 

Xor  bribe  nor  threat  could  e'er  divide, 

The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  north, — 

Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 

She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid  way, 

And,  dashing  on  the  antkred  prey, 

Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 

AntI  deep  the  flowing  life-blood  drank. 

The  king's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 

By  strange  intruder  broken  short, 

fjame  up,  and,  w  itii  his  leash  unbound, 

In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

— The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn, 

The  king's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 

And  last,  and  worst  to  spirit  proud. 

Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd; 

But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred 

To  sliare  his  board,  to  watch  his  bed. 

And  oft  would  Ellen,  Lufra's  neck. 

In  maiden  glee,  with  garlands  deck; 

1  hey  were  such  play-mates,  that  with  name 

Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 

His  stifled  wrath  is  brimming  high, 

In  darkened  brow  and  flashing  eye; 

As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 

The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride; 

Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more, 

The  groom  lies  senseless  in  his  gore. 

Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 

Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

XXVI. 

Then  clamoured  loud  the  royal  train, 

And  brandished  swords  and  staves  amain. 

But  stern  the  baron's  warning — "  Back! 

Back,  on  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack! 

Beware  the  Douglas  I — Yes,  behold. 

King  James!  the  Douglas,  doomed  of  old, 

And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far, 

A  victin>  to  atone  the  war: 

A  willing  victim  now  attends. 

Nor  ci-aves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends. " 

— "  Thus  is  my  clemencj-  repaid' 

Presumptuous  lord!"  the  monarch  said; 

"  Of  thy  mis-proud  ambitious  clan, 

Thou,  James  of  Bothwell,  wert  the  man, 

The  only  man  in  whom  a  foe 

My  woman-mercy  would  not  know; 

But  shall  a  monarch's  presence  brook 

Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look' 

What  ho!  the  captain  ot  our  guard  ! 

Give  the  offender  fitting  ward. 

Break  off  the  sports! — "for  tumult  rose. 

And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows, — 

"Break  off  the  sports!" — he  said,  and  frowned, 

"And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 

XXVII. 
Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray 
Marred  the  fair  form  of  festal  d.\v.  > 

The  horsemen  pricked  among  the  crowd, 
Repelled  by  threats  and  insult  loud; 
To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak. 
The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek; 


154 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"With  flint,  Willi  shaft,  with  stafi",  with  bar, 

The  hardier  ur^t-  lumuUuous  war. 

At  once  round  Uoiiglas  darkly  sweep 

The  royal  sjnars  in  circle  deep, 

And  slowlv  scale  the  pathway  steep; 

Wiiile  on  tlie  rear  in  tlimulcr  pour 

The  ralilde  with  disordered  roar. 

With  grief  tile  noble  Douglas  saw 

The  ccinnnons  rise  asjainst  the  law, 

And  to  tlie  leading  soldier  said, 

"  Sir  John  of  Hyndford!  'twas  my  blatle 

That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid; 

For  that  good  deed  permit  me,  then, 

A  word  witli  these  misguided  men. 

XXVIII. 
"  Hear,  gentle  friends!  ere,  yet  for  me 
Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty. 
Sly  life,  my  honour,  and  my  cause, 
I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws; 
Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 
The  aid  of  your  misguided  ire?, 
Or,  if  1  suffer  causeless  wrong. 
Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong. 
My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low, 
That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 
Those  chords  of  love  1  should  unbind 
Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind? 
Oh  no !  believe,  in  yonder  tower 
It  will  not  sootli  my  captive  hour, 
To  know  those  spears  our  foes  should  dread, 
For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red. 
To  know,  in  frailless  brawl  begun 
For  me,  tliat  mother  wails  her  son; 
For  me,  that  widow's  mate  expires; 
For  me,  that  orphans  weep  their  sires. 
That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws. 
And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 
O!  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill. 
And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still!" 

XXIX. 
The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again 
In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 
With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  prayed 
For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 
Who  for  his  country  felt  alone. 
And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 
Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life. 
Blessed  him  who  stayed  the  civil  strife; 
And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high, 
The  self-devoted  chief  to  spy. 
Triumphant  over  wrong  and  ire, 
To  wliom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire: 
E'en  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved: 
As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved. 
With  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head, 
The  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led, 
And  at  the  castle's  battled  verge. 
With  sighs  resigned  his  honoured  charge. 

XXX. 
The  offended  monarch  rode  apart, 
With  bitter  thought  and  swelling  heart.. 
And  would  not  now  vouchsafe  again 
Through  Stirling's  streets  to  lead  his  train. 
"O  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 
This  changeling  crowd,  this  common  foul' 
Hear'st  thou,"  he  said,  "the  loud  acclaim, 
Witli  which  they  shout  the  Douglas  name? 
With  like  acclaim  the  vulgar  throat 
Strained  for  king  James  their  morning  note: 
With  like  acclaim  tliey  hailed  the  day 
Wiien  first  I  broke  the  Douglas'    way; 


And  like  acclaim  w  ould  Douglas  greet, 
U  he  could  hurl  mo  from  my  seat. 
Who  o'er  the  herd  would  wish  to  reign, 
Fantastic,  fickle,  fierce,  and  vain? 
Vain  as  the  leaf  upon  tlie  stream, 
And  fickle  as  a  ciiangeful  (h-eam; 
Fantastic  as  a  woman's  mood. 
And  fieixc  as  frenzy's  fevered  blood. 
Thou  many-headed  monster  tiling, 
O!  wlio  would  wish  to  be  thy  king!  — 

XXXI. 
"  But  soft!  what  messenger  of  speed 
Spurs  hitlierward  iiis  panting  steed? 
I  guess  his  cognizance  afar — 
What  from  our  cousin,  John  of  Mar?" — 
"  Me  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound 
Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground: 
For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown, — 
Mo.?t  sure  for  evil  to  the  throne, — 
Tlie  outlawed  chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 
Has  summoned  liis  rebellious  crew; 
'Tis  said,  in  James  of  Bothwell's  aid 
These  loose  banditti  stand  arrayed. 
The  earl  of  Mar,  this  morn,  from  Doune, 
To  break  their  muster  marched,  and  soon 
Your  grace  will  hear  of  battle  fought; 
But  earnestly  the  earl  besought, 
Till  for  such  danger  he  provide, 
With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride." — • 

XXXII. 
"  Thou  warn'st  me  I  have  done  .-^miss, — 
I  should  have  earlier  looked  to  this; 
I  lost  it  in  tiiis  bustling  day. 
— Retrace  with  speed  thy  former  way; 
Spare  not  for  spoiling  of  thy  steed. 
The  best  of  mine  shall  be  thy  meed. 
Say  to  our  faithful  lord  of  Mar, 
We  do  forbid  the  intended  war; 
Roderick,  tiiis  morn,  in  single  fight, 
VV^as  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight; 
And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 
Submitted  to  our  kingdom's  laws. 
The  tidings  of  their  leaders  lost 
Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 
Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar  feel. 
For  their  chiefs'  crimes,  avenging  steel. 
Bear  Mar  our  message,  Braco;  fly!" — 
He  turned  his  steed, — "  My  liege,  I  hie, 
Vet,  ere  1  cross  this  lily  lawn, 
I  fear  the  broad-swords  will  be  drawn." 
The  turf  the  flying  courser  spurned, 
And  to  his  towers  the  king  returned. 

XXXIII. 
Ill  with  king  James's  mood  that  day, 
Suited  gay  feast  and  minstrel  lay; 
Soon  were  dismissed  tlic  courtly  throng, 
.\nd  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 
Nor  less  upon  the  saddened  town. 
The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 
The  burghers  spoke  of  civil  jar. 
Of  rumoured  feuds  and  mountain  war, 
Of  Moray,  Mar,  and  Roderick  Dhu, 
All  up  in  arms; — the  Douglas  too. 
They  mourned  him  pent  within  the  hold, 
"Where  stout  earl  William  was  of  old,"* — 
And  there  iiis  woi'd  the  speaker  staid, 
.\nd  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 
Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade. 
But  jaded  horsemen,  from  the  west. 
At  evening  to  the  castle  pressed; 

•  Slab!)(  tl  bj'  James  11,  in  Stirling  castle. 


THK  LADY  OF    THE  LAKE. 


155 


And  busy  talkei'S  said  ihey  bore 
Tidings  of  figbt  on  Katrine's  shore; 
At  noon  the  deadly  fray  begun, 
And  lasted  till  the  set  of  sun. 
Thus  giddy  rumour  shook  the  town, 
Till  closed"  the  night  her  pennons  brown. 


THE  GUARD-RO0:»r. 

I. 

Thf-  sun  awakening,  through  the  smdky  air 

Of  the  dark  city,  casts  a  sullen  glance. 
Rousing  each  caitiff  to  his  task  of  care. 

Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance; 
Summoning  revellers  from  the  lagging  dance. 

And  scaring  prowling  robber  to  his  den; 
Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance, 

And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen, 
And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse  of  men. 

What  various  scenes,  and,  O!  what  scenes  of  wo. 

Are  witnessed  by  that  red  and  struggling  beam  ! 
The  fevered  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 

Through  crowded  hospitals  beholds  its  stream; 
The  ruined  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam. 

The  debtor  wakes  to  thoughts  of  gyve  and  jail; 
The  love-lorn  wretch  startsfrom  tormenting  dream; 

The  wakeful  mother,  by  the  glimmering  pale, 
Trims  her  sick  infimt's  couch,  and  sootlis  his  feeble 
wail. 

II. 

At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirling  rang 

With  soldier  step  and  weapon  clang, 

V/hile  drums,  with  rolling  note,  foretell 

Relief  to  weary  sentinel, 

Tiirough  narrow  loop  and  casement  barred 

The  sunbeams  sought  the  court  of  guard, 

And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air. 

Deadened  tlie  torch's  yellow  glare. 

In  comfortless  alliance  shone 

The  ligiits  through  arch  of  blackened  stone, 

And  showed  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war, 

Faces  deformed  with  beard  and  scar. 

All  haggard  from  the  midnigiit  watch. 

And  fevered  with  the  stern  debauch; 

For  the  oak  table's  massive  board. 

Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored. 

And  beakers  drained,  and  cups  o'erthrown, 

Showed  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown. 

Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bench: 

Some  laboured  still  their  thirst  to  quench; 

Some,  chilled  with  watching,  spread  their  hands 

O'er  the  huge  chimney's  dying  brands. 

While  round  them,  or  beside  them  iiung, 

At  every  step  their  harness  rung. 

III. 

These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 

Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord. 

Nor  owned  the  patriarchal  claim 

Of  chieftain  in  their  leader's  name; 

Adventurers  they,'  from  far  who  roved, 

To  live  by  battle  which  they  loved. 

There  the  Italian's  clouded  face, 

The  swarthy  Spaniard's  there  you  trace; 

The  mountain-loving  Switzer  there 

More  freely  breathed  in  mountain-air; 

The  Fleming  there  despised  the  soil, 

That  paid  so  ill  the  labourer's  toil; 

The  rolls  showed  French  and  German  name, 

And  merry  England's  Sxiles  came, 


To  share,  with  ill-concealed  disdain, 
Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gain. 
All  brave  in  arms,  well  trained  to  wield 
The  heavy  halbert,  brand,  and  shield; 
In  camps  licentious.  Mild,  and  bold; 
in  pillage,  fierce  and  uncontrolled; 
And  now,  by  holy  tide  and  feast. 
From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV. 

They  held  debate  of  bloody  fray, 

Fought  'twixt  Loch-Katrine  and  Acliray. 

Fierce  was  their  speech,  and,  'mid  their  words, 

Tlieir  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords; 

Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 

Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near. 

Whose  mangled  limbs,  and  bodies  gored, 

Bore  token  of  the  mountain  sword. 

Though  neighbouring  to  the  court  of  guard, 

Their  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard: 

Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  joke, 

And  savage  oatli  by  fuiy  spoke ! — 

At  length  up  started  John  of  Brent, 

A  yeoman  from  the  banks  of  Trent; 

A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear. 

In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer, 

In  host  a  hardy  mutineer. 

But  still  the  boldest  of  the  crew. 

When  deed  of  danger  was  to  do. 

He  grieved,  that  day,  their  games  cut  short, 

And  marred  the  dicer's  brawling  sport, 

And  shouted  loud,  "  Renew  the  bowl! 

And,  while  a  merry  catch  I  troll. 

Let  each  tlie  buxom  chorus  bear, 

Like  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear." 

Y. 

soluteh's  soxg. 
Our  vicar  still  preachers  that  Peter  and  Poule 
Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown 

bowl, 
Tiiat  there's  wrath  and  despair  in  the  jolly  black 

jack. 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  m  a  fiagon  of  sack; 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby'!  off  with  the  liquor. 
Drink  upsees*  out,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar ! 
Our  vicar  he  calls  it  damnation  to  sip 
The  ripe  ruddy  dew  of  a  woman's  dear  lip, 
Suvs  that  Beelzi-bub  lurks  in  her  kercliief  so  sly, 
Aiid  Apollyon  slioots  darts  from  her  merry  black 

eye; 
Yet  whoop.  Jack !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker. 
Till  siie  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar! 
Our  vicar  thus  preaches — and  why  should  he  not> 
For  the  dues  of  his  cure  are  the  placket  and  pot; 
And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch. 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our  good  mother 

church. 
Yet  whoop,  bully-boys!  off  with  your  liquor. 
Sweet  Marjorie's  the  word,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar ! 

VI. 
The  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 
Staid  in  mid  roar  the  merry  shout. 
A  soldier  to  the  portal  went, — 
"  Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent; 
And,  beat  for  jubilee  the  drum! 
A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come." 
Bertram,  a  Fleming,  gray  and  scarred, 
Was  entering  now  tlie  court  of  guard, 
A  harper  with  him,  and  in  plaid 
All  muffled  close,  a  mountain  maid, 

•A  Bacchanalian  interjection,  borrowed  from  the  Dutch. 


156 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Who  backward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 

Of  the  loose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 

♦'  What  news'"  they  roared: — "  I  only  know, 

From  noon  till  eve  we  loiight  with  toe, 

As  Mild  and  as  unlameablt 

As  tlie  rude  mountains  where  they  dwell. 

On  both  sides  store  of  blood  is  lost, 

Is' or  much  success  can  either  boast." 

"  But  whence  thy  captives,  frien<l?  such  spoil 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil. 

Old  dost  thou  wax,  and  wars  grow  sharp; 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp! 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." — 2 

VII. 
"  No,  comrade;  no  such  fortune  mine. 
After  the  fight,  these  sought  our  line, 
That  aged  harper  and  the  girl. 
And,  having  audience  of  the  earl. 
Mar  bade  1  should  purve)'  them  steed. 
And  bring  them  hitherward  with  speed. 
Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm. 
For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm." 
"  Hear  ye  his  boast'"  cried  John  of  Brent, 
Ever  to  strife  and  jangling  bent; 
**  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 
And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 
To  pay  the  forester  his  fee! 
I'll  have  my  share  howe'er  it  be. 
Despite  of  Moray,  Mar,  or  thee." 
Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood; 
And,  burning  in  his  vengeful  mood, 
Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife. 
Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger-knife; 
But  Ellen  boldly  stepped  between. 
And  dropped  at  once  the  tartan  screen: 
So,  from  his  morning  cloud,  appears 
'I'he  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 
The  savage  soldiery  amazed. 
As  on  descended  angel  gazed; 
E'en  liardy  Brent,  abashed  and  tamed, 
Stood  half  admiring,  half  ashamed. 

VIII. 
Boldly  she  spoke: — "  Soldiers,  attend! 
My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend; 
Cheered  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led. 
And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 
Not  from  the  valiant,  or  the  strong. 
Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong." 
Answered  Ue  Brent,  most  forward  .still 
In  every  feat,  or  good  or  ill,^ 
"  I  shame  me  of  the  part  I  played: 
And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid! 
An  outlaw  1  by  forest  laws, 
And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause. 
Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  be  living  now," 
He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow, 
"  Must  bear  such  ai^e,  1  think,  as  thou. 
Hear  ye,  my  mates, — I  go  to  call 
The  captain  of  our  watch  to  hall; 
There  lies  my  halbert  on  the  floor; 
And  he  that  steps  my  halbert  o'er, 
To  do  the  maid  injurious  part. 
My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart! 
Beware  loose  speech,  or  jesting  rough: 
Ye  all  know  John  De  Bn.'nt.    Enough." 

IX, 

Their  captain  came,  a  gallant  young — 
fOf  TuUibardine's  house  he  sprung,) 
Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight; 
Gay  was  his  mien,  his  humour  light, 


And,  though  by  courtesy  controlled. 

Forward  his  speech,  his  bearing  bold, 

The  liigh-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 

The  scanning  of  his  curious  look. 

And  dauntless  eye; — and  yet,  in  sooth, 

Young  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth; 

But  Ellen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 

Ill-suited  to  the  garb  and  scene. 

Might  lightly  bear  conslruclion  strange, 

And  give  loose  fancy  scope  to  range. 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fair  maid! 

Come  ye  to  seek  a  champion's  aid. 

On  palfrey  white,  witli  harper  hoar. 

Like  arrant  tlamoscl  of  yore' 

Does  thy  high  quest  a  knight  require. 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squire?" 

Her  dark  eye  flashed; — she  paused  and  sighed, 

"  O  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride! 

Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  strife, 

A  suppliant  for  a  father's  life, 

I  crave  an  audience  of  the  king. 

Behold,  to  back  m)'  suit,  a  ring. 

The  royal  pledge  of  grateful  claims. 

Given  by  the  monarch  to  Fitz-Jaraes." — 

X. 

The  signet  ring  young  Lewis  took. 

With  deep  respect  and  altered  look; 

And  said, — "  This  ring  our  duties  own; 

And,  pardon,  if  to  worth  unknown. 

In  semblance  mean  obscurely  veiled. 

Lady,  in  aught  my  folly  failed. 

Soon  as  the  day  flings  wide  his  gates, 

The  king  shall  know  what  suitor  waits. 

Please  you,  meanwhile,  in  fitting  bower 

Repose  you  till  his  waking  hour; 

Female  attendance  shall  obey 

Your  best  for  service  or  array. 

Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way." 

But,  ere  she  followed,  with  the  grace 

And  open  bounty  of  her  race, 

She  bade  her  slender  purse  be  shared 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

The  rest  with  thanks  their  guerdon  took;' 

But  Brent,  with  shy  and  awkward  look, 

On  the  reluctant  maiden's  hold 

Forced  bluntly  back  the  proffered  gold;— 

"  Forgive  a  haughty  English  heart, 

And  O  forget  its  ruder  part; 

The  vacant  purse  shall  be  m_v  share, 

Which  in  my  barret  cap  I'll  bear, 

Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war, 

Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar." 

With  thanks, — 'twas  all  she  could, — the  maid 

His  rugged  courtesy  repaid. 

XL 

When  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 
Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  Brent: 
"  My  lady  safe,  O  let  your  grace 
Give  me  to  sec  my  master's  face! 
His  minstrel  1, — to  share  his  doom 
Bound  fi-om  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 
Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires 
Waked  for  his  noble  house  their  lyres, 
Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 
But  prized  its  weal  above  tlieir  own. 
With  the  cliief's  birth  begins  our  care; 
Our  harp  must  sooth  the  infant  heir. 
Teach  the  youth  tales  of  fight,  and  grace 
His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase; 
In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep. 
We  cheer  his  board,  we  sooth  his  sleep, 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


157 


Nor  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse, 
A  doleful  tribute !  o'ei-  his  hearse. 
Then  let  me  share  his  captive  lot; 
It  is  my  right — deny  it  not!" — 
"  Little  we  reck,"  said  John  of  Brent, 
"  We  southern  men,  of  long  descent; 
Nor  wot  we  how  a  name — a  word — 
Alakes  clansmen  vassals  to  a  lord: 
Yet  kind  my  noble  landlord's  part, 
God  bless  the  house  of  Beaudesert! 
And,  but  I  loved  to  drive  the  deer. 
More  than  to  guide  the  labouring  steer, 
I  had  not  dwelt  an  outcast  here. 
Come,  good  old  minstrel,  follow  me; 
Thy  lord  and  chieftain  shalt  thou  see."    • 

XII. 
Then,  from  a  rusted  iron  hook, 
A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  took, 
Lighted  a  torch,  and  Allan  led 
Through  grated  arch  and  passage  dread. 
Portals  they  passed,  where,  deep  within, 
Spoke  prisoner's  moan,  and  fetters'  din; 
Through  rugged  vaults,  where,  loosely  stored, 
Lay  wheel,  and  axe,  and  headsman's  sword, 
And  many  a  hideous  engine  grim. 
For  wrenching  joint,  and  crushing  limb. 
By  artists  formed,  who  deemed  it  shame 
And  sin  to  give  their  work  a  name. 
They  halted  at  a  low  browed  porch. 
And  Brent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch, 
AVhile  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  rolled, 
And  made  the  bar  unhasp  its  hold. 
They  entei'ed: — 'twas  a  prison  room 
Of  stern  security  and  gloom, 
Yet  not  a  dungeon;  for  the  day 
Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 
And  rude  and  antique  garniture 
Decked  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor; 
Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 
Deemed  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 
"Here,"  said  De  Brent,  "thou  mayst  remain 
Till  the  leach  visit  him  again. 
Strict  is  his  charge,  the  warders  tell. 
To  tend  the  noble  prisoner  well." 
Ketiring  then,  the  bolt  he  drew. 
And  the  lock's  murmurs  growled  anew. 
Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowlv  bed 
A  captive  feebly  raised  his  head; 
The  wondering  minstrel  looked,  and  knew — 
Not  his  dear  lord,  but  Roderick  Dhu! 
For,  come  from  where  Clan-Alpine  fought, 
They,  erring,  deemed  the  chief  he  sought. 

XIII. 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 
Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 
Deserted  by  her  gallant  band, 
Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand — 
So,  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dhu! 
And  oft  his  fevered  limbs  he  threw 
In  toss  abrupt,  as  when  her  sides 
Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides. 
That  shake  her  frame  to  ceaseless  beat, 
Yet  cannot  heave  her  from  her  seat; 
O!  how  unlike  her  course  at  sea! 
Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  lea! 
Soon  as  the  minstrel  he  could  scan, 
— "What  of  thy  lady?  of  my  clan? 
My  mother? — Douglas? — tell  me  all! 
Have  they  been  ruined  in  my  fall? 
Ah,  yes!  or  wherefore  art  thou  here? 
Yet  speak — speak  boldly — do  not  fear. " 


(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew. 

Was  choaked  with  grief  and  terror  too.) 

"  Who  fought — who  fled' — Old  man,  be  brief; 

Some  might — for  they  had  lost  their  chief. 

Who  basely  live' — who  bravely  died?" 

"  O,  calm  thee,  chief!"  the  minstrel  cried, 

"Ellen  is  safe;"—"  For  that,  thank  heaven!" 

"  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given; 

The  lady  Margaret  too  is  well, 

And,  for  thy  clan — on  field  or  fell. 

Has  never  harp  of  minstrel  told. 

Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold. 

Thy  stately  pine  is  yet  unbent. 

Though  many  a  goodly  bow  is  rent" 

XIV. 

The  chieftain  reared  his  form  on  high, 
And  fever's  fire  was  in  his  eye; 
But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks 
Chequered  his  swarthy  brow  and  cheeks. 
— "  llark,  minstrel !  I  have  heard  thee  play. 
With  measure  bold,  on  festal  day, 
In  yon  lone  isle — again  where  ne'er 
Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear! 
That  stirring  air  that  deals  on  high, 
O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. 
Strike  it!^ — and  then  (for  well  thou  canst) 
Free  from  thy  minstrel  spirit-glanced, 
Fling  me  the  picture  of  the  tight. 
When  met  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 
I'll  listen,  till  my  fancy  hears 
The  clang  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears! 
These  grates,  these  walls,  shall  vanish  then, 
For  the  fair  field  of  fighting  men, 
And  my  free  spirit  burst  away. 
As  if  it  soared  from  battle  fray." 
The  trembling  bard  with  awe' obeyed, — 
Slow  on  the  har])  his  hand  he  laid; 
But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight 
He  witnessed  from  the  mountain's  height, 
With  what  old  Bertram  told  at  night, 
Awakened  the  full  power  of  song. 
And  bore  him  in  career  along; 
As  shallop  lanched  on  river's  tide. 
That  slow  and  fearful  leaves  the  side, 
But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream. 
Drives  downward  swift  as  lightning's  beaia 
XV. 

BATTLE  OF  BEAL'  A3T  DCIXE,* 

"  The  minstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Ben-venue, 
For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch-Achraj' — 
Where  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land. 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand! 
There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern, 

No  ripple  on  the  lake. 
Upon  her  eyrie  nods  the  erne, 

The  deer  has  sought  the  brake; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still. 
So  darklj"  glooms  yon  thunder  cloud, 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shroud 

Benledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  tlie  thunder's  solemn  sound 

That  mutters  deep  and  dread. 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 

The  warrior's  measured  tread' 
Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams. 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lance 

The  gun's  retiring  beams? 


1.58 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOKKS. 


I  see  the  (lasjitLT-cri'st  >it  VI ar, 

1  see  the  .Moray's  hilver  star 
Wave  o'er  tlie  cloiiil  of  Saxon  war, 

Tlial  U|)  llu-  lake  coines  windin!;  far! 
To  hern  lioune  for  battle  slrifo. 

Or  bard  of  nmilial  lay, 
'Twcre  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  lite, 

One  irlancc  at  their  arrav  ! 
XVI. 
"  Their  lip;ht  armed  archers  far  and  near 

Surveyed  llie  tangled  sfouud. 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear, 

A  twilis;lit  forest  frowned, 
Their  barbed  liorsenien,  in  the  rear. 

The  stern  battalia  crowned. 
No  cymbal  clashed,  no  clarion  rang, 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum; 
Save  heavy  treail,  and  armour's  clang. 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 
Tiiere  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake, 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad; 
Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seemed  to  quake. 

That  shadowed  o'er  their  road. 
Their  va'ward  scouts  no  tidings  bring. 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe. 
Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing. 

Save  when  they  stirred  the  roe; 
Tlie  host  moves  like  a  deep-sea  wave. 
Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 

High  swelling,  dark,  and  slow. 
The  lake  is  passed,  ami  now  tliey  gain 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 
Before  the  Tmsach's  rugged  jaws; 
And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 
While,  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen. 
Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

XVI  I. 
"  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 
Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell. 
As  all  the  fiends,  from  heaven  that  fell, 
Had  pealed  the  banner-cry  of  hell  I 
Forth  from  the  pass    in  tumult  driven, 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven. 

The  archery  appeai: 
For  life!  for  life!  their  flight  they  jily — 
And  sliriek,  :md  shout,  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high. 
And  broad-swords  flashing  to  the  sk)% 

Are  maddening  in  tlie  rear. 
Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 

Pursuers  and  pursued; 
Before  that  tide  of  fligiit  and  chase. 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place. 

The  spearmen's  twiliglit  wood? 
— '  Down,  down,'  cried  Alar,  'your  lances  down! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe!' 
Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown. 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

At  once  lay  levelle<l  low; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side, 
Tl)e  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide. — 
— '  We'll  quell  ttie  savage  mountaineer, 

As  their  Tinchel*  cows  the  game! 
They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer. 
We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame.' — 
XVUI. 
"  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 
The  relics  of  the  archer  foi'ce. 


•  A  circle  of  spoctsmen,  who,  by  auiTounding  a  great 
sp.ict',  anil  gradually  narrowing',  bi-ought  uiimeuse  quan- 
titiis  of  deer  tugoilier,  which  usually  made  dtspeiate 
tifjrts  10  break  through  the  Tinchr' 


Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 
Right  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 
Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 

F.sch  targe  was  dark  below; 
And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing. 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 

They  hurled  them  on  the  foe. 
I  heard  the  lance's  shivering  crash, 
As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash; 
I  heard  the  bioadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang! 
But  Moray  wheele<l  his  rear-ward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan-Alpine's  flank — 

— '  Vh'  b:uiner-man,  advance! 
I  see,'  he  cried,  '  their  colunms  shake. — 
Now,  gallants!  for  your  ladies'  sake, 

U|)0u  them  witii  tlie  lance!' 
The  horsemen  dashed  among  the  rout. 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom; 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out, 

Thev  soon  make  lightsome  room. 
Clan-Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne— 

Wliere,  where  was  Roderick  then! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men. 
And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear 

The  battle's  tide  was  poured; 
Vanished  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear. 

Vanished  the  mountain  sword. 
As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep. 

Receives  her  roaring  linn. 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in. 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  tlie  battle's  mingled  mass; 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain, 
Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  fight  again. 

XIX. 

"  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din. 
That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within. 
—Minstrel,  away!  the  work  of  fate 
Is  bearing  onrils  issue  wait. 
Where  the  rude  Trosach's  dread  defile'"". 
Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isle,         i 
Gray  Ben-venue  I  soon  repassed, 
Loch-Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 
The  sun  is  set; — the  clouds  are  met. 

The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 
An  inky  hvie  of  livid  blue 

To  the  deep  lake  has  given; 
Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain  glen 
Swept  o'er  tlie  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 
I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 
.Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosach's  gorge, 
Mine  ear  but  heard  the  sullen  sound. 
Which  like  an  eartli(iuake  shook  the  ground, 
.\nd  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  strife, 
That  parts  not  but  with  parting  life. 
Seeming,  to  minstrel-ear,  to  toll 
The  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 
Nearer  it  comes — the  dim-wood  glen 
The  martial  flood  disgorged  agen. 

But  not  in  mingled  tide; 
The  plaided  warriors  of  the  north. 
High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth, 

And  overhang  its  side; 
While  by  the  lake  below  a[)pears 
The  darkening  cloud  of  Saxon  spears. 
At  weary  bay  each  shattered  band. 
Eyeing  their  foemen,  sternly  stand; 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


159 


Their  banners  stream  like  tattered  sail, 
That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale, 
And  broken  aniis  and  <iisniTay 
Marked  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

XX. 

"  Viewing  the  mountain's  ridge  askance. 
The  Saxons  stood  in  sullen  trance, 
Till  Moray  pointed  with  his  lance. 

And  cried — '  Behold  yon  isle! — 
See !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand. 
But  women  weak,  that  ring  the  hand: 
"Tis  there  of  yore  the  robber  band 

Their  booty  wont  to  pile; 
My  purse,  with  bonnet-pitces  store. 
To  him  will  swim  a  bow-shot  o'er, 
And  loose  a  shallop  from  the  shore. 
Lightly  we'll  tame  the  war-wolf  then, 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  den.' — 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  speamian  sprung, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corslet  rung, 

He  plunged  him  in  the  wave: — 
All  saw  the  deed — the  purpose  knew, 
Ann  to  their  clamours  Ben-venue 

A  mingled  echo  gave: 
The  Saxons  shout,  their  mate  to  cheer. 
The  helpless  females  scream  for  fear. 
And  yells  for  rage  the  mountaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcrj'  riven. 
Poured  down  at  once  the  louring  heaven; 
A  whirlwind  swept  Loch-Katrine's  breast. 
Her  billows  reared  their  snowy  crest. 
Well  for  the  swimmer  swelled  they  high, 
To  mar  the  highland  marksman's  eye; 
For  round  him  showered,  'mid  rain  and  hail, 
The  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael. 
In  vain.— He  nears  the  isle — and  lo! 
His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  how. 
— Just  then  a  fl^h  of  lightning  came. 
It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame; 
I  marked  Duncraggan's  widowed  dame. 
Behind  an  oak  1  saw  her  stand, 
A  naked  dirk  gleamed  in  her  hand: 
It  darkened — but  amid  the  moan 
Of  waves  I  heard  a  dying  groan; — 
Another  flash! — the  ^earman  floats 
A  weltering  corse  beside  the  boats. 
And  the  stern  matron  o'er  him  stood. 
Her  hand  and  dagger  streaming  blood. 

XXL 

"  '  Revenge!  revenge!'  the  Saxons  cried, 
The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  replied. 
Despite  the  elemental  rage. 
Again  they  hurried  to  engage; 
But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight. 
Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  knight. 
Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag. 
Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-white  flag. 
Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 
Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide;  . 
While,  in  the  monarch's  name,  afar 
An  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war. 
For  Bothwell's  lord,  and  Roderick  bold. 
Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold." — 
But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand, 
The  harp  escaped  the  minstrel's  hand! 
Oft  had  he  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy 
*  How  Roderick  brooked  his  minstrelsy: 
At  first,  the  chieftain,  to  the  chime. 
With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time; 
That  motion  ceased, — yet  feeling  strong 
Vp.ried  his  look  as  changed  the  song; 


At  length  no  more  his  deafened  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear: 

His  face  grows  sharp,  his  hands  are  clenched. 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart-strings  wrenched; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye 

Is  sternly  fixed  on  vacancy; 

Thus,  motionless,  and  moanless,  drew 

His  parting  breath,  stout  Roderick  Dhu! 

Old  Allan-bane  looked  on  aghast, 

While  grim  and  still  his  spirit  passed; 

But  when  he  saw  that  life  was  fled. 

He  poured  his  wailinsr  o'er  the  dead. 

XXH.  4 

LAMEST. 

"  And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid. 
Thy  foeman's  dread,  thy  people's  aid, 
Breadalbane's  boast,  Clan-Alpine's  shade! 
For  thee  shall  none  a  requiem  say' 
— For  thee — w  ho  loved  tlie  minstrel's  lay. 
For  tliee,  of  Bothwell's  liouse  the  stay, 
The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line — 
E'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine, 
I'll  wail  for  Alpine's  honoured  pine! 
'=  What  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill! 
What  shrieks  of  grief  shall  rend  yon  hill! 
What  tears  of  burning  rage  shall  thrill. 
When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  battles  done, 
Thy  fall  before  the  race  was  won, 
Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun  ! 
There  breathes  not  clansman  of  thy  line, 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine. 
O  wo  for  Alpine's  honoured  pine! 
"  Sad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage! 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage. 
The  prisoned  eagle  dies  for  rage. 
Brave  spirit,  do  not  scoi-n  my  strain! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again. 
E'en  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain. 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine. 
And  mix  her  wo  and  tears  with  mine. 
To  wail  Clan- Alpine's  honoured  pine." 

XXIII. 
Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart. 
Remained  in  lordly  bower  apart. 
Where  played,  with  many-coloured  gleams. 
Through  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 
In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  fall. 
And  lightened  up  a  tapestried  wall. 
And  for  her  use  a  menial  train 
A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 
The  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gay. 
Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  astray; 
Or,  if  she  looked,  'twas  but  to  say. 
With  belter  omen  dawned  the  day 
In  that  lone  isle,  where  waved  on  high 
The  dun  deer's  hide  for  canopy; 
Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 
The  simple  meal  her  care  prepared. 
While  Lufra,  crouching  by  her  side. 
Her  station  claimed  with  jealous  pride. 
And  Douglas,  bent  on  woodland  game. 
Spoke  of  the  chase  to  Malcolm  Grteme, 
W'hose  answer,  oft  at  random  made. 
The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betrayed. — 
Those  who  such  simple  joys  have  known 
Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone. 
But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  her  head! 
The  w  indow  seeks  with  cautious  tread. 
W^hat  distant  music  has  the  power 
To  win  her  in  this  woful  hour! 
'Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhung 
Her  latticed  bower,  the  strain  was  sung. 


160 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXIV. 

LAT  OF  THE  IMPIIISOXED  HUSTSMAX. 

"  My  hawk  is  tircil  of  perch  and  hood, 
My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 
My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall. 
And  I  ara  sick  of  captive  ihrall. 
1  wish  I  were  as  I  have  been, 
Huntinp;  llie  hart  in  forest  green, 
^^'ith  bended  bow  and  bloodhound  free, 
For  that's  the  life  is  meet  for  me. 
'•  I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time, 
Fr^  yon  dull  steeple's  drowsy  chime, 
Or  mark  it  as  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
Inch  after  incli,  along  the  wall. 
The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring, 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sing; 
These  lowers,  although  a  king's  they  be, 
Have  not  a  hall  of  joy  for  me. 

'•  No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise, 
And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes, 
Drive  the  Sect  rieertlie  forest  through. 
And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew; 
A  blillisome  welcome  blithly  meet. 
And  hiy  my  trophies  at  her  feet, 
■\Viiile  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee, — 
That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me!" 

XXV. 

The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said. 

The  list'ner  had  not  turned  her  head, 

It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear. 

When  light  a  footstep  struck  her  ear, 

And  Snowdoun's  graceful  knight  was  near. 

Slie  turned  the  hastier,  lest  again 

The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain. 

"0  welcome,  brave  Fitz-James!"  she  said; 

"  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 

Pay  the  deep  debt" — "  O  say  not  so! 

To'  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 

Not  mine,  alas!  the  boon  to  give. 

And  bid  thy  noble  father  live; 

1  can  but  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid. 

With  Scotland's  king  thy  suit  to  aid. 

No  tyrant  lie,  though  ire  and  pride 

May  lead  his  better  mood  aside. 

Come,  Ellen,  come! — 'tis  more  than  time, 

He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime." — 

With  beating  heart  and  bosom  wrung. 

As  to  a  brother's  arm  slie  clung; 

Gently  he  dried  the  falling  tear. 

And  gently  whispere.l  hope  an(l  cheer; 

Her  faltering  steps  half'led,  half  staid. 

Through  gallery  fair  and  iiigh  arcade, 

Till,  at  his  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 

A  portal  arch  untolded  wide. 

XXVI. 

Within  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light, 
A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright; 
It  glowed  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight. 
As  wlien  the  setting  sun  has  given 
Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even. 
And,  from  their  tissue,  fancy  frames 
Aerial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 
Still  by  Fitz-.lames  her  footing  staid; 
A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made, 
Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised. 
And  fearful  round  the  presence  gazed; 
For  him  she  sought  who  owned  this  state. 
The  dreaded  prince  whose  will  was  fate! — 
She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port, 
Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court; 


On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed, — 
Then  turned  bewihlered  and  amazed, 
For  all  stood  bare:  and,  in  the  room, 
Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plume. 
To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent; 
On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent; 
Midst  furs  and  silks  and  jewels  sheen, 
He  stood,  in  simple  Lincoln  green, 
The  centre  of  tiie  glittering  ring. 
And  Snowdoun's  knight  is  Scotland's  king!* 

XXVII. 
As  wreath  of  snow,  on  mountain  breast, 
Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest, 
Poor  Ellen  glided  from  her  stay. 
And  at  the  monarch's  feet  she  lay; 
No  word  her  choking  voice  commands, — 
She  showed  the  ring — she  clasped  her  hands. 
O!  not  a  moment  could  he  brook. 
The  generous  prince,  that  suppliant  look! 
Gently  he  raised  her, — and,  the  while. 
Checked  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile; 
Graceful,  but  grave,  her  brow  he  kissed, 
And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismissed; — 
"  Yes,  fair,  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-James 
The  fealty  of  Scotland  claims. 
To  him  thy  woes,  thy  wishes,  bring; 
He  will  redeem  his  signet  ring. 
Ask  nought  for  Douglas: — yester  even. 
His  prince  and  he  have  much  forgiven: 
Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue! 
1,  from  his  rebel  kinsman,  -wi-ong. 
We  would  not  to  the  vulgar  crowd 
Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamour  loud, 
Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  his  cause, 
Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 
1  stanched  thy  father's  death-feud  stem. 
With  stout  De  Vaux  and  gray  Glencaim; 
And  Bothwell's  lord  henceforth  we  own 
The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  throne.—" 
But,  lovely  infidel,  how  now' 
What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow' 
Lord  James  of  13ouglas,  lend  thine  aid; 
Thou  must  confirm  this  doubting  maid." 

XXVI II. 
Then  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung. 
And  on  his  neck  his  daughtei'  hung. 
The  monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour, 
The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  power — 
When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice. 
Arise,  sad  virtue,  and  rejoice! 
Yet  would  not  James  the  general  eye 
On  nature's  raptures  long  should  pry; 
He  stepped  between — "Nay,  Douglas,  nay, 
Steal  not  my  proselyte  away ! 
The  riddle  'tis  my  right  to  read. 
That  brought  this  happy  chance  to  speed. — 
Yes,  Ellen,  when  disguised  1  stray- 
In  life's  more  low  but  happier  way, 
'Tis  imder  name  which  veils  mj"  power. 
Nor  falsely  veils — for  Stirling's  tower 
Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims,^ 
And  Normans  call  me  James  Fitz-James, 
Thus  watch  I  o'er  insulted  laws. 
Thus  learn  to  right  the  injured  cause." 
Then,  in  a  tone  apart  and  low, 
— "  Ah,  little  trait'ressi  none  must  know 
What  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought, 
What  vanity  full  dearly  bought, 
Joined  to  thine  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drev 
.My  spell-bound  steps  to  Ben-venue, 
In  dangerous  hour,  and  all  but  gave 
Thy  monarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive!" 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  LAKE. 


161 


Aloud  he  spoke — "  Thou  still  dost  hold 
That  little  talisman  of  gold. 
Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz-James's  ring — 
What  seeks  fair  Ellen  of  the  king?" 

XXIX. 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guessed 
He  probed  the  weakness  of  her  breast; 
But,  with  that  consciousness  there  came 
A  lightning  of  her  fears  for  Grseme, 
And  more  she  deemed  the  monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  him,  who,  for  her  sire, 
Rebellious  broadsword  boldly  drew; 
And,  to  her  generous  feeling  true, 
She  craved  tiie  grace  of  Roderick  Dhu. — 
"  Forbear  thy  suit; — tlie  king  of  kings 
Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings, 
I  know  his  heart,  I  know  his  iiand. 
Have  sliared  his  cheer  and  proved  his  brand. 
My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 
To  bid  Clan- Alpine's  chieftain  live! — 
Hast  thou  no  other  boon  to  crave' 
No  other  ca[)tive  friend  to  save?"— 
Blushing,  she  turned  her  from  the  king. 
And  to  the  Douglas  gave  the  i^ing. 
As  if  she  wished  her  sire  to  speak 
The  suit  fhat  stained  her  glowing  cheek.— 
*'  Nay,  tiien,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force, 
And  stubborn  justice  holds  her  course. 
Malcolm,  come  forth!" — And,  at  tlie  word, 
Down  kneeled  the  Graeme  to  Scotland's  lord. 
"  For  thee,  rash  youlli,  no  suppliant  sues. 
From  thee  may  vengeance  claim  her  dues, 
Who,  nurtured  underneath  our  smile, 
Has  paid  oui*  care  by  treacherous  wile, 
And  souglit,  amid  tliy  faithful  clan, 
A  refuge  for  an  outlawed  man, 
Dishonoui'ing  thus  thy  loyal  name. — 
Fetters  and  warder  for  the  Grceme!" 
His  ciiain  of  gold  the  king  unstrung, 
Tlie  links  o'er  Malcolm's  neck  he  flung. 
Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  band, 
And  laid  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand. 


Harp  of  the  north,  farewell!  The  hills  grow  dark. 

On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending; 
In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  spark: 

The  deer,  half  seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 
Resume  thy  wizzard  elm!  the  fountain  lending, 

And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy; 
Thy  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending. 

With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea,    . 
And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  hum  of  housing- 
bee. 

Yet.  once  again,  farewell,  thou  minstrel  harp! 

Yet,  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway, 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp. 

May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 
Much  have  1  owed  tliy  strains  on  life's  long  way. 

Thro'  secret  woes  the  world  has  never  known, 
When  on  tlie  weary  night  dawned  wearier  day. 

And  bitter  was  the  grief  devoured  alone. 
That  I  o'erlive  such  woes,  enchantress!  is  thine 
own. 

Hark!  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire — 
Some  spirit  of  the  air  has  waked  thy  string! 

'Tls  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire, 
'Tis  now  the  blush  of  fairy's  frolic  wing. 

Receding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 
Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell. 

And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 


A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell — 
And  now,  'tis  silent  all!  enchantres.s,   fare  thee 
well! 


NOTES  TO  CANTO  I. 

1.  the  heights  of  Uam-var, 

And  roused  the  cavern,  where,  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old.— P.  12S. 

Ua-var,  as  the  name  is  pronounced,  or  more- 
properly  Uaighmor,  is  a  mountain  to  the  north- 
east of  the  village  of  Callcnder  in  Menteith,  de- 
riving its  name,  which  signifies  the  great  den^r 
cavern,  from  a  sort  of  retreat  among  the  rocks^n. 
the  south  side,  said,  by  tradition,  to  have  been  the 
abode  of  a  giant.  In  latter  times,  it  was  the  refuge 
of  robbers  and  banditti,  who  have  been  only  ex- 
tirpated within  these  forty  or  fifty  years.  Strictly 
speaking,  this  strong-hold  is  not  a  cave,  as  the- 
name  would  imply,  but  a  sort  of  small  inclosure, 
or  recess,  surrounded  with  large  rocks,  and  open: 
above  head.  It  may  have  been  originally  designed 
as  a  toil  for  deer,  who  might  get  in  from  the  out- 
side, but  would  find  it  diflicult  to  return.  This 
ojiinion  prevails  among  ihe  old  sportsmen  and  deer 
stalkers  in  the  neighbourhood. 
2.  Two  dogs  of  black  St.  Hubert's  breed, 

Unmatch'd  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed. — P.  125. 

"The  hounds  which  we  call  Saint  Hubert's 
hounds,  are  commonly  all  blacke,  yet  neuerthe- 
less,  their  race  is  so  mingled  at  these  days,  that 
we  find  them  of  all  colours.  These  are  the  hounds 
which  the  abbots  of  St.  Hubert  haue  always  kept 
some  of  their  race  or  kitid,  in  honour  or  remem- 
brance of  the  saint,  wliich  was  a  hunter  with  St. 
Eustace.  Whereupon  we  may  conceiue  that  (by 
the  grace  of  God)  all  good  huntsmen  shall  follow 
them  into  paradise.  To  returne  vnto  my  former 
purpose,  tliis  kind  of  dogges  hath  beene  dispersed 
through  the  countries  of  Henault,  Lorayne,  Flaun- 
ders,  and  Burgoyne.  They  are  mighty  of  body, 
neuertheless  their  legges  are  low  and  short,  like- 
wise they  are  not  swift,  although  they  be  very  good 
of  sent,  hunting  chases  which  are  farre  straggled, 
fearing  neither  water  nor  cold,  and  doe  more  couet 
the  chases  that  smell,  as  foxes,  bore,  and  such 
like,  tiian  other,  because  tliey  find  themselues  nei- 
ther of  swiftness  nor  courage  to  hunt  and  kill  the 
chases  that  are  lighter  and  swifter.  The  blood- 
hounds of  this  colour  prooue  good,  especially  those 
that  are  cole-blacke,  but  1  made  no  great  account 
to  breede  on  them,  or  to  keepe  the  kind,  and  yet 
1  found  a  book  whiche  a  hunter  did  dedicate  to  a 
prince  of  Lorayne,  wliich  seemed  to  loue  hunting 
much,  wherein  was  a  Ijlason,  which  the  same  hunter 
gaue  to  his  bloodhound,  called  Souyllard,  which 
was  wliite: 

INIy  name  came  first  from  holj-  Hubert's  race, 
Souylliird  iny  sire,  a  hound  of  singular  grace. 
Whereupon  we  may  presume  that  some  of  the  kind 
prooue  white  sometimes,  but  they  are  not  of  the 
kind  of  tlie  gretfiers  or  bouxes,  which  we  haue  at 
these  days." — The  JVuble  Art  of  Venerie  or  HunU 
ing,  translated  and  collected  for  the  use  of  all  jVo- 
blemen  and  Gentlemen.    Loud.  1611,  4to.  p.  15. 
3.  For  the  death  wound,  and  death  halloo, 

Mustertd  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew.— P.  125. 

When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the  ancient  hunter 
had  the  perilous  task  of  going  in  upon,  and  killing 
or  disabling  the  desperate  animal.  At  certain 
times  of  the  year  this  was  held  particularly  dan- 
gerous, a  wound  received  from  a  stag's  horns  be- 
ing then  deemed   poisonous,  and  more  dangerou* 


162 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


tusks  of  a  boar,  as  llic  old  rlij  me 


than  one  from  tin 
testifies: 

If  thou  1)0  hurt  with  hart,  it  brings  thee  to  thy  bier; 
But  barber's  biiinl  uill  hour's  hurt  heal,  therefore  tliou 
luiilst  not  fi-nr. 

At  all  times,  howfvcr,  the  task  was  dangerous, 
and  to  be  adventured  upon  wisely  and  warily, 
either  by  getting  behind  the  stag  wliile  he  was 
gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watching  an  o|)|)ortu- 
riity  to  galli)|)  roundly  in  ni)on  him,  and  kill  him 
Milh  the  sword.  See  many  directions  to  this  pur- 
in  the  Booke  of  Hunting,  chap.  41.  Wilson 
listorian  has  recorded  a  providential  escape 
whicli  bolVl  him  in  this  hazardous  sport,  while  a 
youth  and  follower  of  the  earl  of  Kssex. 

"  Sir  I'eter  Lee,  of  Lime,  in  Clieshirc,  invited 
my  lord  one  summer,  to  hunt  the  stagg.  .Vnd  liav- 
ing  a  groat  stagg  in  chase,  and  many  gentlemen  in 
the  pursuit,  the  stagg  took  soyle.  And  divers, 
whereof  I  was  one,  alighted,  and  stood  with  swords 
drawne,  to  have  a  cut  at  him,  at  his  coming  out  of 
the  water.  The  staggs  there  being  wonderfiilly 
fierce  and  dangerous,  made  us  yimths  more  eager 
to  be  at  him.  Hu<  he  escaped  us  all;  and  it  was 
my  misfortune  to  be  hindered  of  my  coming  nere 
him,  the  way  being  slip])trie,  by  a  fall;  which  gave 
occasion  to  some,  who  did  not  know  mce,  to  speak 
as  if  I  had  falne  for  feare.  Which  being  told  me, 
I  left  the  stagg,  and  followed  the  gentleman  who 
[first]  spake  it.  Bat  1  found  him  of  tiiat  cold  tem- 
per, that  it  seems  his  words  made  an  escape  from 
him;  as  by  his  denial  and  repentance  it  appeared. 
But  this  made  mee  more  violent  in  the  pursuit  of 
the  stagg,  to  recover  my  reputation.  And  1  hap- 
pened to  be  the  only  horseman  in  wiien  the  doggs 
sett  him  up  at  bay;  and  approaching  near  him  on 
horsebacke,  he  broke  through  tiie  dogs  and  ran 
at  mee,  and  tore  my  horse's  side  with  his  homes, 
close  by  my  thigh.  Then  I  quitted  my  horse,  and 
grew  more  cunning,  (for  the  doggs  had  sette  him 
up  againe,)  stealing  behind  him  with  mv  sword, 
.'u)d  cut  bis  hara-strinv;s;  and  then  got  upon  his 
back,  and  cut  his  throate;  which,  as  1  was  doing, 
the  company  caiTie  in,  and  blamed  my  rashness  for 
nmning  such  a  hazard." — Peck''s  Desiderata  Cii- 
riosa,  ii,  464. 

4.  And  now,  to  issue  from  tin-  fflen. 

No  p.ithwiiy  inetts  the  wanderer's  ken, 
Unless  he  ciimh,  with  footing;  nice, 
A  far  projeetiiig  preeipice.— P.  126. 

Until  the  preseiu  road  was  made  through  the 
romantic  pass  which  I  have  presumptuously  at- 
tempted to  describe  in  the  preceding  stanzas,  there 
was  no  mode  of  issuing  out  of  the  defile,  called 
the  Trnsachs,  excepting  by  a  sort  of  ladder,  com- 
posed of  the  branches  and  roots  cf  the  trees. 


5.  To  meet  witli  hiijhland  phuiderers  here 

Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer.— P.  126. 

The  clans  who  inhabited  the  romantic  regions 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Loch-Katrine,  were,  even 
until  a  late  period,  much  addicted  to  predatory 
excursions  upon  tb.eir  loviland  neighbours. 

"  In  former  times,  those  parts  of  this  district, 
which  are  situated  beyond  the  (irampian  nuige, 
were  rendered  almost  inaccessible  Ijy  strong  biu'- 
riers  of  rocks,  and  mountains,  and  lakes.  It  was  a 
border  country,  and  tliougb  on  the  very  verge  of 
tlie  low  country,  it  was  almost  totally  secpiestered 
from  the  world,  and,  as  it  were,  insulated  witli 
respt-ct  to  society. 

"  'Tis  well  known,  that,  in  the  highlands,  it 
was,  in  former  times,  accounted  not  only  lawful, 


but  honom-able,  among  hostile  tribes,  to  commit 
depredations  on  one  another;  and  these  habits  of 
the  age  were  ])erhaps  strengthened  in  this  district, 
bv  the  circumstances  which  have  been  mentioned. 
It  bordered  on  a  country,  the  inhabitants  of  which, 
while  they  were  richer,  were  less  wai-like  than 
they,  and  widely  didei-enced  by  language  and  man- 
ners." — Graham\i  Sketches  of  Scenery  in  Perth- 
shire.   Kdin.  1805,  n.  97. 

The  reader  will  tlierefore  be  pleased  to  remem- 
ber, that  the  scene  of  this  poem  is  laid  in  a  time, 

M'hen  toominff  fiuhls,  or  swecjiing;  of  a  fflen, 
Had  61)11  been  held  the  deed  of  jjallant  men. 

6.  A  (^ray-haired  sire,  whose  eye  intent 
Was  on  the  visioned  future  bent.— P.  127. 

If  force  of  evidence  could  authorise  us  to  be- 
lieve facts  inconsistent  with  the  general  laws  of 
nature,  enough  might  be  produced  in  favour  of  the 
existence  of  the  second  siglit.  It  is  called  in  Gaelic 
Talshitarau'h,  from  Taish,  and  unreal  or  sha- 
dowy appearance;  and  those  possessed  ofthefacul- 
t_v  are  called  Taishatrin,  which  m.ay  be  aptly 
translated  visionaries.  Martin,  a  steady  believer 
in  the  second  sight,  gives  the  following  account 
of  it: 

"  The  second  sight  is  a  singular  faculty,  of  see- 
ing an  otiierwise  invisible  oliject,  without  any  pre- 
vious means  used  by  the  person  that  used  it,  for 
that  end;  the  vision  makes  sucli  a  lively  impres- 
sion upon  the  seers,  that  they  neither  see,  nor  think 
of  any  thing  else,  except  the  vision,  as  long  as  it 
continues;  and  then  they  appear  pensive  or  jovial, 
according  to  the  object  which  was  represented  to 
them. 

"  At  the  sight  of  a  vision,  the  ej-elids  of  the  per- 
son are  erected,  and  the  eyes  continue  staring  un- 
til the  object  vanish.  This  is  obvious  to  others 
who  are  bv,  when  the  persons  happen  to  see  a 
vision,  and  occurred  more  than  once  to  my  own 
observation,  and  to  others  that  were  with  me. 

"  There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquain- 
tance observed,  tliat  wlien  he  sees  a  vision,  the  in- 
ner part  of  liis  eyelids  turns  so  far  upwards,  that 
after  ti)e  object  disappears,  he  must  draw  them 
down  with  his  fingers,  and  sometimes  employ 
others  to  draw  them  down,  which  lie  finds  to  be 
the  much  easier  way. 

"This  faculty  of  the  second  sight  does  not  li- 
neally descend  in  a  family,  as  some  imagine,  f  >r 
I  know  several  parents  who  are  endowed  with  it, 
hut  their  children  not,  and  vice  versa;  neither  is 
it  acquired  by  any  previous  compact.  And,  after 
a  strict  inquiry,  1  could  never  learn  that  tliis  fa- 
cultv  was  conununicable  any  way  whatsoever. 

■'The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor 
place  of  a  vision,  before  it  appears;  and  the  same 
object  is  often  seen  by  different  persons,  living  at 


a  considerable  distance  trom  one  another,  i'he 
true  way  of  judging  as  to  the  time  and  circum- 
stance of  an  object,  is  by  observation;  for  several 
persons  of  judgment,  wi{hout  this  faculty,  are  more 
capable  to  judge  of  the  design  of  a  vision,  than  a 
novice  that  is  a  seer.  If  an  object  appear  in  the 
day  or  night,  it  will  come  to  pass  sooner  or  later 
accordingly. 

"  If  an  olijectis  seen  early  in  the  morning  (which 
is  not  frequent)  it  will  be  accomplished  in  a  few 
hours  afterwards.  If  at  noon,  it  will  commonly  be 
accomplished  that  very  day.  If  in  the  evening, 
perhai)S  that  night;  if  after  candles  be  lighted,  it 
will  be  accomplished  that  night:  the  later  always 
in  accomplishment,  by  weeks,  months,  and  some- 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


163 


times  years,  according  to  the  time  of  night  the  with  thera;  and  after  such  visions  the  seers  come 
vision  is  seen.  i  in  sweating,  and  described  the  people  thatajjpear- 

"  When  a  shroud  is  perceived  ahout  one,  it  is  a  ed:  if  there  be  any  of  their  acquaintance  among  'em, 
sure  prognostic  of  death:  the  time  is  judged  accord-  they  give  an  account  of  their  names,  as  also  "of  the 
ing  to  the  height  of  it  about  the  person;  for  if  it  is  bearers,  but  they  know  nothing  concerning  tlie 
seen  above  the  middle,  death  is  not  to  be  expect-  :  corpse. 

ed  for  the  space  of  a  year,  and  perhaps  some!  "  All  those  who  have  the  second  sight  do  not 
months  longer;  and  as  it  is  frequently  seen  to  as-  'always  see  these  visions  at  once,  though  they  be 
cend  higher  towards  the  head,  death  is  concluded  :  together  at  the  time.  But  if  one  who  has  this  fa- 
to  be  at  hand  within  a  few  days,  if  not  hours,  as  culty  designedly  touch  his  fellow-seer  at  the  in- 
daily  experience  confirms.  Examples  of  tliis  kind  ,•  slant  of  a  vision's  appearing,  then  the  second  sees 
were  shown  me,  when  the  persons  of  whom  the  it  as  well  as  the  first:  and  this  is  sometimes  dis- 
observations  were  then  made,  enjoyed  perfect  i  cerned  by  those  that  are  near  them  on  such  occa- 
health.  j  sions." — Martinis  Description  of  the  Jl'dstet-n  Isl~ 

"  One  instance  was  lately  foretold  by  a  seer  that  ands,  1716,  8vo.  p.  300,  et  seq. 
was  a  novice,  cnncerning  the  death  of  one  of  my  j  To  those  particulars,  innumerable  examples 
acquaintance;  this  was  communicated  to  a  few  only,  might  be  added,  all  attested  by  grave  and  credible 
and  with  great  confidence:  T  being  one  of  the  num-  authors.  But,  in  despite  of  evidence,  which  neither 
her,  did  not  in  the  least  reg.ird  it,  until  the  deatli  Bacon,  Boyle,  nor  Johnson  were  able  to  resist,  the 
of  the  person,  about  the  time  foretold,  did  confirm  Taisck,'v,\\h  all  its  visionary  properties,  seems  to 
me  of  the  certainty  of  the  prediction.  The  novice  be  now  universally  abandoned  to  the  use  of  poetry, 
mentioned  above  is  now  a  skilful  seer,  as  appears  The  exquisitely  beautiful  poem  of  Lochiel  will  "at 


7.  Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower. —  P.  128. 


the  house  shortly  after:  and  if  he  is  not  of  the        ,  ^^  '?^  suuaten  m  tne  lace  ot  a  very  rough,  high, 
er's  acquaintance,  yet  he  gives  such  a  lively  de-  !  ^"<'  To''  "^T'^^rl;  ^'r  Letternihchk,  still  a 

ription  of  his  stature,  complexion,  habit,  &c.  '  l'"''/ "^  ^'^"^'''*^'"'  ('''lofgreat  stones  and  crevices, 
at  upon  his  arrival  he  answers  llie  charactergiven  ""^  """"f,  sj'""';, ^  «  o?''  "'terspersed.  The  habi- 


from  many  late  instances:  he  lives  vn  the  parish  of  once  occur  to  the  recollection  of  every  reader. 
St.  Mary's,  die  most  northern  in  Skie.  I 

"  If  a  woman  is  seen  standing  at  a  man's  left' 
hand,  it  is  a  presage  that  she   will  be  his  wife,!     r,,.     ^  ,  .      .  .  r   •  i         i- 

whether  thev  be  married  to  others,  or  unmarried,     „^  "^  ^'^"''=  chieftams,  wiiose  lives  were  contiim- 
at  the  time  6f  the  apparition.  :  =»''>'  "posed  to  peril,  had  usually,  in  the  mostre- 

"  If  two  or  three  woman  are  seen  at  once  near  ^"'•'l^P"^  of  their  domains,  some  place  ot  retreat 
a  man's  left  hand,  she  thst  is  next  him  will  un-  ,*°''  ^I'f  """V  °'  "ecfssity,  which,  as  circumstances 
doubtedlv  be  his  wife  first,  and  so  on,  whether  all  ''°"¥  ^<''"'^'  "*^  a  tower,  a  cavern,  or  a  rustic 
three,or'theman,  be  single  or  married  at  the  time  '1"^'"?^  '^™"=  T'^  secluded  situation.  One  of 
of  the  vision  or  not:  of  which  there  are  several  late  I  il^f^  last  gave  refuge  to  the  untortunate  Charles 
instances  among  those  of  my  acquaintance.  It  is  an  ;  ^  7«  • 'il"  i  1'^'"°"'  wanderings  alter  the  bat- 
ordinary  thing  tor  them  to  see  a  man  that  is  to  come  I  ,,,."'  ,.  .  ,  ,-  ,  ,.. 
to  the  house  shortly  after:  and  if  he  is  not  of  the  |  "  *.^^  situated  in  the  tace  ot  a  very  rough,high, 
seer' 
serif 

that  upon  his  arrival  he  answers  lliecharactersriven  .,   j  .l    /-.         •      ,     ^    -    r  . 

him  in  all  respects  i  ^^''O"  called  the  Cage,  in  the  fiice  of  that  mountain, 

"If  the  person  so  appearing  be  one  ofthe  seer's  i ''■=*'  '!:'^'""  ^  """^''^  "')•='"  bush  of  wood.  There 
acquaintance,  he  will  tell  his  name,  as  «ell  as  other  " '^''^  ^''^^  some  rows  ot  trees  laid  down,  lu  order 
particulars;  and  he  can  tell  bv  his  countenance  /°  ^'''''^' "*  "°°'' *'-":"  l'"^'^","""' ^".'''  ^'  ^^^  ^^^""^ 
whether  he  comes  in  a  good  or  bad  humour.  I  '^^^  f '^^P',  ^^'*  '""'"'^•1  the  lower  side  to  an  equal 

"  I  have  been  seen  thus  mvsclf  bv  seers  of  both  !  H'^^^  '"'  the  other;  and  tliese  trees  in  the  way- 
sexes,  at  some  hundred  miles  distance:  some  thati°'J°'f'  m;  planKs,  were  levelled  with  earth  and 
saw  me  in  this  manner,  had  never  seen  me  per- i  F"'*^!-  ^'j"'-'  were  between  the  trees,  grow- 
sonaUv,  and  it  happened  according  to  their  visions,  :'"S"."^"""y  °"  their  own  roots,  some  stakes 
without  anv  previous  design  of  mtnetogotothose  *''"'^  '"  t''«.e?>"'.  «hich,  w>lh  the  trees,  were  in- 
places,  mv'coraing  there  being  purely  accidentia,  jt^.^oven  with  ropes    mmte  ot  heath  and  birch 

"  It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see'houses,  „ar-  '*'»'',  "P  ^° '^u°P  °*  *^t  ^''°'''.'S''''''?S"'u''?""1 
dens,  and  trees,  in  places  void  of  all  three;  aod  this  ■  °'  '^^^''""  "'«'  ^^t^^'  ^''n-f  ^^^"?le /hatched  and 
in  progress  of  time  uses  to  be  accomplished:  as  at  i^"'*''''^'^  °J'''"  T  =•  i"-  ^y^^ole  tabric  hung,  as 
Magshot,  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  where  tliere  were  but  '^  ''"■^'  bv  a  large  tree,  which  reclined  from  the 
a  few  sorry  cow-houses,  thatched  with  straw,  yet,  °"^  ^."''',  ^'^  "*""'S  V  r?"  '  '"  f  ?^''''\''  ^"'^  \'"''^ 
in  a  very  few  years  af-ter,  the  vision,  which  appear-  p'"^  '^  ^'j^  "=?'"""  ""^  "  <^»S«5  «"^  ^l  ^!^^'"'^«^  V'"'^ 
ed  often",  was  "accomplished  bv  the  building  of  se-  ;  ''-'PPene''  to  be  two  stones  at  a  small  distance  trom 
veral  good  houses  on  the  very' spot  represented  by  1°!'.'^  another  in  llie  side  next  the  precipice  resera- 
the  seers,  and  by  the  planting  of  orchards  there,     l''  '"S  l''«  li'll-''^  o/  a  chimney,  where  the  fire  was 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  lafl  upon  one's  arm  or  i  y}'-'^};    }.',"'  ""°'"'  haH  Us  vent  out  here,  all  along 
breast,  is  a  forerunner  of  a  dead  child  to  be  seen 
in  the  arras  of  those  persons,  of  which  there  are 
several  I'resh  instances. 

"  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the  time  of  one's  sit- 
ting in  it,  is  a  presage  of  that  person's  death  soon 
after. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  tliat  has  lately  obtain-- 
ed  the  second-sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the  night  time, 
without  doors,  and  comes  near  a  fire,  he  presently 
Adls  into  a  swoon. 

"  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd  of 
people,  having  a  corpse  which  they  carry  along 


the  fall  of  the  rock,  which  was  so  much  of  the  same 
colour,  that  one  could  discover  no  diiference  in  the 
clearest  day. " — Homers  History  of  the  liebellion, 
Lond.  1802,  4to.  p.  381. 

8.  >Iy  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  tlie  part 
Of  Fen-agus,  or  Ast-abart.— P.  12S. 
These  two  sous  of  Aiiak  flourished  in  romantic 
fable.  The  first  is  well  known  to  tlie  admirers  of 
Ariosto,  by  the  name  of  Ferrau.  He  was  an  antago- 
nist of  Orlando,  and  was  at  length  slain  by  him  in 
single  combat.  There  is  a  romance  iu  the  Auehin- 
leck  MS.,  in  which  Ferragus  is  thus  described: 


164 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  On  a  day  come  tiding 
TJlito  Cliarls  the  kin^, 

Al  of  11  duu^liti  knight 
Was  coinen  to  Navers, 
Stout  he  was  and  fi-i-s, 

Veruagu  he  hight. 
Of  Babiloiin  tlic  soiidan 
Thidi-r  him  stiidc  gan, 

With  king  Chails  to  fight. 
So  hard  ht-  «as  to  fond' 
That  no  dint  of  brond 

No  greutd  him,  aplight. 
He  hailde  twcnti  men  strengthe, 
And  forti  f^t  of  lengthe 

Thilke  painim  hede.i' 
And  four  fcit  in  the  face, 
Y-metcnt  in  the  place. 

And  fiften  in  brcde.} 
His  nose  was  a  fot  and  more; 
His  brow,  as  bristles  \voi-e;|| 

He  that  it  sei2;lie  it  sede. 
He  loked  lotheliehe, 
And  was  swartt  as  any  jiiche. 

Of  him  men  might  adrede." 
Romance  of  Charlemagne,  i,  461,  484. — Auchin- 
lech,  MS.  "fol.  265. 

Ascapart,  or  Ascabart,  makes  a  very  material 
figure  in  the  history  of  Bevis  of  Hampton,  by 
whom  he  was  conquered.  His  eflRgies  may  be 
seen  guarding  one  side  of  a  g^te  at  Southampton, 
while  the  other  is  occupied  by  sir  Bevis  himself. 
The  dimensions  of  Ascabart  were  little  inferior  to 
those  of  Ferragus,  if  the  following  description  be 
■coixect: 

"  They  metten  with  a  geaunt. 

With  a  lotheliche  semblaunt. 

He  was  wonderliche  strong 

Rome*'  thretti  fote  long. 

His  herd  was  bot  gret  and  i-owe;t+ 

A  space  of  a  fot  betweene  isjt  browe: 

His  clob  was,  to  yeut j^J  a  strok, 

A  lite  bodi  of  an  oak.  |i|| 

Beues  hadd,'  of  him  wonder  gret, 

And  askede  him  what  abet,1I1i 

And  yaf"  men  of  this  contrc 

Were  ase  mechettt  ase  was  he. 

'  Me  name,'  a  sede,ttt  '  is  .\scoparJ, 

Garci  me  sent  hidtrward, 

For  to  bring  this  quene  ayen. 

And  the  Beues  her  of-slen.J}^ 

Icham  Garci  is  ||p||  champioun, 

And  was  i-driue  out  of  mtfl;^  toun 

Al  for  that  ich  was  so  lite."" 

Eutri  man  me  wolde  smite, 

Ich  was  so  lite  and  so  merugh,++++ 

Eueri  man  me  clepede  dwerugh.Jt^t 

And  now  icham  in  this  londe, 

I  wax  morieh5i^§§  understonde. 

And  Strang; .-r  than  other  tene;ll|||||l 

And  that  schel  on  us  be  sene." 
Sir  Bevis  of  Hampton,  i.  2512.     Muc/iinlcck  MS.  fol.  189. 

9.  Though  all  unasked  his  birth  and  name.— P.  128. 
The  highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality  to  3 
punctilious  excess,  are  said  to  have  corisidered  it 
as  churlish,  to  ask  a  stranger  his  name  or  lineage, 
before  he  hail  taken  refre'simient.  Feuds  were  so 
frequent  among  lliem,  that  a  contrary  rule  would, 
in  many  cases,  have  i)rodiiced  the  discovery  of  some 
circumstance,  whicli  miglit  have  excluded  the 
Ruest  from  the  benefit  of  the  assistance  he  stood  in 
need  of. 

10. And  still  a  harp  unseen 

Filled  up  the  symphony  between.— P.  129. 
"  They  (meaning  the  highlanders)  delight  much 


•  Found,  prove(L  tHaJ.  tM.asuivd.  ^Breadth. 
II  Were.  ^  Black.  "Fully.  t*Rough.  UHis. 
h  Give.  nil  The  stem  of  a  little  oak  tree. 

S^  He  hight,  was  called.  *"  If.  ttt  Great, 

tit  He  said.  {JJSlay.  Illill  His.  W  My. 

•"•  T.ittle  t+tt  Lean.  ttU  Dwarf. 

{«J  Greater,  taller.  tlllllll  Ten. 


in  musicke,  but  chiefly  in  harps  and  clairschoes 
of  their  own  fashion.  The  strings  of  the  clairschoes 
are  made  of  brasse-wire,  and  the  strings  of  the 
harps  of  sinews,  which  strings  they  strike  either 
with  their  nayles,  growing  long,  or  else  with  an 
instrument  appointed  for  that  use.  They  take 
great  pleasure  to  decke  their  harps  and  clairschoes 
with  silver  and  precious  stones;  the  poore  ones 
that  caimot  .attayne  hereunto,  decke  them  with 
christall.  They  sing  verses,  prettily  compound, 
cont.nyning  (for  the  most  part)  prayses  of  valiant 
men.  There  is  not  almost  any  other  argument, 
whereof  their  rhymes  inlreat.  Tiiey  speak  the  an- 
cient French  language,  altered  a  little.  "* — "  The 
harp  and  clairschoes  are  now  only  heard  of  in  the 
highlands  in  ancient  song.  At  what  period  these 
instruments  ceaseil  to  be  used,  is  not  on  record; 
and  tradition  is  silent  on  this  liead.  But,  as  Irish 
harpers  occasionally  visited  the  highlanils  and 
western  isles  till  lately,  tl)e  harp  miglit  have  been 
extant  so  late  as  the  middle  of  the  present  century. 
Tiius  far  we  know,  that  from  remote  times  down 
to  the  present,  harpers  were  received  as  welcome 
guests,  particularly  in  the  highlands  of  Scotland: 
and  so  late  as  the  latter  end  of  tlie  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, as  appears  by  the  above  quotation,  the  harp 
was  in  common  use  among  the  natives  of  the  west- 
ern isles.  How  it  happened  that  the  noisy  and  in- 
iiarmonious  bagpipe  b.inished  the  soft  and  expres- 
sive harp,  we  cannot  say;  but  certain  it  is,  that 'he 
bagpipe  is  now"  the  only  instrument  th.it  obtains 
universally  in  the  highland  districts." — Cam/jbell's 
Journey  through  JVorth  Britain,  Lond.  1808,  4lo. 
i,  175. 

Mr.  Gunn,  of  Edinburgh,  has  lately  publisher! 
a  curious  essay  upon  the  harp  and  harp  music  of 
the  highlands  of  Scotland.  Tliat  the  instrument 
was  once  in  common  use  there,  is  most  certain. 
Cleland  numbers  an  acquaintance  with  it  among 
the  few  accomplishments  which  his  satire  allows 
to  the  highlanders: 

In  nothing  they're  accounted  sharp, 
Except  in  bag-pipe  or  in  harp. 


■NOTES   TO    CANTO   II. 
1.  Mom's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray. — P.  130. 

That  highland  chieftains,  to  a  late  ])eriod,  re- 
tained in  their  service  the  bard,  as  a  family  officer, 
admits  of  very  easv  proof  Tlie  author  of  the  let- 
ters from  Scotland,  an  officer  of  engineers,  quar- 
tered iit  Inverness  about  17'20,  wlio  certainly  can- 
not be  deemed  a  favourai)le  witness,  gives  the 
following  account  of  the  office,  and  of  a  bard,  whom 
he  iieard  exercise  his  talent  of  recitation: 

"The  bar<l  skilled  in  tlie  genealogy  of  all  the 
highland  families,  sometimes  preceptor  to  the 
young  laird,  celebrates  in  Irish  verse  the  original 
of  tlie  tribe,  the  famous  warlike  actions  of  the  suc- 
cessive heads,  and  sings  his  own  lyricks  as  an  opi- 
ate to  the  chief,  when  indisposed  for  sleep;  but 
poets  are  not  equally  esteemed  and  honoured  in 
all  countries.  1  happened  to  be  a  witness  of  the 
dishonour  done  to  ti.e  ;n':-f ,  at  the  house  of  one 
of  the  chiefs,  where  two  of  these  bards  were  set 
at  a  good  distance,  at  the  lower  end  of  a  long  ta- 
ble, with  a  parcel  of  highlanders  of  no  exlraordi-. 
nary  appearance,  over  a  cup  of  ale.  Poor  inspira- 
tion ! 

•  Vide  "  Certayne  Matters  concerning  the  Rcalme  of 
Scotland,  &c.  as'  they  were  Anno  Domini  1597.  Lond, 
1603."  4to. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


165 


"  They  were  not  asked  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine 
at  our  table,  though  the  whole  company  consisted 
only  of  the  great  man,  one  of  his  near  relations, 
and  myself. 

"  After  some  little  time,  the  chief  ordered  one 
of  them  to  sing  me  a  higliland  song.  The  bard 
readily  obeyed,  and  with  a  hoarse  voice,  and  in  a 
tune  of  few  various  notes,  began,  as  I  ^as  told, 
one  of  his  own  lyricks;  and  when  he  had  proceeded 
to  the  fourth  or  fifth  stanza,  I  perceived,  by  the 
names  of  several  persons,  glens,  and  mountains, 
which  I  iiad  known  or  heard  of  before,  that  it  was 
an  account  of  some  clan  battle.  But  in  his  going 
on,  the  chief  (who  piques  himself  upon  his  school- 
learning)  at  some  particular  passage,  bid  him  cease, 
and  cryed  out,  '  There's  nothing  like  that  in  Vir- 
gil or  Homer.'  I  bowed,  and  told  him  I  believed 
so.  Tills  you  may  believe  was  very  edifying  and 
delightful." — Letters  from  Scotland,  ii,  167. 

2.  The  Graeme.— P.  130. 

The  ancient  and  powerful  family  of  Graham, 
(which,  for  metrical  reasons,  is  here  spelt  after 
tlie  Scottish  pronunciation,)  held  extensive  pos- 
sessions in  the  counties  of  Dumbarton  and  Stirling. 
Few  families  can  boast  of  more  historical  renown, 
having  claim  to  three  of  the  most  remarkable  cha- 
racters in  the  Scottish  annals.  Sir  John  the  Grseme, 
the  faithful  and  undaunted  partaker  of  the  labours 
and  patriotic  warfare  of  Wallace,  fell  in  the  un- 
fortunate field  of  Falkirk,  in  1298.  The  celebrated 
marquis  of  Montrose,  in  whom  De  Retz  saw  real- 
ized his  abstract  idea  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity, 
was  the  second  of  these  worliiies.  And,  notwith- 
standing the  severity  of  his  temper,  and  the  rigour 
witii  which  he  executed  the  oppressive  mandates 
of  the  princes  whom  he  served,  I  do  not  hesitate 
to  name  as  the  third,  John  Grahame,  of  Claver- 
house,  viscount  of  Dundee,  whose  heroic  death  in 
the  arms  of  victory,  may  be  allowed  to  cancel  the 
memory  of  his  cruelty  to  the  non-conformists,  dur- 
ing the  reigns  of  Charles  U,  and  James  II. 

3.  This  harp,  which  erst  saint  Modan  swayed.— P.  131. 
I  am  not  prepared  to  show  that  saint  Modan  was 
a  performer  on  the  harp.  It  was,  however,  no  un- 
saintly  accomplishment;  for  saint  Dunstan  cer- 
tainly did  play  upon  that  instrument,  which,  re- 
taining, as  was  natural,  a  portion  of  the  sanctity 
attached  to  its  master's  character,  announced  fu- 
tvire  events  by  its  spontaneous  sound.  "But  labour- 
ing once  in  these  mechanic  arts  for  a  devoute  ma- 
trone  that  had  sett  him  on  work,  his  vioU;  that 
hung  by  him  on  the  wall,  of  its  own  accord,  with- 
out  anie  man's  helpe,  distinctly  sounded  this  an- 
thime:  Gaiident  in  calls  anims  sanctonim  qtu 
Christi  vestigia  sjait  seaili;  et  quia  pro  eiiis  amore 
sangiiinem  siium  fudentnt,  ideo  cum  Christo  gau- 
dent  stermim.  Whereat  all  the  companle  being 
much  astonished,  turned  their  eyes  from  behould- 
ing  him  working,  to  looke  on  that  strange  acci- 
dent."—-"Not  long  after,  manie  of  the  court 
that  hitherunto  had  born  a  kind  of  fayned  friend- 
ship towards  him,  began  now  greatly  to  envie  at 
his  ])rogress  and  rising  in  goodness,  rising  manie 
crooked,  backbiting  meanes  todift'ame  his  vertues 
with  tiie  black  maskes  of  hypocrisie.  And  the  bet- 
ter to  authorise  their  caluninie,  they  brought  in 
this  that  happened  in  the  viull,  affirming  it  to  have 
been  done  by  art  magiek.  What  more '  this  wicked 
rumour  encreased  dayly,  till  the  king  and  others 
of  the  nobilitie  taking  hoold  thereof,  Dunstan  grew 
•jdious  in  their  sight.    Therefore  he  resolued  to 


leaue  the  court,  and  goe  to  Elphegus,  surnamed 
the  Bauld,  then  bishop  of  Winchester,  who  w  as  his 
cozen.  Which  his  enemies  understanding,  lliey 
layd  wayte  for  him  in  the  way,  and  liauing  thrown 
him  off  his  horse,  beate  him,  and  dragged  him 
in  the  durt  in  the  most  miserable  manner,  mean- 
ing to  haue  slaine  him,  had  not  a  companie  of 
mastiue  dogges,  that  came  unlookt  uppon  iliem, 
defended  and  redeemed  him  from  their  crueltie. 
Wlien  with  sorrow  he  was  ashamed  to  see  dogges 
more  iiumane  than  they.  And  giuing  thankes  to 
Almightie  God,  he  sensibly  againe  perceaued  that 
the  tunes  of  his  violl  had  giuen  him  a  warning  of 
future  accidents."  Flower  of  the  Lives  of  the  most 
renoiened  Saivcis  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land, by  the  R.  Father  Hierome  Porter.  Doway, 
1632,  4to.  tome  i,  p.  438. 

The  same  supernatural  circumstance  is  alluded 
to  by  the  anonymous  author  of  "  Grim,  the  Col- 
lie/ of  Croydon." 

•' \_Du7JStan''s  harp  sounds  on  the  ivall.'] 

"  t  >rest.  Haik,  hark,  my  lords,  the  holy  abbot's  harp 
Sounds  by  itself  so  haiifjing  on  the  wall! 

'■'■  Dutiitan.  Vnhallowcd  man,  tliat  scom'st  the  sacred 
redo, 
Hark,  how  the  testimony  of  my  truth 
Sounds  heavenly  music  with  an  aiigel's  hand, 
To  testify  Dunslan's  integrity, 
And  prove  thy  active  boast  of  no  effect," 

4.  Ere  Douglasses,  to  ruin  driven. 

Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven.- P.  131. 

The  dow-nfall  of  the  Douglasses  of  the  house  of 
Angus,  during  the  reign  of  James  V,  is  the  event 
alluded  to  in  the  text.  The  earl  of  Angus,  it  will 
be  remembered,  had  married  the  queen  dowager, 
and  availed  himself  of  the  right  which  he  thus  ac- 
quired, as  well  as  of  his  extensive  power,  to  retain 
the  king  in  a  sort  of  tutelage,  which  approached 
verj'  near  to  captivity.  Several  open  attempts  were 
made  to  rescue  James  from  this  tiiraldom,  with 
which  he  was  well  known  to  be  deeply  disgusted; 
but  the  valour  of  the  Douglasses,  and  their  allies, 
gave  them  tlie  victory  in  every  conflict.  At  length, 
the  king,  wliile  residing  at  Falkland,  contrived  to 
esc.-«pe  by  night  out  of  his  own  court  and  palace, 
and  rode  full  speed  to  Stirling  castle,  where  the 
governor,  who  was  of  the  opposite  faction,  joyfully 
received  him.  Being  thus  at  liberty,  James  speedily 
summoned  around  him  such  peers  as  he  knew  to 
be  most  inimical  to  the  domination  of  Angus,  and 
laid  his  complaint  before  them,  says  Pitscottie, 
"  with  great  lamentations;  showing  to  them  how 
he  was  holden  in  subjection,  thir  yeai's  bygone, 
by  the  earl  of  Angus,  and  his  kin  and  friends,  who 
oppressed  the  whole  country,  and  spoiled  it,  uniler 
the  pretence  of  justice  and  his  authority;  and  had 
slain  many  of  his  lieges,  kinsmen,  and  friends, 
because  they  would  have  had  it  mended  at  their 
hands,  and  put  him  at  liberty,  as  he  ought  to  have 
been,  at  the  counsel  of  his  whole  lords,  and  not 
have  been  subjected  and  corrected  with  no  par- 
ticular men,  by  the  rest  of  his  nobles:  Therefore, 
said  he,  I  desire,  my  lords,  that  I  maybe  satisfied 
of  the  said  earl,  his  kin,  and  friends;  for  I  avow, 
that  Scotland  shall  not  hold  us  both,  v.  bile  {i.  €. 
till)  I  be  revenged  on  him  and  his. 

"The  lords  hearing  the  king's  compl.-iint  and 
lamentation,  and  also  the  great  rage,  fury,  and 
malice,  that  he  bore  toward  the  earl  of  Angus,  his 
kin  and  friends,  they  concluded  all,  and  thought  it 
best  that  he  should  be  summoned  to  undorly  the 
law;  if  he  fand  not  caution,  nor  yet  compear  him- 
self, that  he  should  be  put  to  the  horn,  with  all 


166 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


his  kin  and  friends,  so  many  as  were  contained  in 
tUe  letters.  And  further,  the  lords  ord;iiiied,  by 
advice  of  liis  niiijesty,  tliat  liis  l)roilier  «nd  friends 
should  be  summoned  to  find  CMulimi  tounderly  the 
law  witiiin  a  certain  day,  or  else  be  {)Ul  to  llic  born. 
But  the  earl  appeared  i>ol,  nor  none  for  liim;  and 
so  he  was  put  to  the  horu,  witli  all  his  kin  and 
friends:  so  many  as  were  contained  in  the  summons, 
that  compeared  not,  were  banished,  antl  holden 
traitors  to  the  king." — Lindnay  of  Pitscottie''s  His- 
tory of  Scotland.     Kdinburgli,  fol.  ]).  I4i5. 

5.  Ill  Holj-Kood  a  knight  he  slew.— P.  131. 
This  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  occurrence 
in  the  court  of  Scotland;  nay,  tlic  pre.sence  of  the 
sovereign  iiimself  scarcely  restrained  the  ferocious 
and  inveterate  feuds  wliicii  were  the  perpetual 
source  of  bloodsiied  among  the  Scottish  nobility. 
The  following  instance  of  the  murder  of  sir  George 
Stuart  of  Ochiltree,  called  The  Bloody,  by  liie 
celebrated  Francis,  earl  of  Bothwell,  may  be  pro- 
duced among  many;  but,  as  the  offence  given  in 
the  royal  court  will  iiardly  bear  a  vernacular  trans- 
lation, 1  sliall  leave  the  story  in  Johnstone's  Latin, 
referring  for  fartiier  particulars  to  the  naked  sim- 


plicity of  Birrell's  Diary,  30th  July,  15 

"  Mors  impi'obi  hominis  non  tarn  ipsa  imraeri 
ta,  quam  pcssimo  excmplo  in  publicam  fe'le  per- j;5;7;pi;',;;;"^ff  ;y;;;;"^^^  j^,.  l„3t, 

Guhelmus  Stuartus  Alkiltnus,  Aran,  fra-  |  ^j^  foUowers  in  every  battle  which  he         '       "" 


he  repaired  and  established  the  shattered  estates 
of  Angus  and  Morton. — History  of  the  House  of 
Dortglas.  Edinburgh,  1743,  vol.  ii,  p.  160. 
7.  Mai-oniian's  cell.— P.  131. 

The  parish  of  Kilmarnock,  at  the  eastern  ex- 
tremity of  Loch-Lomond,  derives  its  name  from  a 
cell  or  chapel,  dedicated  to  saint  Maronoch,  or 
Marnocli,  or  Maronnan,  about  whose  sanctity  very 
little  is  now  remembered.  Tiiere  is  a  fountain  de- 
voted to  him  in  the  same  parisii;  but  its  virtues, 
like  the  merits  of  its  patron,  have  fallen  into  ob- 
livion. 

8.  15raeklinn's  thiiiidcnng  wave.— P.  132. 

This  is  a  beautiful  cascade  made  at  a  place  call- 
ed tiie  Bridge  of  Uracklinn,  by  a  mountain  stream 
called  the  Keltie,  about  a  mile  from  the  village  of 
Callender,  in  Menttith.  Above  a  cliasm  where 
the  brook  precipitates  itself  from  a  height  of  at 
least  fifty  feet,  there  is  thrown,  for  the  convenience 
of  the  neighbni:r!-.oo(l,  a  rustic  fool  bridge,  of  about 
three  feet  in  breadtli,  and  \\itliout  ledges,  which  is 
scarcely  to  be  crossed  by  a  stranger  without  awe 
and  apprehension. 

9.  For  Tineman  forged  by  fairj'  loi-e.— P.  132. 

Archibald,  the  third  earl  of  Douglas,  was  so 
unfortunate  in  all  his  enterprizes,  that  he  acquired 


petua. 

ter,  natura  ac  moribus,  cujus  stepius  memini,  vul 
go  propter  sitem  sanguinis  scmffidnarius  dictus, 
a  Bothvelio,  in  Sanctse  Crucis  liegia,  exardescente, 
ira  mendacii  probo  lacessitus,  obscsenum  osculum 
liberius  retorquebat;  Bothvelius  banc  contumeli- 
am  tacitus  tulit,  sed  ingentum  irarum  molem  animo 


fought.   He 

was  vanquished,  as  every  reader  must  remember, 
in  the  bloody  battle  of  Homildon-hill,  near  Wool- 
er,  where  he  himself  lost  an  eye,  and  was  made 
prisoner  by  Hotspur.  He  was  no  less  unfortunate 
when  allied  with  Percy,  being  wounded  and  taken 
at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury.   He  was  so  unsuccess- 


f.°"''T.V..  '^"l'!!!L"l  ^'"!!!' ':'.'■  u.-^^llL^^.T  .^.?"y;!"T  !  f'^l  >«  ^n  attempt  to  besiege  Roxburgh  Castle,  that 
.         .„...  „ .-  „      „.,,o        ,o., ..   .^  ^^^  called  the  Foul  Raid,  or  disgraceful  expe- 

dition. His  ill  fortune  left  him  indeed  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Beauge,  in  France;  but  it  was  only  to  return 
with  double  emi)hasis  at  the  subsequent  action  of 
Vernoil,  the  last  and  most  unlucky  of  his  encoun- 


tum,  totidem  numero  comitibus  armatus,  prwsidii 
causa,  et  acriter  pugnalura  est;  ceteris  amicis  et 
clientibus  metu  torpentibus,  aut  vi  absterritis,  ip- 
se Stuartus  fortissime  dimicat,  tandem  excusso 
gladio  a  Bothvelie,  Scythica  feritate  transfoditur. 


sine  cujusquam  misericordia;Jiabuit  itaque^  quern  |  ^^.^.^^  ;„  '^^1,;^!,  ,^p  j-gj,^  ^^.j^^  j^e  flo'wer  of  theScot- 

"        *     '       ' ""».."«  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  in  France, 

o  thousand  common  soldiers,  A.  D. 


deb 
tur 


.uit  ex.tum.    D.gnus  erat  Stuartus  qui  patere-  ^j^j^  chivalry,  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  in  France, 
;   Bothvelius  qui  taceret.     V  ulgus  sangumem  ^^^  about  two 


sanguine  prajdicabit,  et  horumcruure  innocuorum 
mauibus  egregie  parentatum." — Johnstoni  Histo- 
ria  Renim  Britannicanim,  ab  anno  157!2,  ad  an- 
num 16-28.  Amstelodami,  1655,  fol.  p.  135. 

6.  The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer. 
Disowned  by  evei->-  noble  peer.— P.  131. 


1424. 

10.  Did,  self-unscabbarded,  fore-show 
The  footsteps  of  a  secivt  foe.— P.  132. 
The  ancient  warriors,  whose  hope  and  confidence 
rested  chiefly  in  their  blades,  were  accustomed  to 
deduce  omens  from  them,  especially  from  such 
The  exiled  state  of  this  powerful  race  is  not  ex-;  as  were  supposed  to  iiave  been  fabricated  by  en- 
aggerated  in  tliis  and  subseipient  passages.  The  chanted  skill,  ofwhicli  we  have  various  instances 
hatred  of  James  against  the  race  of  Douglas  was  in  the  romances  and  legends  of  the  time.  The 
so  inveterate,  that',  nunierous  as  their  allies  were,  ;  wonderful  sword  Skofnung,  wielded  by  the  cele- 
and  disregarded  as  the  regal  authoritv  had  usually  brated  HrolfKraka,  was  of  this  description.  It  was 
been  in  similar  cases,  tlieir  nearest  friends,  even  deposited  in  the  tomb  of  the  monarch  at  his  death, 
in  the  most  remote  parts  of  Scotland,  durst  noten-  and  taken  from  thence  by  Skeggo,  a  celebrate([pi- 
tertain  them,  uubss  under  the  strictest  and  closest  rate,  who  bestowed  it  upon  his  son-in-law,  Kor- 
disguise.  James  Douglas,  son  of  the  banished  earl  mak,  with  the  following  curious  directions;  "  The 
of  Angus,  afterwards  "well  known  by  the  title  of  manner  of  using  it  will  appear  strange  to  you.  A 
carl  of  Morton,  lurked,  during  the  exile  of  his  small  bag  is  attached  to  it,  which  take  heed  not 
family,  in  the  north  <it  Scotland,  under  tlie  assumed  to  violate.  Let  not  the  rays  of  the  sun  touch  the 
name  of  James  Innes,  otlserwise  Jamfs  the  Grieve,  upper  part  of  the  handle,  nor  \msheath  it  unless 
(;'.  e.  Reve  or  Baiii.f. )  "  And  as  he  bore  the  name,"  thou  art  ready  for  battle.  But  when  thou  comest 
says  Godscroft,  "SO  did  he  also  execute  the  office  to  the  place  of  fight,  go  aside  from  the  rest,  grasp 
of  a  grieve  or  overseer  of  tbe  lands  and  rents,  the  and  extend  the  sword,  and  breathe  upon  it.  Then 
crn  and  cattle,  of  him  with  whom  he  lived."  a  small  worm  will  creep  out  of  the  handle;  lower 
From  the  habits  of  frugalilv  and  ol)servation,  which  the  handle  that  lie  may  more  easily  return  into  it." 
le  ac(i'ured  in  this  Inimble  situation,  the  historian    Kormak,  after  having  received  tlie  sword,  returri- 


traces'  that  intimate  acquaintance  with  popular  ;  ed  home  to  his  molbei-.  lie  showed  the  sword, 
chaiaclei-,  which  enabled  him  to  rise  so  high  in  and  attempted  to  draw  it,  as  unnecessarily  as  m- 
the  Slav,  and  that  honourable  ecoiioniv  by  which   effcctualh ,  for  he  could  not  pluck  it  out  ol  tli? 


THE  LADY  OF   THE  LAKE. 


167 


sheath.  His  mother,  Dalla,  exclaimed, "  Do  not  de- 
spise the  counsel  given  to  thee,  m_r  son."  Kormak, 
howevei",  repeating  his  efforts,  pressed  down  the 
handle  with  his  feet,  and  tore  off  the  hag,  when 
Skofnung  emitted  a  liollow  groan:  but  still  he 
could  not  unsheath  the  sword.  Kormak  then  went 
out  with  Bessus,  whom  he  had  challenged  to  figlit 
■with  him,  and  drew  apart  at  the  place  of  combat. 
He  sat  down  upon  the  ground,  and  ungirding  the 
sword,  which  he  bore  above  his  vestments,  did 
not  remember  to  shield  the  hilt  from  the  rays  of 
the  sun.  In  vain  he  endeavoured  to  draw  it,  till 
he  placed  his  foot  against  tlie  hilt;  then  the  worm 
issued  from  it.  But  Kormak  did  not  rightly  handle 
the  weapon,  in  consequence  whereof  good  fortune 
deserted  it.  As  he  unsheathed  Skofnung,  it  emit- 
ted a  hollow  murmur."  Bartholini,  de  Causis 
Contempise  a  Dams  adhuc  Gentilibm  JMortis,  Li- 
bri  Tres,  ffafiiise,  1689,  4to.  p.  574. 

To  the  history  of  this  sentient  and  prescient 
weapon,  I  beg  leave  to  add,  from  memory,  the  fol- 
lowing legend,  for  which  I  cannot  produce  any  bel- 
ter authority.  A  young  nobleman,  of  high  hopes 
and  fortune,  chanced  to  lose  his  way  in  the  town 
which  he  inhabited,  the  capital,  if  I  mistake  not, 
of  a  German  province.  He  had  accidentally  involv- 
ed himself  among  the  narrow  and  winding  streets 
of  a  suburb,  inhabited  by  the  lowest  order  of  the 
people,  and  an  approaching  thunder-shower  deter- 
mined him  to  ask  a  short  refuge  in  the  most 
decent  habitation  that  was  near  him.  He  knocked 
at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a  tall  man  of  a 
grisly  and  ferocious  aspect,  and  sordid  tiress.  The 
stranger  was  readily  usliei-ed  to  aciiamber,  where 
swords,  scourges,  and  machines,  which  seemed  to 
be  implements  of  torture,  were  suspended  on  tlie 
wall.  One  of  these  swords  dropped  from  its  scab- 
bard, as  the  nobleman,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
crossed  the  threshold.  His  host  immediately  stared 
at  him  with  such  a  marked  expression,  that  tlie 
young  man  could  not  help  demanding  his  name 
and  fjusiness,  and  the  meaning  of  his  looking  at 
him  so  fixedly.  "  I  am,"  answered  the  man,  "tlie 
public  executioner  of  this  city;  and  tlie  incident 
you  have  observed  is  a  sure  augurj'  that  1  shall, 
in  discharge  of  my  duty,  one  day  cut  off  your  head 
with  the  weapon  which  has  just  now  spontaneously 
unsheathed  itself"  The  nobleman  lost  no  time  in 
leaving  his  place  of  refuge;  but,  engaging  in  some 
of  the  plots  of  the  period,  was  shortly  after  decapi- 
tated by  that  very  man  and  instrument. 

Lord  Lovat  is  said,  by  the  author  of  the  letters 
from  Scotland,  to  have  affirmed  that  a  number  of 
swords  that  hung  up  in  the  hall  of  the  mansion- 
house  leaped  of  themselves  out  of  the  scabbard  at 
the  instant  he  was  born.  This  story  passed  cur- 
rent among  his  clan,  but,  like  that  of  the  story  1 
have  just  quoted,  proved  an  unfortunate  omen. — 
Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii,  p-  214. 

11.  — ^ The  pibroch  proud.— P.  132. 

The  connoisseurs  in  pipe-music  affect  to  disco- 
ver in  a  well-composed  pibroch,  the  imitative 
sounds  of  march,  conflict,  flight,  pursuit,  and  all 
the  "  current  of  a  heady  fight."  To  this  opinion, 
Dr.  Beattie  has  given  his  suffrage  in  the  following 
elegant  passage;  ^'-A pibroch  is  a  species  of  tune, 
peculiar,  I  think,  to  the  highlands  and  western 
isles  of  Scotland.  It  is  performed  on  a  bagpipe, 
and  differs  totally  from  all  other  music.  Its  rhythm 
is  so  irregular,  and  its  notes,  especialh-  in  the 
quick  movement,  so  mixed  and  huddled  togetlier, 
that  a  stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  reconcile  his 
13 


ear  to  it,  so  as  to  perceive  its  modulation.  Some 
of  these  pibrochs,  being  intended  to  represent  a 
battle,  begin  with  a  grave  motion,  resembling  a 
marcli:  then  gradually  quicken  into  the  onset:  run 
off  with  noisy  confusion,  and  turbulent  rapidity, 
to  imitate  the  conflict  and  pursuit;  then  swell  into 
a  few  flourishes  of  triumphant  joy;  and  perhaps 
close  with  the  wild  and  slow  wailings  of  a  funeral 
procession." — Essaif  on  Laughter  and  Ludicrous 
Composition,  chap,  iii,  J^'hte. 

12.  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho!  ieroel— P.  133. 

Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname,  which 
were  chiefly  used  in  the  intercourse  with  the  low- 
lands, every  highland  chief  had  an  epithet  expres- 
sive of  his  patriarchal  dignity  as  head  of  the  clan, 
and  which  was  common  to  all  his  predecessors  and 
successors,  as  Pharaoh  to  the  kings  of  Egypt,  or  Ar- 
saces  to  those  of  Parthia.  This  name  was  usually  a 
patronymic  expressive  of  his  decent  from  the  foun- 
der of  the  family.  Thus  tlie  duke  of  Argyle  is  call- 
ed Mac-Callum  More,  or  the  Son  of  Colin  ike  Great. 
Sometimes,  however,  it  is  derived  from  armorial 
distinctions,  or  the  memory  of  some  greatfeat:  thus 
lord  Seaforth,  aschief  ofthe  Mackenzies,  or  Clan- 
Kennet,  bears  the  epithet  of  Caber-fae,  or  Bitck''g 
Head,  as  representative  of  Colin  Fitzgerald,  foun- 
der of  the  family,  who  saved  the  Scottish  king 
when  endangered  by  a  stag.  But  besides  this  title, 
v/hich  belonged  to  his  office  and  dignity,  tlie  chief- 
tain had  usually  another  peculiar  to  himself,  which 
distinguished  him  from  the  chieftains  ofthe  same 
race.  This  was  sometimes  derived  from  complex- 
ion, as  dhu  or  roy;  sometimes  from  size,  as  beg  or 
more;  at  other  times,  from  some  particular  exploit, 
or  from  some  peculiarity  of  habit  or  appearance. 
Tlie  line  ofthe  text  therefore  signifies, 

Black  Roderick,  the  descendant  of  Alpine. 

The  song  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation  of 
the  jorrams,  or  boat-songs  of  the  highlanders, 
which  were  usually  composed  in  honour  of  a  fa- 
vourite chief  They  are  so  adapted  as  to  keep 
time  with  the  sweep  of  tlie  oars,  and  it  is  easy  to 
distinguish  between  those  intended  to  be  sung  to 
the  oars  of  a  galley,  where  tlie  stroke  is  lengthen- 
ed and  doubled  as  it  were,  and  those  which  were 
timed  to  the  rowers  of  an  ordin.ary  boat 
13.— the  best  of  Loch-Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side.— P.  133. 

The  Lennox,  as  the  district  is  called,  which  en- 
circles the  lower  extremity  of  Locli-Lomond,  was 
peculiarly  exposed  to  the  incursions  ofthe  moun- 
taineers, who  inhabited  the  inaccessible  fastnesses 
at  the  upper  end  ofthe  lake,  and  the  neighbouring 
district  of  Loch-Katrine.  These  were  often  mark- 
ed by  circumstances  of  great  ferocity,  of  w  hich  the 
noted  conflict  of  Glen-fruin  is  a  celebrated  instance. 
This  was  a  clan-battle,  in  which  the  Macgregors, 
headed  by  Allaster  Macgregor,  chief  of  the  clan, 
encountered  the  sept  ofthe  Cohjuhouns,  command- 
ed by  sir  Humphry  Colquhoun  of  Luss.  It  is  on  all 
hands  allowed  that  the  action  was  desperately 
foug'iit,  and  that  the  Colquhouns  were  defeated 
with  slaughter,  leaving  two  hundred  of  their  name 
dead  upon  the  field.  But  popular  tradition  has 
added  other  horrors  to  the  tale.  It  is  said,  that 
sir  Humphry  Colquhoun,  who  was  on  horseback, 
escaped  to  the  castle  of  Benechra,  or  Banochar, 
and  was  next  day  dragged  out  and  murdered  by 
the  victorious  Macgregors  in  cold  blood.  Bucha- 
nan of  Auchmar,  however,  speaks  of  his  slaughter 
as  a  subsequent  event,  and  as  perpetrated  by  the 
Macfai-lanes.  Again  it  is  reported,  that  the  Mac- 
gregors  murdered  a  number  of  youths,  whom  re- 


168 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


port  of  llie  inten<lo(l  bnttle  had  brous^ht  to  be  spec- 
tators, and  wliotn  tlio  Colqiibc)uns,aiixio\is  for  their 
safety,  hail  shut  i\p  in  a  barn  to  be  out  of  (buiger. 
One  "account  of  ttic  Macgr('p;ors  denies  this  cir- 
cumstance entirely;  another  ascribes  it  to  the  sa- 
vage and  blood-tbirsty  disposilion  of  a  single  indi- 
vidual, tlie  bastard  brother  of  the  laird  of  Macgre- 
gor,  who  amused  himself  with  this  second  massa- 
cre of  the  innocents,  in  express  disobedience  to 
the  chief,  by  whom  he  was  left  their  guardian  dur- 
ing the  pursuit  of  the  Colquhouns.  It  is  added, 
that  Macgregor  bitterly  lamented  this  atrocious 
action,  and  projihesied  the  ruin  which  it  must 
bring  u]ion  their  ancient  clan.  The  following  ac- 
count of  the  contliet,  wiiich  is  indeed  drawn  up  by 
a  friend  of  tiie  clan  Gregor,  is  altogether  silent  on 
the  murder  of  the  youths.  "In  the  spi-ing  of  the 
year  1602,  there  happened  great  dissenlions  and 
troubles  between  the  laird  of  Luss,  chief  of  the 
Colquhouns,  and  Alexander,  laird  of  Macgregor. 
The  original  of  tlu-pe  quarrels  proceeded  from  in- 
juries and  provocations  mutually  given  and  receiv- 
ed, not  long  before.  Macgregor,  however,  want- 
ing to  have  them  eniled  in  friendly  conferences, 
marched  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  of  his  clan, 
to  Leven,  which  borders  on  Luss,  his  country, 
with  a  view  of  settling  matters  by  the  mediation 
of  friends:  But  Luss  had  no  such  intentions,  and 
projected  his  measures  witli  a  different  view;  for 
he  privately  drew  together  a  body  of  300  horse 
and  500  foot,  composed  partly  of  his  own  clan  and 
their  followers,  and  partly  of  the  Buchanans,  his 
neighbours,  and  resolved  to  cut  off  Macgregor  and 
his  party  to  a  man,  in  case  the  issue  of  the  con- 
ference did  not  answer  his  inclination.  But  mat- 
ters fell  otherwise  than  he  expected:  and  though 
Macgregor  had  previous  information  of  his  insi- 
dious design,  yet,  dissembling  his  resentment,  he 
kept  the  appointment,  and  parted  good  friends  in 
appearance. 

"  No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Luss,  thinking 
to  surprise  him  and  his  party  in  full  security,  and 
without  any  dread  or  apprehension  of  his  treache- 
ry, followed  with  all  speed,  and  came  up  with  him 
at  a  place  called  Glenfroon.  Macgregor,  upon  the 
alarm,  divided  his  men  into  two  parties,  the  great- 
est part  whereof  he  commanded  himself,  and  the 
other  he  committed  to  the  care  of  bis  brother  John, 
who,  by  his  orders,  led  them  about  another  way, 
and  attacked  the  Colquhouns  in  flank.  Here  U  was 
fought  with  great  bravery  on  both  sides  for  a  con- 
siderable time;  and,  notwithstanding  the  vast  dis- 
proportion of  numbers,  Macgregor,  in  the  end, 
obtained  an  absolute  victory.  So  great  was  the 
rout,  that  '^00  of  the  Colquhouns  were  left  dead 
upon  the  spot,  most  of  the  leading  men  were  kill- 
ed, and  a  multitude  of  prisoners  taken.  But  what 
seemed  most  surprising  and  incredible  in  this  de- 
feat, was,  that  none  of  the  Macgregors  were  miss- 
ing, except  John,  the  laird's  brother,  and  one  com- 
mon fellow,  thougli  indeed  many  of  them  were 
wounded." — Professor  Ross's  History  of  the  fami- 
ly of  Sutherland,  1631. 

The  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Glen  Fruin 
were  very  calamitous  to  the  fimiily  of  Macgregor, 
who  had  already  been  considered  as  an  unruly 
clan.  Tho  widows  of  the  slain  Colquhouns,  sixty, 
it  is  said,  in  numt)er,  appeared  in  doleful  proces- 
sion before  the  king  at  Stirling,  each  ri<ling  upon 
a  w  bite  palfrey,  and  bearing  in  her  hand  the  bloody 
sliirt  of  her  husband  displayed  upon  a  pike.  James 
VI  was  so  much  moved  by  the  complaints  of  this 


"  choir  ol  mournful  dames,"  that  he  let  loose  his 
vengeance  against  the  Macgregors,  without  either 
bounds  or  moderation.  The  very  name  of  the 
clan  was  proscribed,  and  those  by  whom  it  had 
been  borne  were  given  up  to  sword  and  fire,  and 
absolutely  hunted  down  by  blood-hounds  like  wild 
beasts.  Argyle  and  the  Cami)bells,  on  the  one 
hand,  Montrose,  with  the  Grimes  and  Bucha- 
nans, on  the  other,  are  said  to  have  been  the  chief 
instruments  in  suppressing  this  devoted  clan.  The 
laird  of  Macgregor  surrendered  to  the  former  on 
condition  that  he  would  take  him  out  of  Scottish 
ground.  But,  to  use  Birrel's  expression,  he  kept 
"  a  highlandman's  promise;"  and,  although  he  ful- 
filled bis  word  to  the  letter  by  carrying  him  as  far 
as  Jierwick,  he  afterwards  brought  him  back  to 
Edinburgh,  where  he  was  executed  with  eighteen 
of  his  chm.—BirrePs  Diary,  2d  October,  1603. 
The  clan  Gregor  being  thus  driven  to  utter  de- 
spair, seem  to  have  renounced  the  laws,  from  the 
i)enefit  of  which  they  were  excluded,  and  their 
depredations  produced  new  acts  of  council,  con- 
firming the  severity  of  their  proscription;  which 
had  only  the  effect  of  rendering  them  still  more 
united  and  desperate.  It  is  a  most  extraordinary 
proof  of  the  ardent  and  invincible  spirit  of  clan- 
ship, that,  notwithstanding  the  repeated  proscrip- 
tions providently  ordained  by  the  legislature  "for 
\.\\e  timeoiis  preveiilinrf  xhe  (\\%oyA&cs  and  oppres- 
sion that  may  fall  out  by  the  said  name  and  clan 
of  Macgregors  and  their  followers,"  they  were,  in 
1715  and  1^745,  a  potent  clan,  and  continue  to  sub- 
sist as  a  distinct  and  numerous  race. 

-The  king's  vindictive  pnde 


Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  border  side.— P.  134. 
In  1529,  James  V  made  a  convention, at  Edin- 
burgh, for  the  purpose  of  considering  the  best 
mode  of  quelling  the  border  robbers,  who,  during 
the  license  of  his  minority,  and  the  troubles  w  bich 
followed,  had  committed  many  exorbitancies.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  assembled  aflying  army  often  thou- 
sand men,  consibting  of  his  principal  nobility 
and  their  followers,  who  were  directed  to  bring 
their  hawks  and  dogs  with  them,  that  the  monarch 
might  refresh  himself  with  sport  during  the  inter- 
vals of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he 
swept  through  Ettrick  forest,  where  he  hanged 
over  the  gate  of  his  own  castle.  Piers  Cockburn, 
of  Henderland,  who  had  prepared,  according  to  tra- 
dition, a  feast  for  his  reception.  He  caused  Adam 
Scott  of  Tusbielaw  also  to  be  executed,  who  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  title  of  king  of  the  border.  But 
tile  most  noted  victim  of  justice,  during  tiiat  expedi- 
tion. Was  John  Armstrong  of  Gilnockie,  famous  in 
Scottisli  song,  who,  confiding  in  his  own  supposed 
innocence,  met  the  king,  with  a  retinue  of  thirty-six 
persons, all  ofwiiom  were  hanged  at  Carlenrig,  near 
the  source  of  the  Teviot,  The  effect  of  this  severity 
was  such,  that,  as  the  vulgar  expressed  it,  "  the  rush 
bush  kept  the  cow,"  and"  thereafter  was  great  peace 
and  rest  a  long  time,  wherethrough  the  king  had 
great  profit;  for  he  had  ten  thousand  sheep  going  in 
the  Ettrick  forest  in  keeping  by  Andrew  Bell, 
who  made  the  king  as  good  count  of  them  as  they 
had  gone  in  the  bounds  of  Fife. " — Pitscottie^s  His- 
tory, p.  153. 

15.  What  grace  for  highland  chiefs  judge  ye. 
By  fate  of  border  chivahy.— P.  134. 

James  was,  in  fact,  equally  attentive  to  restrain 
rapine  and  feudal  oppression  in  every  part  of  liia 
dominions.  "  The  king  passed  to  the  isles,  and 
there    held    justice   courts,    and    punished   both 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


169 


thief  and  traitor  according  to  their  demerit.  And 
also  he  caused  great  men  to  show  their  hohlingjs, 
■wherethrough  he  found  many  of  llie  said  lands  in 
non-entrv;  the  which  he  confiscated  and  brought 
home  to  his  own  use,  and  afterwards  annexed  them 
to  the  crown,  as  ye  shall  hear.  Syne  brought  ma- 
ny of  the  great  men  of  the  isles  captive  with  him, 
such  as  Mudyart,  M'Connel,  M'Loyd  of  the  Lewes, 
M'Xeil,  M'Lane,  M'lntosh,  John  Mudyard,  M'- 
Kay,M'Kenzie,with  many  others  that  I  cannot  re- 
hearse at  this  time.  Some  ofthem  he  put  in  ward,  and 
some  in  court,  and  some  he  took  pledges  for  good 
rule  in  time  coming.  So  he  brought  the  isles  both 
north  and  south,  in  good  rule  and  peace;  where- 
fore he  had  great  profit,  service,  and  obedience  of 
people  a  long  time  thereafter,  and  as  long  as  he 
ihad  the  heads  of  the  country  in  subjection,  they 
lived  in  great  peace  and  rest,  and  there  was  great 
riches  and  policy  by  the  king's  justice. " — Pitscot- 
TIE,  p.  152. 

16.  Rest  safe  till  morning;— pity  'twere 

Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air. — P.  135. 
Hardihood  was  in  everj'  respect  so  essential  to 
the  character  of  a  highlander,  that  the  reproach 
of  efferainac)'  was  the  most  bitter  which  could  be 
thrown  upon  him.  Yet  it  was  sometimes  hazarded 
on  what  we  might  presume  to  think  slight  grounds. 
It  is  reported  of  old  sir  Ewing  Cameron  of  Lochiel, 
when  upwards  of  seventy,  that  he  was  surprised 
by  night  on  a  hunting  or  military  expedition.  He 
wrapped  him  in  his  plaid,  and  lay  contentedly 
down  upon  the  snow,  with  which  the  ground  hap- 
pened to  be  covered.  Among  his  attendants,  who 
were  preparing  to  take  their  rest  in  the  same  man- 
ner, he  observed  that  one  of  his  grandsons,  for  his 
better  accommodation,  had  rolled  a  large  snow- 
ball, and  placed  it  below  his  head.  The  wrath  of 
the  ancient  chief  was  awakened  b)'  a  symptom  of 
what  he  conceived  to  be  degenerate  luxury.  "  Out 
upon  thee,"  said  he,  kicking  the  frozen  bolster 
from  the  head  which  it  supported,  "  art  thou  so 
effeminate  as  to  need  a  pillow'"  Tlie  officer  of  en- 
gineers, whose  curious  letters  from  the  highlands 
have  been  more  than  once  quoted,  tells  a  similar 
story  of  Macdonald  of  Lveppoch,  and  subjoins  the 
following  remarks: 

"  This  and  many  other  stories  are  romantic; 
but  there  is  one  thing,  that  at  first  thought  might 
seem  very  romantic,  of  which  I  liave  been  credi- 
bly assured,  that  when  the  highlanders  are  con- 
strained to  lie  among  the  hills,  in  cold  dry  windy 
weather,  they  sometimes  soak  the  plaid  ip  some 
river  or  burn,  (f.  e.  brook;)  and  then,  holding  up 
a  corner  of  it  a  little  above  their  heads,  they  turn 
themselves  round  and  round,  till  they  are  enveloped 
by  the  whole  mantle.  They  then  lay  themsehes 
down  on  the  heath,  upon  the  leward  side  of  so)ne 
hill,  where  the  wet  and  the  warmth  of  their  bodies 
make  a  steam,  like  that  of  a  boiling  kettle.  Tlie 
wet,  they  say,  keeps  them  warm  by  thickening  the 
stuff,  and  keeping  the  wind  from  penetrating. 

"  I  must  confess  1  should  have  been  apt  to  ques- 
tion this  fact,  had  I  not  frequently  seen  them  wet 
from  morning  to  night;  and,  even  at  the  beginnitig 
ot  the  rain,  not  so  much  as  stir  a  few  yards  to  shel- 
ter, but  continue  in  it,  without  necessity,  till  they 
were,  as  we  say,  wet  through  and  through.  And 
that  is  soon  effected  by  the  looseness  and  spongi- 
ness  of  the  plaiding;  but  the  bonnet  is  frequently 
taken  off,  and  wrung  like  a  dishclout,  and  then  put 
on  again. 

"  Thev  have  been  accustomed  from  their  infan- 


cy to  be  often  wet,  and  to  take  the  water  like  span- 
iels, and  this  is  become  a  second  nature,  and  can 
scarcely  be  called  a  hardship  to  them,  insomuch 
that  I  used  to.  say,  they  seemed  to  be  of  the  duck- 
kind,  and  to  love  water  as  well.  Though  I  never 
saw  this  preparation  for  sleep  in  windy  weather, 
3"et,  setting  out  early  in  a  morning  from  one  of  the 
huts,  I  have  seen  the  marks  of  their  lodging,  where 
the  gi-ound  has  been  free  from  rime  or  snow,  which 
remained  all  round  the  spot  where  they  had  lain." 
— Letters  from  Scotland.  Lond.  1754,  8vo.  ii,  p. 
108. 

17.  his  henchman  came. — P,  136. 

"  This  officer  is  a  sort  of  secretarj',  and  is  to 
he  ready,  upon  all  occasions,  to  venture  his  life  in 
defence  of  his  master;  and  at  drinking-bouts  he 
stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his  haunch,  from  whence 
his  title  is  derived,  and  watches  the  conversation, 
to  see  if  any  one  offijnds  his  patron. 

"  An  English  officer  being  in  company  with  a 
certain  chieftain,  and  several  other  highland  gen- 
tlemen, near  Killichumen,  had  an  argument  with 
the  great  man;  and  both  being  well  warmed  with 
usky,  at  last  the  dispute  grew  very  hot. 

"A  youth  who  was  henchman,  not  understand- 
ing one  word  of  English,  imagined  his  chief  was 
insulted,  and  thereupon  drew  his  pistol  from  his 
side,  and  snapped  it  at  the  officei-'s. head;  but  the 
pistol  missed  fire,  otherwise  it  is  more  than  pro- 
bable he  might  have  suffered  death  from  the  hand 
of  that  little  vermin. 

"  But  it  is  very  disagreeable,  to  an  Englishman 
over  a  bottle,  with  the  highlanders,  to  see  e.very 
one  ofthem  have  his  gilly,  that  is,  his  servant, 
standing  behind  him  all  the  while,  let  what  will 
be  the  subject  of  conversation." — Letters  from 
Scotland,  ii,  159. 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  III. 

1.  And  wliile  the  fiery  cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor,  round, 

P.  136. 
When  a  chieftain  designed  to  summon  his  clan, 
upon  any  sudden  or  important  emergency,  he  slew 
a  goat,   and,   making  a  cross  of  any  light  wood, 
seared  its  extremities  in  the  fire,  and  extinguished 
them  in  the  blood  of  the  animal.    This  was  called 
the  Fiery  Cross,  also  Crean  Tarigh,  or  the  Cross 
of  Shame,  because  disobedience  to  what  tlie  sym- 
bol implied,  inferred  infamy,  it  was  delivered  to  a 
swift  and  trusty  messenger,  who  ran  full  sjieed  with 
it  to  the  nest  hamlet,  where  he  presented  it  to  the 
principal    person,    with  a  single   word    implying 
the  place  of  rendezvous.      He  who  recei»cd  the 
symbol  was  bound  to  send  it  forward,  with  equal 
despatch,  to  the  next  village;  and  thus  it  passed 
with  incredible  celerit}'  through  all  tiie   district 
which  owed  allegiance  to  the  chief,  and  also  among 
his  allies  and  neighbours,  if  the  danger  was  com- 
mon to  them.     At  sight  of  the  fiery  cross,  every 
man,  from  sixteen  years  old  to  sixty,  cajiable  of 
bearing  arms,  was  obliged  instantly  to  ri'i)aii,  in 
his  best  arms  and  accoutrements,  to  the  place  of 
rendezvous.     He  who  failed  to  a[)i)ear  suffered  the 
extremities  of  fire  and  sword,  viiich  were  emble- 
matically denounced    to    the    disobedient  by  the 
bloody  and  burnt  marks  upon  tliis  warlike  signal. 
During.the  civil  war  of  1745-6,  the  fiery  cross  of- 
ten made  its  circuit;  and  uiKjn  one  occasion  it  pass- 
ed through  the  whole  district  of  lireadalbaue,  a 
tract  of  thirty-two  miles,  in  three  hours.  The  late 
Alexander  Stewart,  esq.  of  Invernahyle,  described 


170 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  me  his  havinj;  sent  round  the  fierj-  cross  through 
tlie  district  of  Ai)i)iiie,  during  the  same  commo- 
tion. The  coast  was  thrcatcneii  by  a  descent  from 
two  Eiiglisli  frigates,  and  tiic  flower  of  the  young 
men  were  with  the  army  of  prince  diaries  Ed- 
ward, then  in  England:  yet  tlie  summons  was  so 
effectual,  that  even  old  age  and  childiiood  obeyed 
it:  and  a  force  was  collected"  in  a  few  hours,  so 
numerous  and  so  enthusiastic,  that  all  attempt  at 
the  intended  diversion  upon  the  country  of  the  ab 
sent  wamors  was  in  prudence  abandoned,  as  des- 
perate. 

This  practice,  like  some  others,  is  common  to 
the  higidandcrs  with  the  ancient  Scandinavians, 
as  will  appear  by  the  following  extract  from  Olaus 
Magnus: 

"  When  the  enemy  is  upon  the  sea-coast,  or 
■within  the  limits  of  northern  kingdomes,  then 
presently,  by  the  command  of  the  principal  go- 
vernours,  with  the  counsel  and  consent  of  the  old 
soldiers,  who  are  notably  skilled  in  such  like  bu- 
siness, a  staff  of  three  hands  lengtli,  in  the  common 
sight  of  them  all,  is  carried,  by  tlie  speedy  running 
of  some  active  young  man,  unto  that  village  or 
cit3',  with  this  command, — that  on  the  3,  4,  or  8, 
day,  one,  two,  or  three,  or  else  every  man  in  par- 
ticular, from  15  years  old,  shall  come  with  his 
arms,  and  expences  for  ten  or  twenty  days,  upon 
pain  that  his  or  their  houses  shall  be  burnt,  (which 
is  intimated  by  the  burning  of  the  staff,)  or  else 
the  master  to  be  hanged,  (which  is  signified  by  the 
cord  tied  to  it,)  to  appear  speedily  on  such  a  bank, 
or  field,  or  valley,  to  hear  the  cause  he  is  called, 
and  to  hear  orders  from  the  said  provincial  gover- 
nours  what  he  shall  do.  Wherefore  that  messen- 
ger, swifter  than  any  post  or  waggon,  having  done 
his  commission,  comes  slowly  back  again,  bring- 
ing a  token  with  him  that  he  hath  done  all  legally: 
and  every  moment  one  or  another  runs  to  every 
village,  and  tells  those  places  what  they  must  do." 
"The  messengers,  therefore,  or  the  foot- 
men, that  are  to  give  warning  to  the  peojde  to  meet 
for  the  battail,  run  fiercely  and  swiftly;  for  no  snow, 
or  rain,  nor  heat  can  stop  them,  nor  night  hold 
them;  but  they  will  soon  run  the  race  thej-  under- 
take. The  first  messenger  tells  it  to  the  next  vil- 
lage, and  tliat  to  the  next;  and  so  the  hubbub  i-uns 
all  over  till  they  all  know  it  in  that  stift  or  terri- 
tory, where,  when,  and  wherefore  they  must  meet." 
— Olacs  Magnus'  History  of  the  Goths,  English- 
ed by  J.  S.  Lond.  1658,  book  iv,  chap.  3,  4. 

2.  That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face.— P.  137. 
The  state  of  religion  in  the  middle  ages  afford- 
ed considerable  facilities  for  those  whose  mode  of 
life  excluded  them  from  regular  worship,  to  se- 
cure, nevertheless,  the  ghosth*  assistance  of  con- 
fessors, perfectly  willing  to  adapt  the  nature  of 
their  doctrine  to  the  necessities  and  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances of  their  flock,  llobin  Hood,  it  is  well 
known,  had  his  celebrated  domestic  chaplain,  friar 
Tuck.  And  that  same  curtal  friar  was  probably 
matched  in  manners  and  appearance  by  the  ghost- 
ly fathers  of  the  Tynedale  robbers,  who  are  thus 
described  in  an  excommunication  fulminated 
against  their  patrons  by  Richard  Fox,  bishop  of 
Durham,  tempore  Henrici  VIII.  "  We  have  fur- 
ther understood,  that  there  are  many  ciiaplains  in 
the  said  territories  of  Tynedale  and  Redesdale, 
who  are  public  and  open  maintainers  of  concubi- 
nage, irregular,  suspended,  excommuracated,  and 
interdicted  persons,  and  withal  so  utterly  ignorant 


of  letters,  that  it  has  been  found  by  those  who  ob- 
jected this  to  them,  that  there  were  some  who, 
having  celebrated  mass  for  ten  years,  were  still 
unable  to  read  the  sacramental  service.  We  have 
also  understood  there  are  persons  among  them 
who,  althoufjh  not  ordained,  do  take  upon  them 
the  offices  ot  priesthood;  antl,  in  contempt  of  God, 
celebrate  the  divine  and  sacred  rites,  and  adminis- 
ter the  sacraments,  not  only  in  sacred  and  dedi- 
cated places,  but  in  those  which  are  prophane  and 
interdicted,  and  most  wretchedly  ruinous;  they 
tliemselves  being  attired  in  ragged,  torn,  and  most 
filthy  vestments,  altogether  imtit  to  be  used  in  di- 
vine, or  even  in  temporal  offices.  The  which  said 
chaplains  do  administer  sacraments  and  sacramen- 
tal rites  to  the  aforesaid  manifest  and  infamous 
thieves,  robbers,  depredators,  receivers  of  stolen 
goods,  and  plunderers,  and  that  without  restitu- 
tion, or  intention  toi'estore,  as  evinced  by  the  fact; 
and  do  also  openly  admit  them  to  the  rites  of  ec- 
clesiastical sepulchre,  without  exacting  security 
for  restitution,  although  they  are  prohibited  from 
doing  so  by  the  sacred  canons,  as  well  as  by  the 
institutes  of  the  saints  and  fathers.  All  which  in- 
fers the  heavy  peril  of  their  own  souls,  and  is  a 
])ernicious  example  to  the  other  believers  in  Christ, 
as  well  as  no  slight,  but  an  aggravated  injury  to 
the  numbers  despoiled  and  plundered  of  their 
goods,  gear,  herds,  and  chattels."* 

To  tills  lively  and  picturesque  description  of 
the  confessors  and  churchmenof  predatory  tribes, 
there  may  be  added  some  curious  particulars  re- 
specting the  priests  attached  to  the  several  septs 
of  native  Irisli,  during  the  reign  of  queen  Eliza- 
beth. These  friars  had  indeed  to  plead,  th.tt  the 
incursions,  which  they  not  only  pardoned,  but  even 
encouraged,  were  made  upon  those  hostile  to  them, 
as  well  in  religion  as  from  national  antipathy. 
But  by  protestant  writers  tliey  are  uniformly  al- 
leged to  be  the  chief  instruments  of  Irish  insur- 
rection, the  very  well-spring  of  all  rebellion  to- 
wards the  English  government.  Lithgow,  the 
Scottish  traveller,  declares  tlie  Irish  wood-kerne, 
or  predatory  tribes,  to  be  but  the  hounds  of  their 
hunting  priests,  who  directed  their  incursions  by 
their  pleasure,  partly  for  sustenance,  partly  to 
gratify  animosity,  partly  to  foment  general  divi- 
sion, and  always  for  the  better  security  and  easier 
domination  of  the  friars.f  Derrick,  the  liveliness 
and  minuteness  of  whose  descriptions  may  fre- 
quently apologise  for  his  doggrel  verses,  after  de- 
scribing an  Irish  feast,  and  the  encouragement 
given  by  the  songs  of  the  bards,  to  its  termination 
in  an  incursion  upon  the  parts  of  the  country  more 
immediately  under  the  dominion  of  the  English, 
records  the  no  less  powerful  arguments  used  by 
the  friar  to  excite  their  animosity: 

And  more  t'  augment  the  flame, 

and  rancour  ot"  their  harte. 
The  friar,  of  his  counsells  vile, 

to  rebcUes  doth  imparte. 
Affirming  that  it  is 

an  almose  deede  to  God, 
To  make  the  English  subjects  taste 

the  Irish  rebel  Is  rodde. 
To  spoile,  to  kill,  to  bunie, 

this  friar's  counsell  is; 


*  The  Monition  against  the  robbers  of  Tynedale  and 
Redesdale,  with  which  I  was  favoured  by  my  friend,  Mr. 
Surti-es,  of  Mainsforlh,  may  be  found  in  the 'original  La- 
tin, in  the  Appendix  to  the  Introduction  to  tlie  Border 
Minstrelsy,  >o.  vii,  fourth  edition. 

t  Lithgow's  Travels,  first  edit.  p.  43t. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


171 


And  for  the  doing  of  the  same, 

he  warrantes  heavenlie  blisse. 
He  tells  a  holie  tale; 

the  white  he  tumes  to  blacke; 
And  through  the  pardons  in  his  male, 

he  workes  a  knavishe  knacke. 

The  wreckful  invasion  of  a  part  of  the  English 
pale  is  then  described  with  some  spirit;  the  burn- 
ing of  houses,  driving  off  cattle,  and  all  pertaining 
to  such  predatory  inroads,  is  illustrated  by  a  rude 
cut.  The  defeat  of  the  Irish  by  a  party  of  English 
soldiers  from  the  next  garrison,  is  then  commemo- 
rated, and  in  like  manner  adorned  with  an  engrav- 
ing, in  which  the  friar  is  exhibited  mourning  over 
the  slain  chieftain;  or,  as  the  rubric  expresses  it. 

The  friar  then,  that  treacherous  knave,  with  ough  ough- 

hone  lament, 
To  see  his  cousin  devill's-son  to  have  so  foul  event. 

The  matter  is  handled  at  great  length  in  tlie 
text,  of  which  the  following  verses  are  more  than 
sufficient  sample: — 

The  frier  seying  this, 

laraentes  that  lucklesse  parte, 
And  curseth  to  the  pitte  of  hell 

the  death  man's  sturdie  harte: 
Yet  for  to  quight  them  with 

the  frier  taketh  paine, 
For  all  the  synnes  that  ere  he  did 

remission  to  obtaine. 
And  therefore  serves  his  booke, 

the  candell  and  the  bell; 
But  thiuke  you  that  suL-he  apishe  toies 

bring  damned  souls  from  hell? 
It  'longs  not  to  ray  parte 

infernal  things  to  knowe; 
But  I  beleve  till  later  daie, 

thei  rise  not  from  belowe. 
Yet  hope  that  friers  give 

to  this  rebellious  rout. 
If  that  their  souls  should  ehaunce  in  hell, 

to  brlnge  them  quickly  out, 
Doeth  make  them  lead  suehe  lives, 

as  neither  God  nor  man. 
Without  revenge  for  their  desartes, 

permitte  to  suffer  can. 
Thus  friers  are  the  cause, 

the  fountain  and  the  spring. 
Of  hurleburls  in  this  lande, 

of  eclie  unhappie  thing. 
Thei  cause  him  to  rebel  1 

against  their  soveraigne  queene. 
And  through  rebellion  often  tjines, 

their  lives  doe  vanishe  dene. 
So  as  by  friers'  meanes, 

in  whom  all  follie  swimme, 
TJie  Irishe  karne  doe  often  lose 

the  life,  with  hedde  and  limme.* 

As  the  Irish  tribes,  and  those  of  the  Scottish 
highlands,  are  raucli  more  intimately  allied,  by 
language,  manners,  dress,  and  customs,  than  the 
antiqviaries  of  either  country  have  been  willing  to 
admit,  1  flattermyself  1  have  here  produced  a  strong 
warrant  for  the  character  sketched  in  the  text. 
The  following  picture,  though  of  a  different  kind, 
serves  to  establish  the  existence  of  ascetic  religion- 
ists, to  a  comparatively  late  period,  in  the  liigh- 
lands  and  Western  Isles.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
simplicity  in  the  description,  for  which,  as  for 
much  similar  information,  1  am  obliged  to  Dr. 
John  Martin,  who  visited  the  Hebrides  attlie  sug- 
gestion of  sir  Robert  Sibl)ald,  a  Scottish  antiqua- 
rian of  eminence,  and  early  in  the  eigliteenth  cen- 
tury published  a  description  of  them,  which  pro- 

*  This  curious  picture  of  Ireland  was  inserted  by  the 
author  in  the  republication  of  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i,  in 
which  the  plates  have  been  also  inserted,  from  tlie  only 
impressions  known  to  exist,  belonging  to  the  copy  in  the 
Advocates' library.  See  Somers' Tracts,  vol.  i,  pp.  S9], 


cured  him  admission  into  the  royal  society.  He 
died  in  London  about  1719.  His  work  is  a  strange 
mixture  of  learning,  observation,  and  gross  credu- 
lity. 

"  I  remember,"  says  this  author,  "  I  have  seen 
an  old  lay-capuchin  here,  (in  the  island  of  Benbe- 
cula,)  called  in  their  language  brahir-bocht,  that 
IS  poor  brother;  which  is  literally  true;  for  he  an- 
swers this  character,  having  nothing  but  what  is 
given  him:  he  holds  himself  fully  satisfied  with 
food  and  raiment,  and  lives  in  as  great  simplicity 
as  any  of  his  order;  his  diet  is  very  mean,  and  he 
drinks  only  fair  water:  his  habit  is  no  less  morti- 
fying than  that  of  liis  brethren  elsewhere;  he  wears 
a  short  coat,  which  comes  no  farther  than  his  mid- 
dle, with  narrow  sleeves  like  a  waistcoat;  he  wears 
a  plad  above  it,  girt  about  the  middle,  which 
reaches  to  his  knee:  the  plad  is  fastened  on  his 
breast  with  a  wooden  pin,  his  neck  bare,  and  his 
feet  often  so  too:  lie  wears  a  hat  for  ornam'i.it,  and 
the  string  about  it  is  a  bit  of  a  fisher's  line,  made 
of  horse-hair.  This  plad  he  wears  instead  of  a 
gown  worn  by  those  of  his  order  in  other  countries. 
I  told  him  he  wanted  the  flaxen  girdle  that  men 
of  his  order  usually  wear:  he  answered  me,  that 
he  wore  a  leather  one,  which  was  the  same  thing. 
Upon  the  matter,  if  he  is  spoke  to  when  at  meat, 
he  answers  again;  which  is  contrary  to  the  custom 
of  his  order.  This  poor  man  frequently  diverts 
himself  with  angling  of  trouts;  he  lies  upon  straw, 
and  has  no  bell  (as  others  have)  to  call  him  to  his 
devotion,  but  only  his  conscience,  as  he  told  me." 
— Martin's  description  of  the  Western  Islands, 
p.  82. 
3.  Of  Brian's  birth  str.inge  tales  were  told. — P.  137. 

The  legend  which  follows  is  not  of  the  author's 
invention.  It  is  possible  he  may  differ  from  mo- 
dern critics,  in  supposing  that  the  records  of  hu- 
man superstition,  if  peculiar  to,  and  characteristic 
of,  the  country  in  which  tlie  scene  is  laid,  are  a 
legitimate  subject  of  poetry.  He  gives,  however, 
a  ready  assent  to  the  narrower  proposition,  whicli 
condemns  all  attempts  of  an  irregular  and  disor- 
dered fancy  to  excite  terror,  by  accumulating  a 
train  of  fantastic  and  incoherent  horrors,  whether 
borrowed  from  all  countries,  and  patched  upon  a 
narrative  belonging  to  one  which  knew  them  not, 
or  derived  from  the  author's  own  imagination. 

In  the  present  case,  therefore,  I  appeal  to  the 
record  wliicli  I  liave  transcribed,  with  iilie  varia- 
tion of  a  very  few  words,  from  the  geographicid 
collections  made  by  the  laird  of  Macfarlane.  1 
know  not  w  tiether  it  be  necessary  to  remark,  that 
the  miscellaneous  concourse  ofyoutbs  and  maidens 
on  the  niglit  and  on  the  spot  wliere  the  miracle  is 
said  to  have  taken  place,  might,  even  in  a  credu- 
lous age,  have  somewhat  diminislied  the  wonder 
which  accompanied  the  conception  of  Gilli-Doir- 
Magrevollich. 

"  There  is  hot  two  myles  from  Inverloghie,  the 
church  of  Kilmalee,  in  Loghyeld.  In  ancient  times 
there  was  ane  church  builded  upon  ane  hill,  which 
was  above  this  church,  which  doeth  now  stand  in 
tills  toune;  and  ancient  men  doeth  say,  that  there 
was  a  battel  foughten  on  ane  little  hill  not  the  tenth 
part  of  a  myle  from  this  church,  be  certaine  men 
which  they  did  not  know  what  they  were.  And 
long  time  thereafter,  certaine  herds  of  that  toune, 
and  of  the  next  toune,  called  Unnatt,  both  wenches 
and  youtlies,  did  on  a  tyme  conveen  with  others 
on  that  hill;  and  the  day  being  somewhat  cold,  did 
gather  the  bones  of  the  dead  men  that  were  slayne 


172 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


long  time  before  in  ihat  place,  and  did  make  a  tire 
to  warm  them.  Al  last  tliey  dicf  all  remove  from 
the  fire,  except  one  maid  or  wench,  whicjj  was  ve- 
rie  cold,  and  she  diil  remain  there  for  a  space. 
She  being  iiuveilie  her  alone,  wiihout  any  other 
companie,  took  up  licr  clothes  al)Ove  her  knees, 
or  thereby,  to  warm  her;  a  wind  did  come  and 
caste  the  ashes  upon  her.  and  she  was  conceived 
of  ane  man-child.  Several  tymes  thereafter  she 
was  verie  sick,  and  at  last  slie  was  knowne  to  be 
■with  chyld.  And  then  lier  parents  did  ask  at  her 
the  jmatter  heiroff,  wiiich  the  wench  could  not  weel 
answer  wliich  way  to  satisfie  tliem.  At  last  she  re- 
solved them  with  ane  answer.  As  fortune  fell  up- 
on her  concerning  this  marvellous  miracle,  the 
chyld  being  borne,  his  name  was  called  Gili-doiv 
MaghrevoUch;  that  is  to  say,  the  black  ddld,  so7i 
to  the  bums.  So  called,  his  grandfather  sent  him 
to  school,  and  so  he  was  a  gooil  schollar,  and  godlie. 
He  did  build  this  churcli  which  doeth  now  stand 
in  Lochyeld,  called  Kilmalie." — MAtP.4.RLANE, 
ut  snpra,  ii,  188. 

4.  Yet  ne'er  iigain  to  braiil  her  hail" 

The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear.— P.   137. 

The  snood,  or  ribbon,  with  which  a  Scottish 
lass  braided  her  hair,  liad  an  emblematical  signi- 
fication, and  applied  to  her  maiden  character.  It 
■was  exchanged  for  the  curch,  toy,  or  coif,  when 
she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the  matron  state. 
But  if  the  damsel  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose 
pretensions  to  the  name  of  maiden,  without  gain- 
ing a  right  to  that  of  matron,  she  was  neither  per- 
mitted to  use  the  snood,  nor  advance  to  tlie  graver 
dignity  of  the  curcli.  In  old  Scottish  songs  there 
occur  many  sly  allusions  to  sucii  misfortune,  as  in 
the  old  words  to  tiie  [)opular  tune  of  "  Ower  the 
rauir  amang  the  heather." 

Down  amang;  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie. 

The  lassie  lost  her  silken  snood. 
That  gard  her  greet  till  she  was  wearie. 


5.  The  desert  g.ive  him  visions  wild, 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.— P.  137. 

In  adopting  the  legend  concerning  the  birth  of 
the  founder  of  the  church  of  Kilmalie,  the  author 
has  endeavoured  to  trace  the  effects  which  such  a 
belief  was  likely  to  produce,  in  a  barbarous  age, 
on  the  person  to  whom  it  related.  It  seems  likelv 
that  he  must  have  become  a  fanatic  or  an  impostor, 
or  that  mixture  of  both  which  forms  a  more  fre- 
quent character  than  either  of  them,  as  existing 
separately.  In  truth,  mad  persons  are  frequently 
more  anxious  to  impress  u])on  others  a  faith  in 
their  visions,  than  they  are  themselves  confirmed 
in  their  reality:  as,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  difficult 
for  the  most  cool-headed  impostor  long  to  person- 
ate an  enthusiast,  without  in  some  degree  believing 
■what  he  is  so  eager  to  have  believed.  It  was  a  na- 
tural attribute  of  such  a  character  as  tlie  sn|)poscd 
hermit,  that  he  should  credit  the  numerous  super- 
stitions with  whicli  the  minds  of  ordinary  highland- 
ers  are  almost  always  embued.  A  (nw  of  these 
are  slightly  alluded  to  in  this  stanza.  The  river 
demon,  or  river-horse,  for  it  is  that  form  which 
he  commonly  assumes,  is  the  kelpy  of  the  low- 
lands, an  evil  and  malicious  spirit,  delighting  to 
forbode  and  to  witness  calamity.  He  frequents 
most  highland  lakes  and  rivers:  and  one  of  his 
most  memorable  exploits  was  performed  iqjon 
the  bank  of  Loch  Vennachar,  in  the  very  district 


in  the  destruction  of  a  funeral  procession,  with  all 
its  attendants.  'l1ie  "noontide  hag,"  called  in  tiae- 
lic  fflas-lic/i,  a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic  female 
figure, is  supposed  in  particidarto  liiiunt  the  district 
of  Knoidart.  A  goiilin  dressed  in  antique  armour, 
and  having  one  liand  covered  with  blood,  called, 
trom  that  circumstance,  JJiavi-cleanr,  or  red-hand, 
is  a  tenant  of  the  forests  ol'  Glenmore  and  Kothie- 
murcus.  Other  spirits  of  the  desert,  all  frightful  in 
shape  and  malignant  in  disposition,  are  believed 
to  frequent  ditterent  mountains  and  glens  of  the 
highlands,  where  any  unusual  appearance,  pro- 
duced by  mist,  or  the  strange  lights  that  are  some- 
times thrown  upon  particular  objects,  never  fails 
to  present  an  apparition  to  the  imagination  of  the 
solitary  and  melancholy  mountaineer. 

6.  The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream.— P.  137. 

Most  great  families  in  the  highlands  were  sup- 
posed to  have  a  tutelar,  or  rather  a  domestic  spirit, 
attached  to  them,  who  took  an  interest  in  their 
prosperity,  and  intimated,  by  its  wailings,  an  ap- 
proaching disaster.  That  of  Gi'ant  of  Grant  was 
called  May  Jlfollach,  and  appeared  in  the  form 
of  a  girl,  who  had  her  arm  covered  with  hair. 
Grant  of  Rothiemurcus  had  an  attendant  called 
Bo/lach-an-dun,  or  the  ghost  of  the  hill;  and  many 
other  examples  might  be  mentioned.  The  Ban- 
Schie*  implies  a  female  fairy,  whose  lamentations 
were  often  supposed  to  precede  I  he  death  of  a  chief- 
tain of  i)articular  families.  When  she  is  visible,  it  is 
in  the  form  of  an  old  woman,  with  a  blue  mantle  and 
streaming  hair.  A  superstition  of  the  same  kind  is, 
I  believe,  universally  received  by  the  inferior  ranks 
of  the  native  Irish. 

The  death  of  the  head  of  a  highland  family  is 
also  sometimes  supposed  to  be  announced  by  a 
chain  of  lights  of  different  colours,  called  Dr^evg, 
or  death  of  the  druid.  The  direction  which  it 
takes  marks  the  place  of  the  funeral. 


7.  Soiuids,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast. 
Of  charging  stet-ils,  caietriiig  fast 
Along  jbt-nliarrow's  shingly  side, 
Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  might  ride. — P.  137 

A  presage  of  the  kind  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is 
still  believed  to  announce  death  to  the  ancient 
highland  family  of  M'Lean,  of  Lochbuy.  The 
spirit  of  anancestor  slain  in  battle,  is  heard  to  gal- 
lop along  a  stony  bank,  and  then  to  ride  thrice 
around  the  family  residence,  ringing  his  fairy  bri- 
dle, and  thus  intimating  the  approaching  calamit)-. 
How  easily  the  eye  as  well  as  the  ear  may  be  de- 
ceived upon  such  occasions,  is  evident  from  the 
stories  of  armies  in  the  air,  and  other  spectral  phe- 
nomena with  which  history  abounds.  Such  an  ap- 
parition is  said  to  have  been  witnessed  upon  tlie 
side  of  Southfell  mountain,  between  Penrith  and 
Keswick,  upon  the  '■23d  June,  174-i,  by  two  persons, 
VVilliam  Lancaster  of  Blakehills,  and  Daniel 
Stricket  his  servant,  whose  attestation  to  the  fact, 
with  a  full  account  of  the  apparition,  dated  the  21st 
July,  1785,  is  printed  in  Clark's  Survey  of  the 
Lakes.  The  apparition  consisted  of  several  troops 
of  horse  moving  in  regular  order,  with  a  steady 
rapid  motion,  making  a  curved  sweep  around  the 
fell,  and  seeming  to  the  spectators  to  disajipear 
over  the  ridge  of  the  mouutain.  JVlany  persons 
witnessed  this  phenomenon,  aud  observed  the  last, 
or  last  but  one,  of  the  supposed  troop,  occasionally 


In  the  fii-st  edition,  this  was  erroneously  explained 
which  forms  the   scene  of  our  action:  It  consisted  j  as  equivalent  to  Ben  Schichian,  or  the  head  of  the  fairiei. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


173 


leave  his  rank,  and  pass  at  a  gallop  to  the  front,  turned  upon  the  single  principle  of  famil}-  descent: 
■when  he  resumed  the  same  steady  pace.  This  cu-  [  "  May  his  ashes  be  scattered  on  the  water,"  was 
rious  appearance,  making  the  necessary  allowance  '  one  of  the  deepest  and  most  solemn  imprecations 
for  imagination,  may  be  perhaps  sufficiently  ac-   which  they  used  against  an  enemy. 

counted  for  by  optical  deception. — Sui'vei/  of  the  '  9.  tlie  dun  deers  hide 

Lakes, -p.  Co.  I  On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied.— P.  138. 

Supernatural  intimations  of  approaching  fate  are  rj,^^  present  brogue  of  the  highlanders  is  made 
not,  1  believe,  confined  to  highland  families.  How-  of  half-dried  leather,  with  holes  to  admit  and  let 
ell  mentions  having  seen  at  a  lapidary's,  in  1632,  ^^^  [^^^  water;  for  walking  the  moors  dry-shod,  is 
a  monumental  stone,  prepared  for  four  persons  of  ^  „^aj,gj.  altogether  out  of  question.  The  ancient 
the  name  of  Osenham,  before  the  death  of  each  ot  {jy^i^jf,  ^,.^5  stm  ^uder,  being  made  of  undress- 
•whom,  the  inscription  stated  a  white  bird  to  have  :  ^^  jger's  hide,  w  ith  the  hair  outwards,  a  circum- 
appeared  and  fluttered  around  the  bed,  while  the  g^j^^pg  y^rh\^\^  procured  the  hia;hl:inders  the  well- 
patient  was  in  the  last  a^ony. —Fariiihar  Letters,  ]^^^^y^  epithet  of  i?ef&/»i?iA .?.  ""The  pi-ocess  is  very 
edi'.  1726,  p.  247.  GlanviUe  mentions  one  tamily, ,  gccm-atelv  described  bv  one  Elder  (liimself  ahigh- 
the  members  of  which  received  this  solemn  sign  [  ^^^^^,^,^  j^  jl^^  pip^f  foj.  ^  ^inj^r,  between  England 
by  nusic,  the  sound  of  which  floated  from  tlie  fa-  ^^^^^j  gcoH.jnd,  addressed  to  Henrv  VIII. 
mily  residence,  and  seemed  to  (he  in  a  neighbour-  .  u  ^Vg  go  a  hunting;;  and  after  that  we  have  slain 
ing  vood;  another,  that  of  captain  Wood  of  Bamp-  j^.^^  ^^^j,^  ^^.^  ^.^y.  offt^g  g^jn  bv  and  by,  and  set- 
ton,  to  whom  the  signal  was  given  by  knocking.  :  ^no- of  our  bare-foot  oii  tlie  inside  thereof,  for  wan 


But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  kind,  oc- 
curs  in  the  MS.  memoirs  of  lady  Fanshaw,  so  ex- 
emplary for  her  conjugal  affection.  Her  husband, 
sir  !Xichard,  and  she,  chanced,  during  their  abode 
inI"eland,to  visit  a  friend,  the  head  of  a  sept,  who 
resided  in  his  ancient  baronial  castle,  suiTOunded 
wit'i  a  mo.at.  At  midnight,  she  was  awakened  by 
a  ghastly  and  supernatural  scream,  and  looking 
out  of  bed,  beheld,  by  the  moonlight,  a  female  face 
and  part  of  the  form,  hovering  at  the  window.  The 
distance  from  tlie  ground,  as  well  as  the  circura- 
Btance  of  the  moat,  excluded  the  possibility  tliat 
vhat  she  beheld  was  of  this  world.  The  face  was 
t\at  of  a  young  and  ratlier  handsome  woman,  but 
pule,  and  the  hair,  which  was  reddish,  loose  and 
lishevelled.  The  dress,  which  lady  Fanshaw's 
:error  did  not  prevent  her  remarking  accuratelj', 
was  that  of  the  ancient  Irish.  This  apparition  con- 
tinued to  exhibit  itself  for  some  time,  and  then 
vanished  w  ith  two  siirieks  similar  to  that  which 
had  first  excited  lady  Fanshaw's  attention.  In  the 
morning,  with  infinite  terror,  she  communicated 
to  her  host  what  she  had  witnessed,  and  found  him 
prepared  not  only  to  credit,  but  to  account  for  the 
apparition.  "  A  near  relation  of  my  family,"  said 
he,  "expired  last  night  ill  this  castle.  We  disguis- 
ed our  certain  expectation  of  tlie  event  from  you, 
lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud  over  the  cheerful  re- 
ception which  was  your  due.  Now,  before  such 
an  event  happens  in  this  family  and  castle,  the  fe- 
male spectre  whom  you  have  seen  always  is  visi- 
ble. She  is  believed  to  be  the  spirit  of.a  woman 
of  inferior  rank,  whom  one  of  my  ancestors  de- 
graded himself  by  marrying,  and  wliom  afterwards, 
to  expiate  the  dishonour  done  liis  family,  he  caused 
to  be  drowned  in  the  castle-moat." 

8.  Whose  parent'!  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave 

Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave.— P.  133. 
Inch-Cailliach,  the  Isle  of  Nuns,  or  of  Old  Wo- 
men, is  a  most  beautiful  island  at  the  lower  extre- 
mity of  Loch-Lomond.  The  church  belonging  to 
the  former  nunnery  was  long  used  as  a  place  of 
worship  for  the  parish  of  Buchanan,  but  scarce  any 
vestiges  of  it  now  remain.  The  burial  ground  con- 
tinues to  be  used,  and  contains  the  family  places 
of  sepulture  of  several  neighbouring  clans.  The 
monuments  of  tlie  lairds  of  Macgregor,  and  of  other 
families,  claiming  a  descent  from  the  old  Scottish 
king  Alpine,  are  most  remarkable.  The  high- 
landers  are  as  jealous  of  their  rights  of  sepulture, 
as  may  be  expected  from  a  people  whose  whole 
laws  and  government,  if  clanship  can  be  called  so. 


of  cunning  shoemakers,  by  your  grace's  pardon, 
we  play  the  coblcrs,  compassing  and  measuring  so 
mueli  thereof,  as  shall  reach  up  to  our  ancles,  prick- 
ing the  upper  part  thereof  with  holes,  that  the  wa- 
ter may  repass  where  it  enters,  and  stretching  it 
up  witii  a  strong  thong  of  the  same  above  our  said 
ancles.  So,  and  please  your  noble  grace,  we  make 
our  shoes.  Therefore,"  we  using  such  manner  of 
shoes,  the  rough  hairy  side  outwards,  in  your 
grace's  dominions  of  England,  we  be  called  rough- 
footed  Scots." — PiNKERTOx's  History,  vol.  ii,  p. 
397. 

lu.  The  dismal  eoronaeh.— P.  139. 
The  coronach  of  the  highlanders,  like  the  ulu- 
latus  of  the  Romans,  and  the  uliiloo  of  the  Irish, 
was  a  wild  expression  of  lamentation,  poured  firth 
by  the  mourners  over  the  body  of  a  departed  friend. 
When  the  words  of  it  were  articulate,  they  ex- 
pressed the  praises  of  the  deceased,  and  the  loss 
the  clan  would  sustain  by  his  death.  The  follow- 
ing is  a  lamentation  of  thi»  kind,  literally  trans- 
lated from  the  Gaelic,  to  some  of  the  ideas  of 
which  the  text  stands  indebted.  The  tune  is  so 
popular,  that  it  has  since  become  the  war-march, 
or  gathering  of  the  clan. 

Corouach  on  sir  Lauchlau,  chief  of  Maclean. 

Which  of  all  the  Senachies 

Cau  tiaee  thy  line  from  the  root,  up  to  paradise, 

But  Macvuii'ih,  the  sun  of  Ferfjusr 

Xo  sooner  had  thine  ancient  stately  tree 

Taken  firm  root  in  Albion, 

Than  one  of  thy  forefathers  fell  at  Harlaw.— 

'  Fsvas  then  we  lost  a  chief  of  deathless  name! 

'Tis  no  base  weed— no  planted  tree. 

Nor  a  seedling  of  last  autuiuu; 

Nor  a  sapliii  planted  at  Beluiin;* 

Wide,  wide  around  were  spread  its  lofty  branches— 

B\it  the  topmo^t  bough  is  lowly  laidi 

Thou  hast  forsaken  us  before  Sawaine.t 

Thy  dwelling  i.=  the  winter  house;— 

I.ot'id,  sad,  and  mighty  is  thy  death  song! 

Oh!  courteous  champion  of  .Montrose! 

01>!  stately  warrior  of  the  Celtic  Isles! 

Thou  shalt  buckle  tliy  harness  on  no  more! 

The  coronach  has  for  some  years  past  been  super- 
seded at  funerals  by  the  use  of  the  bag-pipe;  and 
thai  also  is,  like  m.iny  otlier  highland  peculiarities, 
falling  into  disuse  unless  in  remote  districts. 
11.  Benledi  saw  the  cross  of  fire. 

It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire.— P.  139. 
A  glance  at  the  provincial  map  of  Perthshire,  or 
•  Bel's  fire,  or  Whitsunday.  f  Halloween. 


174 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS- 


at  any  large  map  of  Scotland,  will  trace  the  pro-       "  When  all  was  over,  and  I  had,  at  least  seem- 

grcss  ot  the  signal  through  the  sm.-ill  district  of  ingly,  reconciled  them,  I  was  told  the  words,  of 

hikes  and  mountains,  which,  in  exercise  of  my  po-  w  Inch  I  seemed  to  think  hut  slightly,  were,  to  one 

etical  privilege,  [  have  subjected  to  the  autiiority  orihe  clan,  the  greatest  of  all  provocations. "-  IM- 
ol  my  imaginary  chieftain;  and  wiiich,  at  tlie  \^ii-\ters  from  the  JVorth  of  .Scotland,  vol.  ii,  p.  221. 
riod  ot  my  i-omance,  was  really  occupied  l)y  a  clan 
wiio  claimed  a  descent  from   Alpine,  a  clan  the 


most  unfortunate,  and  most  persecuted,  but  nei- 
ther the  least  distinguished,   least  powerful,  nor 
least  brave,  of  the  tribes  of  the  Gael. 
Sliocli  nor  lioKhridh  ducliaisach 
Blia-shios  an  Uiiii-Staiobliiiusli 
Aig  An  roubh  crun  na  Malba  othus 
'Stag  a  cheil  iluehas  fust  ris. 
The  first  stage  of  the  fiery  cross  is  to  Dun- 
craggan,  a  place  near  the  Brigg  of  Turk,  wliere  a 
short  stream  divides  Locii-Achray  from  l>och-Ven- 
nachar.  From  thence,  it  passes  towards  Calleuder, 
and  tiien  turning  to  tiic  left  up  the  pass  of  Lennie,  is 
consigned  to  Norman  at  the  chapel  of  St.  Bride, 
which  stood  on  a  small  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle 
of  tlie  valley,  called  Strath-Ire.  Tombea  an<l  Arnan- 
daye,  or  Armandave,  are  names  of  places  in  the 
vicinity.    The  alarm  is  then  supposed  to  pass  along 
the  lake  of  Lubnaig,  and  through  the  various  glens 
iti  the  district  of  Balquidder,  including  the  neigh- 
bouring tracts  of  Glenfinlas  and  Strath-Gartney. 

12.  Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 

Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze.— P.  140. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  southern  read- 
er, that  the  heath  on  the  Scottisli  moor-lands  is 
often  set  fire  to,  that  the  sheep  m.ay  have  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  young  herbage  produced  in  room 
of  the  tough  old  heather  plants.  This  custom  (exe- 
crated by  sportsmen)  produces  occasionally  the 
most  beautiful  nocturnal  appearances,  similar  al- 
most to  the  discharge  of  a  volcano.  The  simile  is 
not  new  to  poetry.  The  charge  of  a  warrior,  in 
th;;  fine  ballad  of  Hardyknute,  is  said  to  be  "  like 
a  fire  to  heather  set." 

13.  by  his  chieftain's  hand. — P.  141. 

The  deep  and  implicit  respect  paid  by  the  high- 
land clansmen  to  their  chief,  rendered  this  both  a 
common  and  a  solemn  oath.  In  other  respects, 
they  were  like  most  savage  nations,  capricious  in 
theirideasconcerningtheobligatory  power  of  oaths. 
Due  solemn  mode  of  swearing  was  by  kissing  the 
dirk,  imprecating  upon  themselves  death  by  that, 
or  a  similar  weapon,  if  they  broke  their  vow.  But 
for  oaths  in  the  usual  form,  they  are  said  to  have 
had  little  respect.  As  for  the  reverence  due  to  the 
chief,  it  may  be  guessed  from  the  following  odd 
example  of  the  highland  point  of  lionour: 

"The  clan  whereto  the  aboveraentioned  tribe 
helongs,  is  the  only  one  I  have  heard  of,  which  is 
\\ithout  a  chief;  that  is,  being  divided  into  fami- 
lies, under  several  chieftains,  without  any  particu- 
lar patriarch  of  the  whole  name.  And  this  is  a 
great  reproach,  as  may  appear  from  an  aftair  tiiat 
tell  out  at  my  table,  in  the  highlands,  between  one 
of  that  name  and  Cameron.  The  provocation  giv- 
en by  the  latter  was — name  your  chief. — The  re- 
turn of  it,  at  once,  was, — You  are  a  fool.  They 
went  out  next-morning,  but,  having  eai-ly  notice  of 
it,  1  sent  a  small  party  of  soldiers  after  them, 
wliich,  in  all  probability,  prevented  some  barba- 
rous mischief  that  might  have  ensued;  for  the 
chiefless  highlander,  who  is  himself  a  petty  chief- 
tain, was  going  to  the  place  appointed  with  a  small 
sword  and  pistol,  whereas  the  Cameron  (an  old 
man)  took  with  him  only  his  broad-swordj  accord- 
inn;  to  aweement. 


14.  Coir-nan-Uriskin.— P.  141. 

This  is  a  very  steej)  and  most  romantic  hollow 
in  the  mountain  of  Ben-veime,  overhanging  the 
south-eastern   extremity    of  Loch-Katrine.     It  is 
surrounded  witii  stupendous  rocks,  and  oversiia- 
dowed  with  birch-trees,  mingled  with  oaks,  the 
spontaneous   production   of  (lie    mountain,    even 
where  its  cliffs  appear  denuded  of  soil.  A  dale  in 
so  wild  a  situation,  and  amid  a  people  whose  ge- 
nius borilcred  on  the  romantic,   did  not  reiuain 
without  appropriate  deities.    The  name  litcially 
implies  the  Corri,  or  Den  of  the  Wild  or  SliEggy 
Men.  Perhaps  this,  as  coijectured  bj'  Mr.  Alexan- 
der Campbell,*^  may  have  originally  only  imiiied 
its  being  the  haunt  of  a  ferocious  banditti.  Buttra- 
diiion  has  ascribed  to  the  Urisl-,  who  gives  nume 
to  the  cavern,  a  figure  between  a  goat  and  a  nan; 
in  short,  however  much  the  classical  reader  nay 
be  startled,  precisely  that  of  the  Grecian   sttyr. 
The  L^m^' seems  not  to  have  inherited,  with  the 
form,  the  petulance  of  the  sylvan  deity  of  the  clas- 
sics: his  occupations,  on  the  contrary,  resembled 
those  of  Milton's  Lubber  Fiend,  or  of  the  Scotfsh 
Brownie,  though  he  differed  from  both  in  naaie 
and  appearance.     "The   Urisks,"  says  Dr.  Gia- 
ham,  "  were  a  sort  of  lubberly  supernaturals,  who, 
like  the  Brownies,  could  be  gained  over  by  kinj 
attention,  to  perform  the  drudgery  of  the  farm, 
and  it  was  believed  that  many  of  the  families  it 
the  highlands  had  one  of  the  order  attached  to  it. 
They  were  supposed  to  be  dispersed  over  the  high- 
lands, each  in  his  own  wild  recess,  but  the  solemn 
stated  meetings  of  the  order  were  regularly  held 
in  tliis  cave  of  Ben-venue.    This  current  supersti- 
tion, no  doubt,  alludes  to  some  circumstance  in  the 
ancient  history  of  this  country." — Scenery  on  the 
Southern  confines  of  Perthshire,  1806,  p.  19. 

It  must  be  owned  that  tlie  coir,  or  den,  does  not, 
in  its  present  state,  meet  our  ideas  of  a  subterra- 
neous grotto,  or  cave,  being  only  a  small  and  nar- 
row cavity,  among  huge  fragments  of  rocks  rudely 
piled  together.  But  such  a  scene  is  liable  to  con- 
vulsions of  nature,  which  a  lowlander  connot  esti- 
mate, and  which  may  have  choaked  up  wiiat  was 
originally  a  cavern.  At  least  the  name  and  tradi- 
tion authorize  the  author  of  a  fictitious  tale  to  as- 
sert its  having  been  such  at  the  remote  period  in 
whicti  the  scene  is  laid. 

IS. —the  wild  pass  of  Beal-nara-bo.— P.  141. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  or  the  pass  of  cattle,  is  a  most 
magnificent  glade,  overhung  with  aged  birch-trees, 
a  little  higher  up  the  mountain  than  the  Coir-nan- 
Uriskin,  treated  of  in  the  last  note.  The  whole 
composes  the  most  sublime  piece  of  scenery  that 
imagination  can  conceive. 

15.  A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword. 
Alone  attended  on  his  lord. — P.  141. 
A  highland  chief,  being  as  absolute  in  his  pa- 
triarchal authority  as  any  prince,  had  a  corres- 
ponding number  of  officers  attaciied  to  his  person. 
He  had  his  body-guards,  called  luicht-tach,  picked 
from  his  clan  for  strength,  activity,  and  entire  de- 
votion to  his  person.  These,  according  to  their 
deserts,  were  sure  to  share  abundantly  in  the  rude 
profusion  of  his  hospitality.     It  is  recorded,  for 


'  Journey  from  Edinburgh,  1802,  p.  109. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


175 


example,  by  tradition,  that  Allan  Maclean,  chief 
of  that  clan,  happened  upon  a  time  to  hear  one  of 
these  favourite  retainers  observe  to  his  comrade, 
that  their  chief  grew  old — "  Whence  do  you  infer 
that'"  replied  the  other.  "  When  was  it,"  i-ejoin- 
ed  the  first,  "  that  a  soldier  of  Allans  was  obliged, 
as  I  am  now,  not  oidy  to  eat  the  flesh  from  this 
bone,  but  even  to  tear  off  the  inner  skin,  or  fila- 
ment?" The  hint  was  quite  sufficient,  and  Mac- 
lean next  morning,  to  relieve  his  followers  from 
such  dire  necessity,  undertook  an  inroad  on  the 
mainland,  the  ravage  of  which  altogetlier  effaced 
the  memory  of  his  former  expeditions  for  the  like 
purpose. 

Our  officer  of  engineers,  so  often  quoted,  has 
given  us  a  distinct  list  of  the  domestic  officers  who, 
independent  oi  Luicht-tach,  or  gardes  dii  corps,he- 
longed  to  the  establishment  of  a  highland  chief. 
These  are,  1.  The  Hench-man.  See  tiiese  notes, 
p.  169.  2.  The  Bard.  See  p.  164.  3.  Bladier,  or 
spokesman.  4.  GilUe-more,  or  sword-bearer,  al- 
luded to  in  the  text.  5.  Gillie-casjlue,  who  carried 
the  chief,  if  on  foot,  over  the  fords.  6.  Gi'Ue-com- 
straine,v>ho  leads  the  chief's  horse.  7.  Gtllie-tni- 
shanari)ish,  tlie  baggage  man.  8.  The  piper.  9. 
The  piper's  gillie,  or  attendant,  who  carries  the 
bagpipe.*  Although  this  appeared,  naturally 
enough,  very  ridiculous  to  an  English  officer,  who 
considered  the  master  of  such  a  retinue  as  no  more 
than  an  English  gentleman  of  500/.  a-year,  yet  in 
the  circumstances  of  the  chief,  whose  strength  and 
importance  consisted  in  the  number  and  attachment 
of  his  followers,  it  was  of  the  last  consequence,  in 
point  of  policy,  to  have  in  his  gift  subordinate  of- 
ficers, which  called  immediately  round  his  person 
those  who  w'ere  most  devoted  to  him,  and,  being 
of  value  in  their  estimation,  were  also  the  means 
of  rewarding  them. 

NOTES  TO  CAXTO  IT. 

1.  The  tag;hainn  called;  by  wliicli,  afar. 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war. — P.  142. 

The  highlanders,  like  all  rude  people,  had  va- 
rious superstitious  modes  of  inquiring  into  futurity. 
One  of  the  most  noted  was  the  taghairm,  mention- 
ed in  the  text.  A  person  was  wrapped  up  in  the 
skin  of  a  newly  slain  bullock,  and  deposited  beside 
a  water-fall,  or  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  or  in 
some  other  strange,  wild,  and  unusual  situation, 
■where  the  sceneiy  around  him  suggested  nothing 
but  objects  of  horror.  In  this  situation,  he  revolved 
in  his  mind  tlie  question  proposed,  and  whatever 
was  impressed  upon  him  by  his  exalted  imagina- 
tion passed  for  the  inspiration  of  the  disembodied 
spirits,  who  haunt  these  desolate  recesses.  In  some 
of  the  Hebrides,  they  attributed  the  same  oracu- 
lar power  to  a  large  black  stone  by  the  sea-shore, 
which  they  approached  with  certain  solemnities, 
and  considered  the  first  fancy  which  came  into 
their  own  minds,  after  they  did  so,  to  be  the  un- 
doubted dictate  of  the  tutelar  deit)'  of  the  stone, 
and  as  such,  to  be,  if  possible,  punctually  com- 
plied with.  Martin  has  recorded  the  following 
curious  modes  of  highland  auguiy,  in  which  the 
taghairm,  and  its  effects  upon  the  person  who 
was  subjected  to  it,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  text. 

"  It  was  an  ordinarj^  thing  among  the  over-cu- 
rious to  consult  an  invisible  oracle,  concerning  the 
fate  of  families  and  battles,  5<c.  This  was  per- 
formed three  different  ways:  the  first  was  by  a 


company  of  men,  one  of  whom,  being  detached  by 
lot,  was  afterwards  carried  to  a  river,  whicii  was 
the  boundary  between  two  villages;  four  of  the 
company  laid  hold  on  him,  and,  having  shut  his 
eyes,  they  took  him  by  the  legs  and  arms,  and 
then  tossing  him  to  and  again,  struck  his  hips 
with  force  against  the  bank.  One  of  them  cried 
out,  What  is  it  you  have  got  here?  another  an- 
swers, A  log  of  birch-wood.  The  other  cries  again. 
Let  his  invisible  friends  appear  from  all  quarters, 
and  let  them  relieve  him  by  giving  an  answer  to 
our  present  demands:  and  in  a  few  minutes  after, 
a  number  of  little  creatures  came  from  the  sea, 
who  answered  the  question,  and  disappeared  sud- 
denly. The  man  was  then  set  at  liberty,  and  tliey 
all  returned  home,  to  take  their  measui-es  accord- 
ing to  the  prediction  of  their  false  prophets;  but 
the  poor  deluded  fools  were  abused,  for  their  an- 
swer was  still  ambiguous.  This  was  always  prac- 
tised in  the  night,  and  may  liter.ally  be  called  the 
works  of  darkness. 

"  I  had  an  account  from  the  most  intelligent 
and  judicious  men  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  that  about 
sixty-two  years  ago,  the  oracle  was  thus  consult- 
ed only  once,  and  that  was  in  the  parish  of  Kil- 
martifl,  on  the  east  side,  by  a  wicked  and  mis- 
chievous race  of  people,  who  are  now  extinguisli- 
ed,  both  root  and  branch. 

"The  second  way  of  consulting  the  oracle  was 
by  a  party  of  men,  who  first  retired  to  solitary 
places,  remote  from  any  house,  and  there  they  sin- 
gled out  one  of  their  number,  and  wrapt  him  in  a  big 
cow's  hide,  which  they  folded  about  him;  his  whole 
body  was  covered  with  it  except  his  head,  and  so 
left  in  this  posture  all  night,  until  his  invisible 
friends  relieved  him,  by  giving  a  proper  answer 
to  the  question  in  hand;  vWiich  he  received,  as  he 
fancied,  from  several  persons  that  he  found  about 
him  all  that  time.  His  consorts  returned  to  him 
at  the  break  of  day,  and  then  he  communicated 
his  news  to  them;  which  often  proved  fatal  to  those 
concerned  in  such  unwarrantable  inquiries. 

"  There  w  as  a  third  way  of  consulting,  which 
was  a  confirmation  of  the  second  above  mentioned. 
Tlie  same  company  who  put  the  man  into  the  hide, 
took  a  live  cat  and  put  him  on  a  spit;  one  of  the 
number  was  employed  to  turn  the  spit,  and  one  ol 
his  consorts  inquired  of  him,  what  are  you  doing' 
he  answered,  I  roast  this  cat,  until  his  friends  an- 
swer the  question;  which  must  be  the  same  that 
was  proposed  fcy  the  man  shut  up  in  the  hide.  And 
afterwards  a  very  big  cat*  comes,  attended  by  a 
number  of  lesser  cats,  desiring  to  relieve  the  cat 
turned  upon  the  spit,  and  then  answers  the  ques- 
tion. If  this  answer  proved  the  same  that  was  given 
to  the  man  in  the  hide,  then  it  was  taken  as  a  con- 
firmation of  the  other,  which,  in  this  case,  was  be- 
lieved infallible. 

"  Mr.  Alexander  Cooper,  present  minister  of 
Xorth-Visit,  told  me  tliat  one  John  Erach,  in  the 
Isle  of  Lewis,  assured  him,  it  was  liis  fitte  to  have 
been  led  by  his  curiosity  with  some  w  ho  consulted 
this  oracle,  and  that  he  was  a  nigiit  within  the  hide, 
as  above  mentioned;  during  which  time  he  felt  and 
heard  such  terrible  things,  that  he  could  not  ex- 
press them;  the  impression  it  made  on  him  was 
such  as  could  never  go  off,  and  he  said  for  a  thou- 
sand worlds  he  would  never  again  be  concerned 
in  the  like  performance,  for  this  had  disordered 


*_I.etters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii,  p.  15. 


*  The  reader  may  have  met  with  the  stoi7of  the  "  King 
of  the  Cats,"  in  lord  Lyttleton's  Letters.  It  is  well  known 
in  the  highlands  as  a  nursery  tale. 


176 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


him  to  a  liigh  (lcn;ree.   He  confessed  it  ingenuous-       The  raven  mis^lit  also  challenge  his  rights  hy  the 

ly,  anil  with  an  air  of  great  remorse,  and  seemed   hook  of  saint  Albans;  for  thus  says  dame  Juliana 

to  be  very  penitent  under  a  just  sense  of  so  great  Berners: — 

a  crime;  he  declared  this  about  five  years  since,  —  Slitteth  anon 

and  is  still  living  in  tlie  Lewis  for  any  thing  1 

know." — Description  of  the  Western  Isles,  p.  110. 

See  also  I'ennanfs  Scottish  Tour,  vol.  ii,  p.  361. 


2.  The  choicest  of  tlic  pi-cy  we  haiL 

Wlu-ii  swept  our  nierrj-iiien  Gallangad.— P.  142. 
I  know  not  if  it  be  worth  observing,  that  this  pas- 
sage is  taken  almost  literally  from  the  mouth  of 
an  old  highland  Kerne,  or  Ketteran,  as  they  were 
called.  He  used  to  narrate  the  merry  doings  of 
the  good  old  lime  when  he  was  follower  of  llob 
Jioy  .Macgrcgor.  This  leader,  on  one  occasion, 
tiioughl  proper  to  make  a  descent  upon  the  low- 
er part  of  the  Loch-Lomond  district,  and  summon- 
ed all  the  heritors  and  farmers  to  meet  at  the  kirk 
of  IJrymen,  to  jjay  hiin  black-mail,  i.  e.  tribute  for 


The  bely  to  the  side  from  tlie  corbyn  bone; 
'I'hat  is  corbin's  fee,  at  the  deatli  lie  will  be. 
Jonson,  in  "The  Sad  Shepherd,"  gives  a  more 
poetical  account  of  the  same  ceremony: 
Marian.— Hti  that  undoes  him. 
Doth  cleave  the  brisket  bone,  upon  the  spoon 
Of  which  a  little  pristle  grows— you  call  it— 
Rol/iii  Hoorl.—T\w  '    ' 

Marian.- 


•  raven's  bone. 
-Now  o'er  liead  sat  a  raven 


Oil  a  sere  bou^h,  a  (jrowii,  great  l)ird  and  hoarse, 
Who,  all  the  time  the  deer  was  breaking  up, 
So  croaked  and  cried  for  it,  as  all  the  huntsmen, 
Kspecially  old  Seathlocke,  thought  it  ominous. 
5.  Which  Spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 
That  party  conquers  in  the  strife.— P.  143. 
Though  this  he  in  tlie  text  described  as  a  re- 
sponse of  the  taghairm,  or  Oracle  of  the  Hide,  it 
forbearance  and  protection.  As  this  invitation  was  M^^s  of  itself  an  augury  frequently  attended  to. 


supported  by  a  band  of  thirty  or  forty  stout  fellows, 
only  one  gentleman,  an  ancestor^  if  I  mistake  not, 
of  tlie  present  Mr.  Graliame,  of  Gartmore,  ven- 
tured to  decline  compliance.  Itob  Roy  instantly 
swept  his  land  of  all  he  could  drive  away,  and 
among  the  spoil  was  a  bull  of  the  old  Scottish  wild 
breed,  whose  ferocity  occasioned  great  pleasure  to 
the  Ketterans.  "  But  ere  we  had  reached  the  Row 
of  Dennan,"  said  the  old  man,  "a  child  might 
have  scratched  his  ears."  The  circumstance  is  a 
minute  one,  but  it  paints  the  times  when  the  poor 
beeve  was  compelled 

To  hoof  it  o'er  as  many  wearj"  miles. 

With  goading  pikenieii  hollowing  at  his  heels, 

As  e'er  the  bravest  antler  of  tlie  woods. 

Et/nvald. 

3.  that  huge  cliff,  whose  ample  verge 

Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.— P.  143. 

There  is  a  rock  so  named  in  the  forest  of  Glen- 
finlas,  hy  which  a  tumultuary  cataract  takes  its 
course.  This  wild  place  is  said  in  former  times  to 
have  afforded  refuge  to  an  outlaw,  who  was  sup- 
plied with  provisions  by  a  woman,  who  lowered 
them  down  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  above. 
His  water  he  procured  for  himself  by  letting  down 
a  flagon  tied  to  a  string,  into  the  black  pool  beneath 
the  fall. 

4.  Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak. 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke, 

His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  crojjk.- P.  143. 

Every  thing  belonging  to  the  chase  was  matter 

of  solemnity  among  our  ancestors;  but  nothing  was 

more  so  than  the  mode  of  cutting  up,  or,  as  it  was 

technically  called,  breaking'  the  slaughtered  stag. 


The  fate  of  the  battle  was  often  anticipated  in  the 
imagination  of  the  combatants,  by  observing  which 
party  first  shed  blood.  It  is  said  that  the  high- 
landers  under  Montrose  were  so  deeply  imbued 
with  this  notion,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  battle 
of  Tippermoor,  they  murdered  a  defenceless  herds- 
man, whom  they  found  in  the  fields,  merely  to  se- 
cure an  advantage  of  so  much  consequence  to  their 
party. 

6.  Alice  Brand.— P.  144. 
This  little  fairy  tale  is  founded  upon  a  very  cu- 
rious Danish  ballad,  which  occurs  in  the  Kiempe 
Viser,  a  collection  of  heroic  songs,  first  published 
in  1591,  and  reprinted  in  1695,  inscribed  by  Anders 
Safrensen,  the  collector  and  editor,to  Sophia,queen 
of  Denmark.  I  have  been  favoured  with  a  liteial 
translation  of  the  original,  by  my  learned  friend, 
Mr.  Robert  Jamieson,  whose  deep  knowledge  of 
Scandinavian  antiquities  will,  1  hope,  one  day  be 
displayed  in  illustration  of  the  history  of  Scottish 
balhid  and  song,  for  wliich  no  man  possesses  more 
ample  materials.  The  story  will  remind  tlie  rea- 
ders of  the  Border  Minstrelsy  of  the  tale  of  Young 
Tamlane.  But  this  is  only  a'solitary  and  not  very 
marked  instance  of  coincidence,  whereas  several 
of  the  other  ballads  in  the  same  coUeetion,  find 
exact  counterparts  in  the  Kiempe  Viser.  Which 
may  have  been  the  originals,  will  be  a  question  for 
future  antiquarians.  Mr.  Jamieson,  to  secure  the 
power  of  literal  translation,  has  adopted  the  old 
Scottish  idiom,  which  approaches  so  near  to  that 
of  the  Danish,  as  almost  to  give  word  for  word,  as 
well  as  line  for  line,  and  indeed  in  many  verses 
the  orthography  alone  isalteretl.    As  Wester  Haf, 


The  forester  had  his  allotted  portion;  the  hounds  "-" -i,"^"  .'"  ^""^  "'■; 
had  a  certain  allowance:  and,  to  make  the  division  ;;^*%'^'^«.'  "'  oPI'Of.' 
„„  ,  „„ „„•!  i„    .1       .         Ill     ,',. Mr.  Jamieson  inch 


as  general  as  possible,  the  very  birds  had  their 


mentioned  in  the  first  stanza  ()flheballad,means  the 
ition  to  the  Baltic,  or  jEa*/ .S'ca, 
nes  to  be  of  opinion,  that  the 


111  suiuc  niaucB  a  lavcii  sii  wuiii  aiiu  accustomeo  10    c  l  i'       i  i         »       ^i  <■     > 

it,  that  she  would  never  fail  to  croak  and  cry  f„r :  '"™^f'''  ,•■'''  \°  '?''  •'''"''-'  °'  ^'"^  "'""^'^  '° 
it  all  the  time  you  were  in  breaking  up  of  the  deer  '  n  "  \  '«  subjoined:  this  is  very  common  both  m 
and  would  not  depart  till  she  had  it."  In  the  verv'   "'""''  ''"'^  ^'=""''''  '°"S- 


depart  iiii  sue  iiaii  it.-  in  me  very 
ancient  metrical  romanceof  sir  Trist rem,  that  peer- 
less knight,  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  very  de- 
viser of  all  rules  of  chase,  did  not  omit  this  cere- 
mony:— 

"  The  raven  he  yaf  his  yiftes 
Sat  on  the  fourched  tree." 

Sir  Tristrcm,  2d  ed.  p.  34. 


THE  KLFIN  GRAY. 

Translated  from  the  Danish  Ksempe  Viser,  p.  143, 
and  first  published  in  1591. 

Der  ligger  an  void  i  Vester  Haf, 

Der  (igter  en  bonde  at  bigge: 
Handjui-er  did  baade  hog  og  httnd, 

Og  agter  dor  om  vinteren  at  liggc. 
^De  vilde  diur  og  diurcne  udi  acntvvn.) 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


177 


There  ligg'S  a  wold  in  Wester  Haf, 

There  a  husbande  means  to  bigg, 
And  thither  he  carries  baith  hawk  and  hound, 
There  meaning  the  winter  to  ligg. 
{The  wild  deer  and  daes  V  the  shaw-out.) 
2. 
He  taks  wi'  him  baith  hound  and  cock, 

The  langer  he  means  to  stay, 
The  wild  deer  in  the  shaws  that  are 
May  sairly  rue  the  day. 
{The  wild  deer,  &c.) 
3. 
He's  hewed  the  beech,  and  he's  felled  the  aik, 

Sae  has  he  the  poplar  gi-ay: 
And  grim  in  mood  was  the  grousome  elf, 
That  be  sae  bald  he  may. 
4. 
He  hewed  him  kipples,  lie  hewed  him  bawkj 

Wi'  mickle  moil  and  haste; 
Syne  speered  the  elfin  the  knock  that  bade, 
"Wha's  hacking  here  sae  fast?" 
5. 
Syne  up  and  spak  the  weiest  elf, 

Creaued  es  an  immert  sma: 
"  It's  here  is  come  a  Christian  man 
I'll  fley  him  or  he  ga." 
6. 
It's  up  syne  started  the  firsten  elf,     , 

And  glowred  about  sae  grim: 
"It's  we'll  awa'  to  the  husbande's  house. 
And  hald  a  court  on  him. 
7. 
"  Here  hews  he  down  baith  sktigg  and  sliaw, 

And  wirks  us  skaitli  and  scorn: 
His  huswife  he  shall  gie  (o  me, 
They's  rue  the  day  they  were  bomi" 
8. 
The  elfen  a'  i'  the  knock  that  were 

Gaed  dancing  in  a  string: 
They  nighed  near  the  husbande's  house: 
Sae  laiig  their  tails  did  hing. 
9. 
The  hound  he  yowls  i'  the  yard: 

The  herd  toots  in  his  horn; 
The  earn  scraichs,  and  the  cock  craws. 
As  the  husbande  had  gi'eu  him  his  com.* 
10. 
The  elfen  were  five  score  and  seven, 

Sae  laidly  and  sae  grim; 
And  they  the  husbande's  guests  maun  be. 
To  eat  and  drink  wi'  him. 
11. 
The  husbande  out  o '  Villenshaw 

At  his  ^vinnock  the  elves  can  see; 
"  Help  me,  now,  Jesu,  Mary's  son; 
Thir  elves  they  mint  at  me!" 
12. 
In  every  nook  a  cross  he  coost, 

In  his  chalmer  maist  ava: 
The  elfen  a'  were  fleyed  thereat. 
And  flew  to  the  wild-wood  shaw. 
13. 
And  some  flew  east,  and  some  flew  west. 

And  some  to  the  norwart  flew; 
And  some  they  flew  to  the  deep  dale  dowTi, 
There  still  they  are,  I  trow.t 
14. 
It  was  then  the  weiest  elf. 
In  at  the  door  braids  he; 
Agast  was  the  husbande,  for  that  elf 
For  cross  nor  sign  w  ad  flee. 
15. 
The  huswife  she  was  a  canny  wife. 
She  set  the  elf  at  the  board; 


•  This  singular  quatrain  stands  thus  in  the  original: 
"  Hunden  hand  ^ior  i  gaarden; 

Hiorden  tud^  i  sit  horn; 
CErnen  skriger,  og  hanen  galer, 
Sora  bondeii  hatdd  g^vet  sit  kom." 
+  In  the  Danish: 
"  Sommd  floy^  oster,  og  somm^  floy^  vestei, 

Nogld  flbyd  nor  paa; 
Nogl5  floyd  ned  i  dS'ben^  dald, 
Jeg  troer  de  erd  der  endnu/' 


She  set  afore  him  baith  ale  and  meat, 
Wi'  mony  a  well-waled  word. 
16. 
"  Hear  thou,  Gudeman  o'  Villenshaw, 

What  now  I  say  to  tliee; 
Wha  bade  thee  bigg  within  our  bounds, 
Without  the  leave  o'  me? 
17. 
"  But,  an  thou  in  our  bounds  will  bigg. 

And  bide,  as  well  as  may  be. 
Then  thou  thy  dearest  huswife  maun 
To  me  for  a  lemman  gie." 
18. 
Up  spak  the  luckless  husbande  then. 

As  God  the  grace  him  gae: 
"  Eline  she  is  to  me  sae  dear. 
Her  thou  may  nagate  hae." 
19. 
Till  the  elf  he  answered  as  he  couth: 

"  Lat  but  my  huswife  be, 
And  tak  whate'er  o'  gude  or  gear 
Is  mine,  awa  wi'  thee." 
20. 
"  Then  I'll  thy  Eline  tak,  and  thee 

Aneath  my  feet  to  tread; 
And  hide  thy  goud  and  white  monie 
Aneath  my  dwalling  stead." 
21. 
The  husbande  and  his  household  a' 

In  sary  rede  they  join: 
"  Far  better  that  she  be  now  forfairn. 
Nor  that  we  a"  should  tyue." 
22. 
Up,  will  of  rede,  the  husbande  stood 

Wi'  heart  fu'  sad  and  sair; 
And  he  has  gi'en  his  huswife  Eline 
Wi'  the  young  elf  to  fare. 
23. 
Then  blyth  grew  he,  and  sprang  about; 

He  took  her  in  his  arnj; 
The  rud  it  left  her  comely  cheek; 
Her  heart  was  clemed  wi'  harm. 
24. 
A  waefu'  woman  then  she  was  aiie, 

And  the  moody  tears  loot  fa': 
"  God  rew  on  me,  unseely  wife, 
How  hard  a  wierd  I  fa'! 
25. 
"  My  fay  I  plight  to  the  fairest  wight 

That  man  on  mold  mat  see; 
Maun  I  now  mell  wi'  a  laidly  el. 
His  light  lemman  to  be?" 
26. 
He  minted  ance — he  minted  twice, 
Wae  waxed  her  heart  that  syth; 
Syne  the  laidliest  fiend  he  grew  that  e'er 
To  moital  ee  did  kyth. 
27. 
When  he  the  thirden  time  can  mint. 

To  Marj-'s  son  she  prayed. 
And  the  laidly  elf  was  clean  awa. 
And  a  fair  knight  in  his  stead. 
28. 
This  fell  under  a  linden  green, 

That  again  his  shape  he  found; 
O'  wae  and  care  was  the  word  nae  mair, 
A'  were  sae  glad  that  stound. 
29. 
"  O  dearest  Eline,  hear  thou  this, 

And  thow  my  wife  sal  be. 
And  a'  the  goud  in  nieri-y  England 
Sae  freely  I'll  gie  thee! 
30. 
"  Whan  I  was  a  little  wee  bairn. 

My  mither  died  me  frae; 
My  stepmither  sent  me  awa  frae  her: 
And  turned  till  an  etjiii  gray. 
31. 
"  To  thy  husband  I  a  gift  will  gie, 

Wi'  mickle  state  and  gear. 
As  mendj  for  Eline  his  huswife; 
Thou's  be  my  heaitis  dear." 
32. 
"  Thou  nobil  knvght,  we  thank  now  God 
That  has  freed' us  frae  skaith; 


178 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sae  wfil  tlion  tliCf  a  maiden  free, 

Aud  joy  utlriid  yv  baitli! 
33. 
"  Sj-ne  I  to  thee  na  tnaik  can  be. 

My  dochler  may  br  tliine; 
And  thy  (jud  will  right  to  Tuliil, 

Lat  this  be  our  jirupine." 
34. 
"  I  thank  thee,  Eline,  tlioii  wise  woman; 

My  praise  thy  worth  shall  hae; 
And  thy  love  gin  1  fail  to  win, 

Thou'  here  at  haiue  shall  suy." 
35. 
The  husbande  biijfpt  now  on  his  6e, 

And  nae  ane  wrought  him  wrang; 
His  dochter  wore  crown  in  Engelaud 

And  happy  lived  and  lang. 
36. 
Now  Eline  the  husbandt's  huswife  has 

Cour"d  a'  her  grief  and  harms; 
She's  mither  to  a  noble  queen 

That  sleeps  iu  a  kingis  arms. 


St.  1.  Wold,  a  wood; 
woolly  fastness. 

Husbanfle.,{rom  the  Dan. 
/io.s,  with,  and  bonde, 
a  villain,  orbondsnian, 
who  was  a  cultivator 
of  the  ground,  and 
could  not  quit  the  es- 
tate to  which  he  was 
attached,  without  the 
permission  of  his  lord. 
This  is  the  sense  of 
the  word,  in  the  old 
Scottish  i-ecords.  In 
the  Scottish  "  Burghe 
laws,"  translated  from 
the  Reg.  Majest. 
(Auchinleck  MS.  in 
the  Adv.  Lib.)  it  is 
used  indiscriminately 
with  the  Dan.  and 
Swed.  bonde. 

Bigg,  build. 

Li'^g,  lie. 

Dues,  does. 

2.  Shaiu,  wood. 
Sairlif,  sorely. 

3.  Jlik,  oak. 
Grousome,  terrible. 
Bald,  bold. 

4.  Xipples,  fcouples) 
beams  joinea  at  the 
top,  for  supporting  a 
roof,  in  1)uiiciing. 

Ba-wks,     balks;     cross 

beams. 
J\loil,   laborious   intlus- 

try. 
S/)cer\l,  asked. 
Knock,  hillock. 

5.  Weiest,  smallest. 

Crean'd,  shrunk,  dimi- 
nished; from  the  Gae- 
lic, crian,  very  small. 

Immevt,  emmit;  ant. 

Christum,  used  in  the 
Danish  l)allads,kc.  in 
contradistinction  to 
demoniac,  as  it  is  in 
England, in  contradis- 
tinction to   bnite;  in 


which  sense,  a  person 
of  the  lower  class  in 
England,  would  call  a 
Je~M  or  a  Turk,  a 
Christian. 
Fleif,  frigiiten. 

6.  Gloivr''d,  stared. 
HahL  hold. 

7.  Skugg,  shade. 
Skaith,  harm. 

8.  J\'ighed,  approached. 

9.  Yoxvls,  howls. 
Toots — in  the  Dan.  tude, 

is  applied  both  to  the 
howling  of  a  dog,  and 
the  sound  of  a  horn. 
So^aichs,  screams. 

10.  Laidly,  loathly;  dis- 
gustingly vgly. 

Grim,  fierce. 

11.  Winnock,  window. 
Mint,  aim  at. 

12.  Coost,  cast. 
Chalmer,  chamber. 
Mai  St,  most. 
Ava,  of  all. 

13.  A'orv)art,    north- 
ward. 

Troio,  believe. 

14.  Braids,      strides 
quickly  forward. 

Wad,  would. 

15.  Canny,  ndroit. 
Many,  many. 
Waled,  weli  chosen. 

17.  An,  if. 
Bide,  abide. 
Lemman,  -Mistress. 

18.  jK'ogate,  nowise. 

19.  Couth,  could,  knew 
how  to. 

Lat  be,  let  alone. 
Glide,  goods;  property. 

20.  Aneath,  beneath. 
Dtvalling-stead,   dwell- 
ing-place. 

21.  Sary,  sorrowful. 
Rede,  counsel;  consulta- 
tion. 

Forfaini,  forlorn;  lost; 
gone. 


Tyne,  (verb  neut. )  be 
lost;  perish. 

22.  Will  of  rede,  hewil- 
dered  in  thought;  in 
the  Danish  original 
"  vildraadige:"  Lat. 
"  inops  consilii;"  Gr. 
ATTofcey.  This  expres- 
sion is  left  among  the 
desiderata  in  the  Glos- 
sary to  Ritson's  ro- 
mances, and  has  never 
been  explained.  It  is 
obsolete  in  the  Danish 
as  well  as  in  English. 

Fare,  go. 

2.5.  Rud,  red  of  the 
cheek. 

Clem^l,  in  the  Danish, 
klcmt;  (which,  in  the 
north  of  England,  is 
still  in  use,  as  the 
word  starved  is  with 
us;)brought  to  a  dying 
state.  It  is  used  by 
our  old  comedians. 

Harm,  grief;  as  in  the 
original,  and  in  the 
old  Teutonic,  En- 
glish, and  Scottish  po- 
etry. 

24.  Waefii,  woeful. 
Moody,    strongly     and 

wilfully  passionate, 

Rtnu,  take  ruth;  pity. 

Unseely,  unhappv;  un- 
blest. 

Weird,  fate. 

Fa,  (Isl.  Dan.  and 
Swed.)  take;  get;  ac- 
quire; procure:  have 
for  my  lot. — This  Go- 
thic verb  answers,  in 
its  direct  and  second- 
ary significations,  ex- 
actly to  the  Latin  ca- 
f)io;  and  Allan  Ramsay 
was  right  in  his  de- 
finition of  it.  It  is 
quite  a  different  word 
t'vomfa',  an  abbrevia- 
tion of  Ifall,  or  befall; 
and  is  the  principal 
root  in  fa^rex,  to 
fang,  take,  or  lay  hold 
of. 

25.  Fay,  faith. 
Mold,  mould;  earth. 
Mat,  mote;  niiglit. 
Maun,  must. 


Mell,  mix. 

El,  an  elf.  This  term, 
in  the  Welch,  signifies 
rvhat  has  in  itself  the 
power  of  motion;  a 
moving  principle;  an 
intelligence;  a  spirit; 
an  angel.  In  the  He- 
brew, it  bears  the 
same  import. 

26.  Minted,  attempted; 
meant;  showed  a  mind, 
or  intention  to.  The 
original  is: 

"and  mindte  hende  forst 
— og  anden  gang: — 

Hun  giordis  i  hiortet  sa 
vee: 

End  blef  hand  den  ledis- 
iedeifvel  Mand  kunde 
med  oyen  see. 

Der  hand  vil  de  winde 
den  tredic  gang,"&c. 

Syth,  tidej  time. 

Kyth,  appear. 

28.  iS/ot/wrf,  hour;  time; 
moment. 

29.  Merry,  (old  Teut. 
mere,)  famous;  re- 
nowned; answering, 
in  its  etymological 
meaning,  exactly  to 
the  Latin  mactus. 
Hence  merry-men,  as 
the  address  of  a  chief 
to  his  followers;  mean- 
ing, not  men  of  mirth, 
but  of  renown.  The 
term  is  found  in  its 
original  sense  in  the 
Gael,  mard,  and  the 
W^elsh  ma~vr,  great; 
and  in  the  oldest 
Teut.  romances,  7nar, 
mer,  and  mere,  have 
sometimes  the  same 
signification. 

31.  Mends,  amends;  re- 
compense. 

33.  Muik,  match;  peer; 
equal. 

Propine,  pledge;  gift. 

35.  be,  an  island  of  the 
seco?uf  magnitude;  an 
island  of  the/sVsi  mag- 
nitude being  called  a 
land,  and  one  of  the 
third  magnitude  a 
holm. 

36.  Cour''d,  recovered. 


THE  GHAIST's  WAnXlSG. 

Translated  from  the  Danish  KtempeViser,  p.  721. 

By  t/je permission  of  Mr.  Jamieson,  this  ballad  is  added 


from  the  same  curious  collection 
salves  of  ^reat pathos. 


It  contains  some  pas- 


Svcnd  Dyring  hand  rider  sig  op  under  of, 

(  Varejeg  sch'cr  ung ) 
Derfoestc  hand  sig  saa  ven  en  moe. 

(Mig  tijster  iidi  liiiideii  at  ridf,J  ire. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


179 


Child  Dyring  has  ridden  him  up  under  6e,* 

(And  Ogin  I  -were  young!) 
There  •  wedded  he  him  sae  fairl"  a  may. 

( r  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

Theg^ther  thev  liy'd  for  seven  lang  year, 

(.ind  0,  &c.) 
And  they  seven  bairns  hae  gotten  in  fere. 

(r  the  green-wood,  trc.) 

Sae  death's  come  there  intill  that  stead. 
And  that  winsome  lily  flower  is  dead. 

That  swain  he  has  ridden  him  up  under  oe. 
And  syne  he  has  married  anither  may. 

He's  married  a  may,  and  he's  fessen  herhame; 
But  she  was  a  grim  and  a  laidly  dame. 

When  into  the  castell  court  drave  she, 

The  seven  bairns  stood  wi'  the  tear  in  their  ee. 

The  bairns  they  stood  wi'  dule  and  dout: 

Nor  ale  nor  mead  to  the  baimies  she  gave; 
"  But  hunger  and  hate  fraeme  ye's  have." 

She  took  frae  them  the  bowster  blae. 
And  said, "  Ye  sail  liggi'  the  bare  strae!" 
She  took  frae  them  the  groff  was  light: 
Says, "  Now  ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  mark  a'  night!" 
'Twas  lang  i'  the  night,  and  the  baimies  grat; 
Their  mither  she  under  themools  lieard  that; 

That  heard  the  wife  under  the  eard  that  lay: 
"  Forsooth  maun  I  to  my  baimies  gael" 

That  wife  can  stand  up  at  our  lord's  knee. 
And  "  may  I  gang  ana  my  baimies  see?" 
She  prigged  sae  sair,  and  she  prigged  sae  lang. 
That  he  at  the  last  gae  her  leave  to  gang. 

"  And  thou  sail  come  back  when  the  cock  does  craw. 
For  thou  no  langer  sail  bide  awa." 

Wi'  her  banes  sae  stark,  abowt  she  gaej 
She's  riven  baith  wa'  and  marble  gray.  J: 

Whan  near  to  the  dwalling  she  can  gang. 

The  dogs  they  wow'd  till  the  lift  it  rang. 

■When  she  came  till  the  castell  yett, 

Her  eldest  dochter  stood  thereat. 

"  Why  stand  ye  here,  dear  dochter  mine? 

How  are  sma  brithers  and  sisters  thine!" 

"  Forsooth  ye're  a  woman  baith  fair  and  fine; 

But  ye  are  nae  dear  mither  of  mine. " 

"  Och!  how  should  I  be  fine  or  fair? 

My  cneek  it  is  pale,  and  the  ground's  my  lair." 

"  My  mither  was  white,  wi'  lire  sae  red; 

But  thou  art  wan,  and  liker  ane  dead." 

»'  Och!  how  should  I  be  white  and  red, 

Sae  lang  as  I've  been  tauld  and  dead?" 

When  she  cam  till  the  chalraer  in, 

Down  the  bairns'  cheeks  the  tears  did  rin. 

She  buskit  the  tane,  and  she  brush'd  it  there^ 

She  kem'd  and  plaited  the  tither's  haii\ 

The  thirden  she  doodl'd  upon  her  knee. 
And  the  fourthen        *        *        *        * 

She's  ta'en  the  fifien  upon  her  lap. 
And  sweetly        *        *        «        »        • 

Till  her  eldest  dochter  syne  said  she, 
"  Ye  bid  Child  Dyring  come  here  to  me." 


•  "  Under  oe."' — The  original  expression  has  been  pre- 
served here  and  elsewhere,  because  no  other  could  be  found 
to  supply  its  place.  Thereisjust  asmuch  meaning  in  it  in 
the  translation  as  in  the  original;  but  it  is  a  standard  Dan- 
ish ballad  phi-ase;  and  as  such,  it  is  hoped, will  be  allowed 
to  pass. 

■f  "  Fair." — The  Dan.  and  Swed.fen,  r«e;i,or  renne, 
and  the  Gael.  6d/i,  in  the  obliquecases  hh(in(v&n)\f,  the 
origin  of  the  Scottish  bonny,  which  has  so  much  puzzled 
all  the  etymologists, 
t  The  original  ufthisand  the follo7cing  stanza  isveryjine. 

"  Hun  skod  op  sin^  raodige  been, 

Der  revened^  rauur  og  graa  marmorsteen." 

"  Der  huu  gik  igennem  den  by. 

De  hunde  de  tude  saa  hojt  i  sky." 


Whan  he  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 
Wi'  angry  mood  she  said  to  him: 

"  I  left  you  routh  o'  ale  and  bread; 
My  baimies  quail  for  hunger  and  need. 
"  I  left  ahind  me  braw  bowsters  blae; 
My  baimies  are  liggin  i'  the  bare  strae. 

"  I  left  ye  sae  snony  a  groff  was  light; 
My  baimies  lig^  i'  the  mark  a'  night. 
"  Gin  aft  I  come  back  to  visit  Uiee, 
Wae,  dow"y,  and  weary  thy  luck  shall  be." 

Up  spak  little  Kirstin  in  bed  that  lay: 
"  To  my  baimies  I  '11  do  the  best  I  may." 
Aye  whan  they  heard  the  dog  nirr  and  bell, 
Sae  gae  they  tlie  baimies  bread  and  ale. 

Aye  whan  the  dog  did  wow,  in  haste 

They  cross'd  and  sain'd  themsells  frae  the  ghaist. 

Aye  whan  the  little  dog  yowl'd  wi'  fear, 

(And  0  gin  I  were  young!) 
They  shook  at  the  thought  that  the  dead  was  near. 

(/'  the  green-wood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 
or, 

(Fair  words  sae  mony  a  heart  they  cheer.) 

GLOSSAHT. 

St.  1.  May,  maid.  bolt  or  arrow  from  a 

Lists,  pleases.  bow. 

2.  Bairns,  children.  Riven,  split  asunder. 
Infei^e,  together.  Wa\  wall. 

3.  Stead,  place.  17.    Jf'oTv'd,  howled. 
f^7?^some,  engaging;  giv-  Ijift,    sky,    firmament; 

ing  joy,  (old  Teut.)  air. 

4.  Syne,  then.  18.   Tett,  gate. 

5.  Fessen,      fetched;    19.  Sma,  small, 
brought.  22.  Lire,  complexion. 

6.  Drave,  drove.  23.   Cald,  cold. 

7.  L>ide,  sorrow.  24.  Till,  to. 
Do2it,  fear.  Bin,  run. 

9.  Boivster,    bolster;    25.  Biiskit,  dressed, 
cushion;  bed.  Kem^d,  combed. 

Blae,  blue.  Tither,  the  other. 

Strae,  straw.  30.  Jioitth,  plenty. 

10.  Groff,  great;  large  Qiiail,  are  quelled;  die. 
in  girt.  J\  VeJ,  want. 

Mark,  mirk;  dark.  31.  Ahind,  behind. 

11.  Lang  f  tlie  night,     Braiv,  brave;  fine, 
late.  33.  Doxuy,  sorrowful. 

Grat,  -wept.  35.  JNlrr,  snarl. 

Moots,  mould;  earth.  Bell,  bark. 

12.  £arrf,  earth.  36.  iSW/i'f/.  blessed;  lite- 
Gae,  go.  rally,  signed  with  the 

14.  Prigged,  entreated  ^'g"-  of  the  cross.  Be- 
earnestly  and  perse-  fore  the  introduction 
veriugly.  of  Christianity,  Runes 

Gang,  go.  were  used  in  saining, 

15.  Craw,  crow.  as  a  spell  against  the 

16.  Banes,  bones.  power  of  enchantment 
Stark,  strong.  and  evil  genii. 
Bowt,      bolt;      elastic     Ghaist,  gliost. 

spring,  like  that  of  a 

7.  Up  spoke  the  moorty  elfin  king. 

Who  won'd  within  the  hill.— P.  14-4. 
In  a  long  dissertation  upon  the  fair}'  superstition, 
published  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border, 
the  most  valuable  part  of  which  was  supplied  by 
my  learned  and  indefatigable  friend  Dr.  John  Ley- 
den,  most  of  the  circumstances  are  collected  whicli 
can  throw  light  upon  the  popular  belief  which  even 
yet  prevails  respecting  them  in  Scotland.  Dr.  Gra- 
hame,  author  of  an  entertaining  work  upon  the 
scenery  of  the  Perthshire  highlands,  already  fre- 
quently quoted,  has  recorded,  wiili  great  accuracy, 
the  peculiar  tenets  held  by  the  highlanders  on  this 
topic,  in  the  viciniti'  of  Loch-Katrine.  The  learned 


180 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


author  is  inclined  to  deduce  the  whole  mythology 
from  the  (h-uiilicul  system,— an  opinion  to  which 
there  aiv  many  oljjections. 

"  The  Baoine  Shi\  or  men  of  peace  of  the  high- 
landers,  tliougii  not  absolutely  malevolent,  are  be- 
lieved to  be  a  peevisli,  repining  race  of  beings, 
who,  possessing  themselves  but  a  scanty  portion 
of  happiness,  arc  supposed  to  envy  mankind  their 
more  complete  and  substantial  enjoynients.  They 
are  supposed  to  enjoy,  in  tlieir  subterraneous  re- 
cesses, a  sort  of  shadowy  happiness,— a  tinsel  gran- 
deur, which,  however,  tiiey  would  willingly  ex- 
ciiange  for  the  more  solid  joys  of  mortality. 

"They  are  believed  to  inhabit  certain  rovmd 
grassy  eminences,  where  they  celebrsite  their  noc- 
turnal festivities  by  the  ligiil  of  the  moon.  About 
a  mile  beyond  the  source  of  the  Forth,  above  Loch 
Con,  there  is  a  place  called  CoirshPan,  or  the  cove 
of  the  men  of  peace,  which  is  still  supposed  to  be 
a  favourite  place  of  their  residence.  In  tlie  neigh- 
bourliood  are  to  be  seen  many  round  conical  emi- 
nences; particularly  one,  near  the  head  of  tiie  lake, 
by  the  skirts  of  which  many  are  still  afraid  to  pass 
after  sunset.  It  is  believed,  that  if,  on  hallow-eve, 
any  person,  alone,  goes  round  one  of  these  hills 
nine  limes,  towards  the  left  hand,  [si7iistrorsum,) 
a  door  shall  open,  by  which  he  will  be  admitted 
into  their  subterraneous  abodes.  Many,  it  is  said, 
of  mortal  race  iiave  been  entertained  in  their  se- 
cret recesses.  Tiiere  they  have  been  received  into 
the  most  splendid  apartments,  and  regaled  with 
the  most  sumptuous  banquets,  and  delicious  wines. 
Their  females  surpass  the  daughters  of  men  in 
beauty.  Tiie  seemiiiglij  happy  inhabitants  pass 
tlieir  time  in  festivity,  and  in  dancing  to  notes  of 
the  softest  music.  But  unliappy  is  the  mortal  who 
joins  in  their  joys,  or  ventures  to  partake  of  their 
dainties.  By  tiiis  indulgence,  he  forfeits  for  ever 
the  society  of  men,  and  is  bound  down  irrevocably 
to  the  condition  of  a  shi'ich  or  man  of  peace. 

"  A  woman,  as  is  reported  in  the  highland  tra- 
dition, was  conveyed,  in  days  of  yore,  into  the 
secret  recesses  of  the  men  of  peace.  There  she 
was  recognized  by  one  who  had  formerly  been  an 
ordinary  mortal,  but  wlio  had,  by  some  fatality, 
become  associated  with  the  shi'ichs.  This  ac- 
quaintance, still  retaining  some  portion  of  human 
benevolence,  warned  her  of  her  danger,  and  coun- 
selled her,  as  she  valued  iier  liberty,  to  abstain 
from  eating  and  drinking  with  them,  for  a  certain 
space  of  time.  Slit-  complied  witli  the  counsel  of 
her  friend;  and  when  the  period  assigned  was 
elapsed,  she  found  herselt  again  upon  earth,  re- 
stored to  the  society  of  mortals.  It  is  added,  that 
when  she  examined  the  viands  which  had  been 
presented  to  her,  and  whicli  liad  appeared  so  tempt- 
ing to  the  eye,  they  were  found,  now  that  the  en- 
chantment was  rcmovet!,  to  consist  only  of  the  re- 
fuse of  the  earth.  "—P.  lOr— 111. 

8.  Wliy  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beach  and  oak, 
Oui-  moon-l.giit  cirtle's  sei-een? 
Or  wlio  comts  luiv  to  chase  the  deei-, 
lii;lov.-'d  of  oui-  iltin  queen?— P.   144. 

It  has  been  already  observed,  that  fairies,  if  not 
positivelv  malevolent,  are  capricious,  and  easily 
oliended.'  They  are,  like  other  proprietors  of  fo- 
rests, peculiarly  jealous  of  tlieir  rights  of  veri  and 
venison,  as  appears  from  the  cause  of  offence  taken, 
in  ti»e  original  Danish  ballad.  This  jealousy  was 
also  an  attribute  of  tiie  northern  Uuerffar,  or 
dwarfs;  to  many  of  whose  distinctions  the  fairies 
seem  to  have  succeeded,  if,  indeedj  they  are  not 


the  same  class  of  beings.  In  the  huge  metrical  re- 
cord of  German  cliivalry,  entitled  the  Helden- 
Bucli,  sir  Hildebrand,  and  the  other  heroes  of 
whom  it  treats,  are  engaged  in  one  of  their  most 
desperate  adventures,  from  a  rash  violation  of  the 
rose-garden  of  an  elfin,  or  dwarf  king. 

There  are  yet  traces  of  a  belief  in  this  worst  and 
most  malicious  order  of  tairies,  among  the  border 
wilds.  Dr.  Leyden  has  introduced  such  a  dwarf  into 
his  ballad  entitled  tlie  Gout  of  Keeldar,  and  has 
not  forgot  his  characteristic  detestation  of  the 
chase. 

The  third  blast  that  young  Keeldar  blew, 

Still  stood  the  limber  fern. 
And  a  wee  nian,  of  swarthy  hue, 

Upstarted  by  a  cairn. 
His  russet  weeds  were  brown  as  heath, 

That  clothes  the  upland  fell; 
And  the  hair  of  his  head  was  frizzle  red 

As  the  purple  heather-bell. 
An  urchin,  clad  in  prickles  red, 

Clung  cow'ring  to  liis  arm; 
The  hounds  they  howled,  and  backward  fled, 

As  struck  by  fairy  charm. 
"  Why  rises  high  the  stag-hound's  cry, 

Where  stag-hound  ne'er  should  be? 
Why  wakes  that  honi  the  silent  room, 

Without  the  leave  of  me?" 
"  Brown  dwarf,  that  o'er  the  muirland  strays, 

Thy  name  to  Keeldar  tell!" 
"  The  brown  man  of  the  Muirs,  who  stays 

Beneath  the  heather-bell. 
"  'Tis  sweet  beneath  the  heather-bell 

To  live  in  autumn  brown; 
And  Sweet  to  hear  the  lav'rock's  swell 

Far,  far  from  tower  and  town. 
But  wo  betide  the  shrilling  hoi-n. 

The  chase's  surly  cheer! 
And  ever  that  hunter  is  forlorn. 
Whom  first  at  morn  I  hear." 

The  poetical  picture  here  given  of  the  Duergar 
corresi)onds  exactly  with  the  following  Northum- 
brian legend,  with  which  I  was  lately  favoured  by 
mv  learned  and  kind  friend,  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mains- 
fort,  who  has  bestowed  indefatigable  labour  upon 
the  antiquities  of  the  Knglish  border  counties. 
The  subject  is  in  itself  so  curious,  that  the  length 
of  the  note  will,  I  hope,  be  pardoned. 

"  I  have  only  one  record  to  offer  of  the  appear- 
ance of  our  Northumbrian  Duergar.  My  narratrix 
is  Elizabeth  Cockburn,  an  old  wife  of  Offerton,  in 
this  county,  whose  credit,  in  a  case  of  this  kind, 
will  not,  Ihope,  be  much  impeached,  when  I  add, 
that  she  is,  by  her  dull  neighbours,  supposed  to  be 
occasionally  insane,  but,  by  herself,  to  be  at  those 
times  endowed  with  a  faculty  of  seeing  visions, 
and  spectral  appearances,  which  shun  the  common 
ken. 

"  In  the  year  before  the  great  rebellion,  two 
young  men  from  Newcastle  wei'e  sporting  on  the 
high  moors  above  Elsdon,and  after  pursuing  their 
game  several  hours,  sat  down  to  dine,  in  a  green 
glen,  near  one  of  the  mountain  streams.  After  their 
repast,  tiie  younger  lad  ran  to  the  brook  for  water, 
and  after  stooping  to  drink,  was  sui-prised,  on  lift- 
ing his  head  again,  by  the  appearance  of  a  brown 
dwarf,  wiio  stood  on  a  crag  covered  witli  brackens, 
across  the  burn.  This  extraordinary  personage  did 
not  appear  to  be  above  half  the  stature  of  a  common 
man,  but  was  uncommonly  stout  and  broad  built, 
liaving  the  appearance  of  vast  strength.  His  dress 
was  entirely  brown,  the  colour  of  the  brackens,  and 
his  head  covered  with  frizzleil  red  hair.  His  coun- 
tenance was  expressive  of  tiie  most  savage  ferocity, 
and  his  eyes  glared  like  a  bull.  It  seems,  he  ad- 
dressed the  young  man  first,  threatening  hirawith 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


181 


his  vengeance,  for  having  trespassed  on  his  de- 
mesnes, and  asiiing  him,  if  he  knew  in  whose  pre- 
sence he  stood '  The  youth  replied, that  he  now  sup- 
posed him  to  be  the  lord  ofthe  moors;  that  he  offend- 
ed through  ignorance;  and  offered  to  bring  him  the 
game  he  had  killed.  The  dwarf  was  a  little  molli- 
fied by  this  submission,  but  remarked,  that  no- 
thing could  be  more  offensive  to  him  than  such  an 
offer,  as  he  considered  the  wild  animals  as  his  sub- 
jects, and  never  failed  to  avenge  their  destruction. 
He  condescended  further  to  inform  him,  that  he 
■was,  like  himself,  mortal,  though  of  years  far  ex- 
ceeding the  lot  of  common  humanity;  and  (what  I 
should  not  have  had  an  idea  of)  that  he  hoped  for 
salvation.  He  never,  he  added,  fed  on  any  thing 
that  had  life,  but  lived,  in  the  summer,  on  whortle- 
berries, and  in  the  winter,  on  nuts  and  apples,  of 
which  he  had  great  store  in  the  woods.  Finally  he 
invited  his  new  acquaintance  to  accompany  him 
home,  and  partake  his  hospitality;  an  offer  which 
the  youth  was  on  the  point  of  acsepting,  and 
■was  just  going  to  spring  over  the  brook  (which 
if  he  had  done,  says  Elizabeth,  the  dwarf  would 
certainly  have  torn  him  to  pieces,)  when  his  foot 
■was  arrested  by  the  voice  of  his  companion,  who 
thought  he  had  tarried  long;  and  on  looking  round 
again,  '  the  wee  brown  man  was  fled.'  The  story 
adds,  that  he  was  impi'udent  enough  to  slight  the 
admonition,  and  to  sport  over  the  moors,  on  his 
way  homewards;  but  soon  after  his  return,  he  fell 
into  a  lingering  disorder,  and  died  within  the  year." 

9.  Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies'  fatal  green.— P.  144. 
As  the  Daoine  Shi',  or  men  of  peace,  wore  green 
habits,  they  were  supposed  to  take  offence  when 
any  mortals  ventured  to  ass\mie  their  favourite  co- 
lour. Indeed,  from  some  reason,  which  has  been, 
Eerhaps,  originally  a  general  superstition,  ^reen  is 
eld  in  Scotland  to  be  unlucky  to  particular  tribes 
and  counties.  The  Caithness  men,  who  hold  this 
belief,  allege,  as  a  reason,  that  their  bands  wore 
that  colour  when  they  were  cut  oft'  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Flodden;  and  for  the  same  reason  they  avoid 
crossing  the  Ord  on  a  Monday,  being  the  day  of 
the  week  on  which  their  ill-omened  array  set  forth. 
Green  is  also  disliked  by  those  of  the  name  of 
Ogilvy:  but  more  especially  is  it  held  fatal  to  the 
whole  clan  of  Grahame.  It  is  remembered  of  an 
aged  gentleman  of  that  name,  that  when  his  horse 
fell  in  a  fox-chase,  he  accounted  for  it  at  once,  by 
observing  that  the  whipcord  attached  to  his  lasii 
■was  of  this  unlucky  colour. 

10.  For  thou  were  christened  man.— P.  144. 

The  elves  were  supposed  greatly  to  envy  the 
privileges  acquired  by  christian  initiation,  and 
they  gave  to  those  mortals  who  had  fallen  into 
their  power,  a  certain  precedence,  founded  upon 
this  advantageous  distinction.  Tamlane,  in  the 
old  ballad,  describes  his  own  rank  in  the  fairy  pro- 
cession: 

"  For  I  ride  on  a  milk-white  steed. 

And  aye  nearest  the  tcwn; 
Because  I  was  a  christened  knight. 
They  give  me  that  renown." 

I  presume  that,  in  the  Danish  ballad,  the  obsti- 
nacy ofthe  "  Weiest  Elf,"  who  would  not  flee  fori 
cross  or  sign,  is  to  be  derived  from  the  circum- 
stance of  his  having  been  "  christened  man." 

How  eager  the  elves  were  to  obtain  for  their  off- 
spring the  prerogatives  of  christianitv,  will  be 
proved  by  the  following  story:  "In  the  district! 
called  Haga,  in  Iceland,  dwelt  a  nobleman  called 


Sigward  Forster,  who  had  an  intrigue  -with  one  of 
the  subterranean  females.  The  elf  became  prep-- 
nant,  and  exacted  from  her  lover  a  firm  ])romise 
that  he  would  procure  the  baptism  ofthe  infant. 
At  the  appointed  time,  the  mother  came  to  the 
church-yard,  on  the  wall  of  which  she  pLiced  a 
golden  cup,  and  a  stole  for  the  priest,  agreeable 
to  the  custom  of  making  an  offering  at  baptism. 
She  then  stood  a  little  apart.  When  the  priest 
left  the  church,  he  inquired  the  meaning  of  what 
he  saw,  and  demanded  of  Sigward,  if  he  avowed 
himself  the  father  of  the  child.  But  Sigward, 
asliamed  of  the  connexion,  denied  the  paternitv. 
He  was  then  interrogated  if  he  desired  that  the 
child  should  be  baptized:  but  this  also  he  answer- 
ed in  the  negative,  lest,  by  such  request,  he  should 
admit  himself  to  be  the  father.  On  which  the  child 
was  left  untouched  and  unbaptized.  Whereupon  the 
mother,  in  extreme  wrath,  snatched  up  the  infant 
and  the  cup,  and  retired,  leaving  the  priestlv  cope, 
of  which  fragments  are  still  in  preseriation.  But 
this  female  denounced  and  imposed  upon  Sigward 
and  his  posterity,  to  the  ninth  generation,  a  singu- 
lar disease,  with  which  many  of  his  descendants 
are  artiicted  at  this  day. "  Thus  wrote  Einar  Dud- 
raond,  pastor  ofthe  parish  of  Garpsdale,  in  Iceland, 
a  man  profoundly  versed  in  learning,  from  whose 
manuscript  it  was  extracted  by  the  learned  Tor- 
fseus. — Historia  Hrolfi  Krakii,  Halfnise,  1715,  pre- 
fatio. 

11.  And  gayly  shines  the  fairy  land — 

But  all  is  ghsteiiing  show.— P.  14S. 

Xo  fact  respecting  Fairy-land  seems  to  be  bet- 
ter ascertained  than  the  fantastic  and  illusory  na- 
ture of  their  apparent  pleasure  and  splendour.  It 
has  been  already  noticed,  in  the  former  quotations 
from  Dr.  Grahame's  entertaining  volume,  and  may 
be  confirmed  by  the  following  highland  tradition: 
"  A  woman,  whose  new-born  child  had  been  con- 
veyed by  them  into  their  secret  abodes,  was  also 
carried  thither  herself,  to  remain,  however,  only 
until  she  should  suckle  her  infant.  She,  one  day, 
during  this  period,  observed  tlie  Shi'ichs  busily 
employed  in  mixing  various  ingredients  in  a  boil- 
ing caldron,  and,  as  soon  as  the  composition  was 
prepared,  she  remarked  that  they  all  carefully 
anointed  their  eyes  with  it,  laying' the  remainder 
aside  for  futuie  use.  In  a  moment  when  they  were 
all  absent,  she  also  attempted  to  anoint  her  eves 
with  the  precious  drug,  but  had  time  to  applv  it  to 
one  eye  only,  when  the  Da.ine  SliP  returned".  But 
with  that  eye  she  was  henceforth  enabled  to  see 
every  thing  as  it  really  passed  in  their  secret  abodes: 
—  she  saw  every  object,  not  as  she  hitherto  had 
done,  in  deceptive  splendour  and  elegance,  but  in 
its  genuine  colours  and  form.  The'gaudv  orna- 
ments ofthe  apartment  were  reduced  to  the  walls 
of  a  gloomy  cavern.  Soon  after,  having  discharged 
her  office,  s!ie  was  dismissed  to  her  own  home. 
Still,  however,  she  retained  the  facultv  of  seeinp-, 
with  her  medicated  eye,  every  tiling  that  was  done, 
atiy  \ihere  in  her  presence,'by  the  deceptive  art 
of  the  order.  One  day,  amidst  a  throng  of  people, 
she  chanced  to  observe  the  Slii'ich,  or  man  of  peace, 
in  whose  possession  she  had  left  hei  child,  though 
to  every  other  e\e  invisible.  Prompted  bv  mate^r- 
nal  affection,  she  inadvertently  accosted  him,  and 
began  to  inquire  after  the  welfare  of  her  child. 
The  man  of  peace,  astonished  at  being  liuis  reco>'- 
nised  by  one  of  mortal  race,  demanded  how  she  Irad 
been  enabled  to  discover  him.  Awed  bv  the  ter- 
rible frown  ofhia  countenance,  she  ackno*led''ed 


182 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


■tthat  she  had  done.  He  spat  in  her  eye,  and  ex- 
tinguished il  forever."— Gkahame's  Sheiches,  p. 
116— US.  It  is  very  remarkable,  tlial  this  story, 
translated  bv  Dr.  Graharae  IVom  popular  Gaelic  tra- 
dition, is  to  be  found  in  the  Otia  Impenalia  of 
Gervase  of  Tilbury.  A  work  of  great  interest 
might  be  compiled 'upon  the  origin  of  popular  fic- 
tion, and  the  transmission  of  similar  tales  trom 
age  to  age,  and  from  country  to  country.  The  my- 
thology of  one  period  would  then  appear  to  pass 
into  tlie  romance  of  the  next  century,  and  that  in- 
to the  nursery-tale  of  the  subsequent  ages.  Such 
an  investigation,  while  it  went  greatly  to  diminish 
our  ideas  of  the  richness  of  human  invention,  would 
also  show,  that  these  fictions,  however  wild  and 
childish,  possesses  such  charms  for  the  populace, 
as  to  enable  them  to  penetrate  into  countries  un- 
connected by  manners  and  language,  and  having  no 
apparent  intercourse  to  aftbrd  the  means  of  trans- 
mission. It  would  carry  me  far  beyond  my  bounds 
to  produce  instances  of  this  community  of  fable, 
among  nations  who  never  borrowed  from  each 
other  any  thing  intrinsically  worth  learning.  In- 
deed, the  wild  diffusion  of  popular  fictions  maybe 
compared  to  the  facility  with  which  straws  and 
feathers  are  dispersed  abroad  by  the  wind,  wliile 
valuable  metals  cannot  be  transported  without 
trouble  and  labour.  There  lives,  1  believe,  only 
one  gentleman,  whose  unlimited  acqviaintance  with 
this  subject  might  enable  him  to  do  it  justice;  1 
mean  my  friend  Mr.  Francis  Douce,  of  the  Brit- 
ish Museum,  whose  usual  kindness  will,  I  hope, 
pardon  my  mentiorting  his  name,  while  on  a  sub- 
ject so  closely  connected  with  his  extensive  and 
curious  researches. 

12.  1  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray. 

And,  'tv.ixt  life  and  death,  was  snatched  away 
To  the  joyless  elfin  bower.— P.  145. 
The  subjects  of  fairy  land  were  recruited  from 
the  regions  of  humanity  by  a  sort  of  crimping  sys- 
tem, which  extended  to  adults  as  well  as  to  infants. 
Many  of  those  who  were  in  this  world  supposed 
to  have  discharged  the  debt  of  nature,  had  only 
become  denizens  of  the  "  Londe  of  Faery."  In 
the  beautiful  fairy  romance  of  Orfee  Heurodiis 
(Orpheus  and  Eurydice)  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.  is 
the  following  striking  enumeration  of  persons  thus 
abstracted  from  middle  earth.  Mr.  Ritson  unfor- 
tunately published  this  romance  frona  a  copy  in 
which  the  following,  and  many  other  highly  poeti- 
cal passages,  do  not  occur: 

"  Then  he  g-an  biholde  aboute  al. 

And  seighc-  full  lisgtand  within  the  wal, 

Of  iolk  that  wi-r  thidder  } -brought. 

And  thought  dede  and  ne're  nought. 

Sum  stode  withouten  hedde; 

And  sum  none  amies  nade; 

And  sum  tliurch  thf  bodi  hedde  woundc; 

And  sura  lay  wode  y-bounde; 

And  sum  armed  on  hors  sete; 

And  surti  astraiigled  as  thai  ete; 

And  sum  war  in  water  adrej-nt; 

And  sum  «ith  fire  al  for-schi-ej-nt; 

"Wives  ther  lay  on  childe  bedde; 

Sum  dede,  anil  sum  awedde; 

And  wonder  fele  ther  lay  besides. 

Right  as  thai  slepe  her  undertides; 

EcTie  was  thus  in  the  warld  y-nome, 

With  fairi  thider  y-come." 

13.  Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 

Who  ever  reeked  where,  how,  or  when. 
The  prowling  fox  was  trapped  and  slain.— P.  148. 
St.  John  actually  used  this  illustration  when  en- 
gaged in  confuting  the  plea  of  law  proposed  for  the 


unfortunate  earl  of  Strafford:  "It  was  true,  we 
give  laws  to  hares  and  deer,  because  they  are 
beasts  of  chase;  but  it  was  never  accounted  either 
cruelty  or  foul  play  to  knock  foxes  or  wolves  on 
the  head  as  they  can  be  found,  because  they  are 
beasts  of  i)rey.  In  a  word,  the  law  and  humanity 
were  alike;  the  one  being  more  fallacious,  and  the 
other  more  barbarous,  than  In  any  age  had  been 
vented  in  such  authority." — Clahesdon's /ft'siori^ 
oft/ie  liebellioii.    Oxford,  1702,  fol.  vol.  p.  183. 

14.  his  highland  cheer. 

The  hardened  flesh  of  mountain-deer.— P.  148. 

The  Scottish  highlanders,  in  former  limes,  had 
a  concise  mode  of  cooking  their  venison,  or  rather 
of  dispensing  with  cooking  it,  which  appears  gi-eat- 
ly  to  have  surprised  the  French,  whom  chance 
made  acquainted  with  it.  The  vidame  of  Chartres, 
when  a  hostage  in  England,  during  the  reigu  of 
Edward  VI,  was  permitted  to  travel  into  Scotland, 
and  penetrated  as  far  as  to  the  remote  highlands, 
Caufnfond  des  saxivages.J  After  a  great  hunt- 
ing party,  at  which  a  most  wonderful  quantity  of 
game  was  destroyed,  he  saw  these  Scottish  sai'ages 
devour  a  part  of  their  venison  raw,  without  any 
further  preparation  tlian  compressing  it  between 
two  battons  of  wood,  so  as  to  force  out  the  blood, 
and  render  it  extremely  hard.  This  they  reckoned 
a  great  delicacy;  and  when  the  vidame  partook  of 
it,  his  compliance  with  their  taste  rendered  him 
extremely  popular.  This  cui-ious  trait  of  manners 
was  communicated  by  Mons.  de  ^Montmorency,  a 
great  friend  of  the  vidame,  to  Brantome,  by  whom 
it  is  recorded  in  Vies  des  Hwmnes  lllustres,  Dis- 
coxirs,  LXXXIX.  art.  14.  The  process  by  which 
the  raw  venison  was  rendered  eatable  is  described 
vei-y  minutely  in  the  romance  of  Perceforest,  where 
Estonne,  a  Scottish  knight  errant,  having  slain  a 
deer,  says  to  his  companion  Claudin;  "  Sire,  or 
raangerez  vous  et  mov  aussi.  Voire  si  nous  anions 
de  feu,  dit  Claudius.  Par  Fame  de  mon  pere,  dist 
Estonne,  ie  vous  atourneray  et  cuiray  alamaniere 
de  nostre  pays  conime  pour  cheualicr  errant.  Lors 
tira  son  espee  et  sen  vint  a  la  branche  dung  arbre, 
et  y  fait  vng  grant  trou,  et  puis  fend  al  branche, 
bien  deux  piedz  et  boute  la  cuisse  du  cerf  entredeux, 
et  puis  prent  le  licol  de  son  cheval  et  en  lye  la 
branche  et  destraint  si  forte  que  le  sang  et  les  hu- 
raeurs  de  la  chair  saillent  hors  et  demenre  la  chair 
doulce  et  seiche.  Lors  prent  la  chair  et  oste  ius  le 
cuir  et  la  chair  demeure  aussi  blanche  comme  si 
ce  feust  dung  chappon.  Dont  dist  a  Chiudius,  sire,  ie 
la  vous  ay  cuiste  a  la  guise  de  raon  pays,  vousen  pou- 
ez  manger  hardyement,  car  ie  mangeray  premier. 
Lors  met  sa  main  a  sa  selle  en  vng  lieu  quil  y  au- 
oit,  et  tire  hors  sel  et  poudre  de  poiure  et  gingem- 
bre,  mesle  ensemble,  et  le  iecte  dessus,  et  le  frote 
sus  bien  fort,  puis  le  couppea  moytie,  eten  donne 
a  Claudius  I'une  des  pieces,  etpuis  mort  en  I'autre 
aussi  sauoureusement  quil  est  aduis  que  il  an  feist 
la  pouldre  voller.  Quant  Claudius  veit  quil  le  man- 
geoit  de  te!  goust,  il  en  print  grant  fain  et  com- 
mence a  manger  tresvoulentiers,  et  dist  a  Estonne: 
par  Fame  de  moy  ie  ne  mangeay  oncquesmais  de 
chair  atournee  de  telle  guise:  mais  doresenauant  ie 
ne  me  retourneroye  pas  hors  de  mon  chemin  par 
auoir  la  cuite.  Sire,  dist  Estonne,  quant  ie  suis 
en  desers  d'Escosse,  dontie  suis  seigneur,  iecheu- 
aucheray  huit  iours  ou  quinze  que  ie  n'entreray  en 
chastel  ne  en  maison,  et  si  ne  verray  feu  ne  per- 
sonne  viuant  fors  que  bestes  sauuages,  et  de  celles 
mangeray  atournees  eii  cesle  raaniere,  et  mieulx 
me  plaira  que  la  viande  de  Fempereur.    Ainsi  sen 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


18.1 


vont  mangeant  et  cheuauchant  iusques  adonc  quilz 
amuerent  sur  une  moult  belle  fontaine  que  estoit 
en  vne  valee.  Quant  Estonne  la  vit  il  (list  a  Clau- 
dius, allons  boire  a  ceste  fontaine.  Or  beuuons, 
dist  Estonne,  du  boire  que  le  grand  dieu  a  pourueu 
a  toutes  gens,  et  qui  me  plaist  mieulx  que  les  ce- 
ruoises  d"'An.si;leterre." — La  Treselegante  Ilysto- 
ire  du  tresnoble  Roy  Perceforest.  Paris,  1531,  fol. 
tome  i,  fol.  Iv,  vers. 

After  all,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  la  chair 
nostree,  for  so  the  French  called  the  venison  tlius 
summarily  prepared,  was  any  thing  more  than  a 
mere  rude  kind  of  deer-ham. 


NOTES  TO  CAKTO  V. 

1.  Not  then  claimed  sovei-eigiity  his  due, 
While  Albany,  witli  Reble  hand, 

Held  borrowed  truncheon  of  command. — P.  149. 
There  is  scarcely  a  more  disorderly  period  in 
Scottish  history  than  that  which  succeeded  the  bat- 
tle of  Flodden,  and  occu[)ied  the  minority  of  James 
V.  Feuds  of  ancient  standing  broke  out  like 
old  wounds,  and  every  quarrel  among  the  inde- 
pendent nobilitv,  wliich  occurred  daily,  and  al- 
most hourly,  gave  rise  to  fresh  bloodshed.  "There 
.irose,"  says  Pitscuttie,  "  great  trouble  and  deadly 
feuds  in  many  parts  of  Scotland,  both  in  the  north 
and  the  west  parts.  The  master  of  Forbes,  in  the 
north,  slew  tlie  laird  of  Meldrura  under  tryst,  (i. 
e.  at  ah  agreed  and  secured  meeting:)  Likewise, 
the  laird  of  Drummelzier  slew  the  lord  Fleming 
at  the  ha«'king;  and,  likewise,  there  was  slaughter 
among  many  other  great  lords."  p.  I'il.  Nor  was 
the  matter  niuch  mended  under  t!ie  government  of 
the  earl  of  Angus:  for  thougli  he  caused  the  king  to 
ride  through  all  Scotland,  "  under  pretence  and 
colour  of  justice,  to  punish  thief  and  traitor,  none 
were  found  greater  than  v.ere  in  llieir  own  com- 
pany. And  none  at  iliat  time  durst  strive  wiili  a 
Douglas,  nor  yet  with  a  Douglas's  niiui,  for  iflhey 
did,  tliey  got  the  worse.  Tiierefore,  none  durst 
plainzie  of  no  extorsion,  then,  reift",  nor  slaughter, 
done  to  them  by  the  Douglasses,  or  tiiL-ir  men;  in 
that  cause  they  were  not  heard,  so  long  as  the 
Douglasses  had  the  court  in  guiding." — Ibid.  p. 
133. 

2.  The  Gael,  of  pl.iin  and  river  heir. 

Shall,  with  strong-  hand,  redeer.  his  share.— P.  149. 

The  ancient  highlanders  verified  in  their  prac- 
tice the  lines  of  Gi'ay; — 

An  iron  race  the  mountain  cliffs  maintain, 
Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain; 
For  where  unwearied  sinews  must  he  found, 
With  sidelong  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground; 
To  turn  the  torrent's  swifi-dt  scendiiig  flood; 
To  tame  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood; 
What  wonder  if,  to  patient  valour  traiu'd. 
They  guard  « itli  spirit  w  hat  by  streng,th  tliey  gain'd; 
And  while  their  rocky  ramparts  rouiid  thev's^e 
The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty, 
(As  lawless  force  from  confidence  will  grow) 
Insult  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below? 
Fragment  on  Ike  alliance  of  Ettucation  ami  Government. 

So  far,  indeed,  was  a  Creagh,  or  foray,  from 
being  held  disgraceful,  that  a  young  chief  was  al- 
ways expected  to  show  his  talents  for  command  so 
soon  as  he  assumed  it,  by  leading  his  clan  on  a 
successful  enterprise  of  this  nature,  either  against 
a  neighbouring  sept,  for  which  constant  feuds  usu- 
ally furnished  an  apology,  cr  against  the  Sassen- 
ach, Saxons,  or  lowlanders,  for  which  no  apology 
■was  necessary.  The  Gael,  great  traditional  histo- 
14 


rians,  never  forgot  tliat  the  lowlands  had,  at  some 
remote  period,  been  the  property  of  their  Celtic 
forefathers,  which  furnished  an  ample  vindication 
of  all  the  ravages  that  they  could  make  on  the  un- 
fortunate districts  which  lay  within  their  reach. 
Sir  JaiTies  Grant  of  Grant  is  in  possession  of  a  let- 
ter of  apology  from  Cameron  of  Lochiel,  whose 
men  had  committed  some  depredations  upon  a 
farm  called  Moines,  occupied  by  one  of  the  Grants. 
Lochiel  assures  Grant,  that,  however  the  mistake 
had  happened,  his  instructions  were  precise,  that 
the  party  should  foray  the  province  of  Moray,  (a 
lowland' district,)  where,  as  he  coolly  observes, 
"all  men  take  their  prey." 

3. 1  only  meant 

lo  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  yon  might  pursue. 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu.— P.  ISO. 
This  incident,  like  some  other  passages  in  the 
j>oem,  illustrative  of  the  character  of  the  ancient 
Gael,  is  not  imaginary,  but  borrowed  from  fact. 
Tlie  highlanders,  with  the  inconsistency  of  most 
nations  "in  the  same  state,  were  alternately  ca- 
pable of  great  exertions  of  generosity,  and  of 
cruel  revenge  and  perfidy.  The  following  story 
1  can  only  quote  from  tradition,  but  with  such 
an  assurance  from  those  by  whom  it  was  com- 
municated, as  permits  me  little  doubt  of  its  au- 
thenticity. Early  in  the  last  century,  John  Gimn, 
a  noted  Cateran,  or  highland  robber,  invested  In- 
verness-shire, and  levied  black  mail  up  to  the  walls 
of  the  provincial  capital.  A  garrison  was  then 
maintained  in  the  castle  of  that  town,  and  their 
pay  (country  banks  being  unknown)  was  usually 
tra'nsmitted'in  specie,  under  the  guard  of  a  small 
escort.  It  chanced  that  the  officer  who  command- 
ed this  litle  party  was  unexpectedly  obliged  to 
hult,  about  thirty  miles  from  Inverness,  at  a  mi- 
serable inn.  About  night  fall,  a  stranger,  in  the 
highland  dress,  and  of  very  prepossessing  appear- 
ance, entered  the  same  house.  Separate  accom- 
modation being  impossible,  the  Englishman  of- 
fered the  newly  an-ived  guest  a  part  of  his  supper, 
which  was  accepted  with  reluctance.  By  the  con- 
versation he  found  his  new  acquaintance  knew  well 
all  the  passes  of  the  country,  which  induced  him 
eagerlv  to  request  his  company  on  the  ensuing 
morning.  He  neither  disguised  his  business  and 
cliarge,  nor  his  ai)prehension3  of  that  celebrated 
freebooter,  John  Gunn.  The  highlander  hesitat- 
ed a  moment,  and  then  frankly  consented  to  be 
his  guide.  Forth  tliev  set  in  the  morning;  and  in 
travelling  through  a  solitary  and  tJreary  glen,  the 
discourse  again  turned  on  John  Gunn.  '•  Would 
you  like  to  see  him?"  said  the  guide;  and,  without 
waiting  an  answer  to  this  alarming  question,  he 
whistled,  and  the  English  officer,  with  his  small 
party,  were  surrounded  by  a  body  of  highlanders, 
w  hose  numbers  put  resistance  out  ofqueslion,  and 
who  were  all  well  armed.  "  Stranger,"  resumed 
the  guide,  "I  am  lh:U  very  Jolm  Gunn  by  whom 
you  feared  to  be  intercepted,  and  not  without  cause; 
for  1  come  to  the  inn  last  niglit  with  the  express 
purpose  of  learning  your  route,  that  1  and  my  fol- 
lowers might  ease  you  of  your  charge  by  the  road. 
But  I  am  incapahle'  of  betraying  tlie  trust  you  re- 
posed in  me,  and,  having  convinced  you  that  you 
were  in  my  power,  I  can  only  dismiss  you  unpluii- 
dered  and  uninjured."  lie  then  gave  the  officer 
directions  for  his  journey,  and  disappeared  with 
his  party,  as  suddenly  as  they  had  presented  them 
selves. 


184 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


4.  On  Bocliastle  the  mouldering  lines, 
Where  Rome,  the  empress  of  the  world. 
Of  yore  her  eai^le  wings  unfurled.— 1'.  J  50. 
The  torrent  which  discliarges  itself  tVoni  l.och- 
A'ennacliJif,  the  lowest  and  eastmosl  of  the  three 
lakes  wliich  form   the    scenery  adjoining  to  the 
Trosachs,  sweeps    through  a  flat  and  extensive 
moor,  called  Bocliastle.   Upon  a  small  eminence, 
called  the  Dun  of  Bochaslle,  and  indeed  on  the 
plain  itself,  are   some  entrenchments  which  have 
been  thouglit  Itoman.    There  is  adjacent,  to  Gal- 
lender,  a  sweet  villa,  the  residence  of  captain  Fair- 
Ibwl,  entitled  the  Roman  camp. 

5.  See,  here,  all  vantageless  I  stand, 

Arme.l,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand.— P.  150. 

The  duelists  of  former  times  did  not  always 
stand  upon  tliose  punctilios  respecting  equality 
of  arms,  which  are  now  judged  essential  to  fair 
combat.  It  is  true,  that  in  formal  combats  in  the 
lists,  the  parties  were,  by  the  judges  of  the  field, 
put  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same  circum- 
stances. But  in  private  duel  it  was  often  otherwise. 
In  that  desperate  combat  which  was  fought  between 
Quelus,  a  minion  of  Henry  III  of  France,  and  An- 
traguet,  with  two  seconds  on  each  side,  from 
which  only  two  persons  escaped  alive,  Quelus  com- 
plained that  his  antagonist  had  over  him  the  ad- 
vantage of  a  poniard  which  he  used  in  pari-ying, 
while  his  left  hand,  which  he  was  forced  to  employ 
for  the  same  purpose,  was  cruelly  mangled.  When 
he  charged  Antraguet  with  this  odds,  "  Thou  hast 
done  wrong,"  answered  he,"  to  forget  thy  dagger 
at  home.  We  are  here  to  fight,  and  not  to  settle 
punctilios  of  arms."  In  a  similar  duel,  however,  a 
younger  brother  of  the  house  of  Aubanye,  in  An- 
goulesme,  behaved  more  generously  on  the  like  oc- 
casion, and  at  once  threw  away  his  dagger,  when 
his  enemy  challenged  it  as  an  undue  advantage. 
But  at  this  time  hardly  any  thing  can  be  conceived 
more  horridly  brutal  and  savage,  than  the  mode  in 
which  private  quarrels  were  conducted  in  France. 
Those  who  were  most  jealous  of  the  point  of  honour, 
and  acquired  the  title  of  Rnjfines,  did  not  scruple 
to  take  every  advantage  of  strength,  numbers,  sur- 
jirise,  and  arms,  to  Accomplish  tiieir  revenge.  The 
sieur  de  Brantome,  to  whose  discourse  on  duels  I 
am  obliged  for  these  particulars,  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  ihe  death  and  principles  of  his  friend, 
the  baron  de  Vitaux : 

"  J'ay  oui  conter  a  un  tireur  d'armes,  qui  ap- 
prit  a  Millaud  a  entirer,lequel  s'appelloit  seignem- 
le  Jacques  Ferron,  de  la  ville  d'Ast,  qui  avoit  este 
k  moy,  il  fut  depuis  tue  a  Sainct-Basille  en  Cas- 
cogne,  lors  que  monsieur  dn  Mayne  I'assiegea,  lui 
servant  d'ingenieur;  et  de  malheur,  je  I'avois 
adresse  audit  baron  quelques  troismoisauparavant, 
pour  I'exercer  a  tirer,  bien  qu'il  en  sgeust  prou^ 
mais  il  n'en  fit  conte:  et  le  laissant,  Millaud  s'en 
servit,  et  le  rendit  fort  adroit.  Ce  seigneur  Jacques 
done  meraconta,  qu'il  s'estoit  monte  surun  noyer, 
assez  loing,  pour  en  voir  le  combat,  et  qu'il  ne  vist 
jamais  hommey  aller  plus  bravement,  ny  plus  re- 
solument,  ny  de  grace  plus  assuree  ny  determinee. 
II  commenca  de  marcher  de  cinquante  pas  vers  son 
ennemy,  relevant  souvent  ses  moustaches  en  haut 
d'une  main;  et  estant  a  vingt  pas  de  son  ennemy, 
(non  plustost)  il  mit  la  main  a  I'espee  ([u'il  tenoit 
en  la  main,  non  qu'il  I'eust  tire  encore;  mais  en 
marchant,  il  fit  voller  le  fourreau  en  Pair,  un  le 
secouant,  ce  ([ui  est  le  beau  de  cela,  et  qui  mon- 
stroit  bien  une  grace  de  combat  bien  assieuree  et 
froide,  el  nulleinent   temeraire,  comme   il  y  en  ii 


j  qui  tirent  leurs  esp6es  de  cinq  cents  pas  de  I'enne- 
my,  voire  de  mille,  comme  j'en  ay  veu  aucuns. 
!  Ainsi  mourut  ce  brave  baron,  le  paragon  de  France, 
qu'on  nommoit  tel,  a  bien  venger  ses  quereles, 
pargrandes  et  determinees  resolutions.  11  n'estoit 
pas  seulemeiit  eslime  en  France,  mais  en  Italia, 
Espaigne,  Allemaigne,  en  Boulogne  et  Angleterre; 
etdesiroient  fort  les  estrangers,  venanl  en  France, 
le  voir;  car  je  I'ay  veu,  tant  sa  renommee  volloit. 
11  estoit  fort  petit  de  corps,  mais  fort  grand  de 
courage.  Ses  ennemies  disoient  qu'il  ne  tuoil  pas 
bien  ses  gens,  que  par  advantages  et  supercheries. 
Cerles,  je  liens  des  grands  capitaines,  et  mesnies 
d'ltaliens,  qui  sont  estez  d'auires  fois  les  premiers 
vengeurs  du  mnnde,  in  og-ni  modo,  disoient-ils, 
qui  ont  tenu  cette  maxime,  qu'une  supercherie  ne 
se  devoit  payer  que  par  semblable  monnoye,  et 
n'y  alloit  point  Ik  de  deshonneur. " — CEiivres  de 
Brantome,  Paris,  1787-8.  Tome  viii,  p.  90-92. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  reader,  that  this 
paragon  of  France  was  the  most  foul  assassin  of 
his  time,  and  had  committed  many  desperate  mur- 
ders, chiefly  by  the  assistance  of  his  hired  banditti; 
from  which  it  may  be  conceived  how  little  the 
point  of  honour  of  the  period  deserved  its  name.  I 
have  chosen  to  give  the  heroes,  who  are  indeed  of 
an  earlier  period,  a  stronger  tincture  of  the  spii  it 
of  chivalry.  ' 

6.  Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu,  * 

That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw. — P.  151. 
A  round  target  of  light  wood,  covered  w  ilh  strong 
leather,  and  studded  with  brass  or  iron,  was  a  ne- 
cessary part  of  a  highlandcr's  equipment.  In  cliarg- 
ing  regular  troops,  they  received  the  thrust  of  the 
bayonet  in  tiiis  buckler,  twisted  it  aside,  and  used 
the  broadsword  against  the  encumbered  soldier. 
In  the  civil  war  of  1745,  most  of  tlie  J'ront-rank  of 
the  clans  were  thus  armed;  and  captain  Grose  in- 
forms us,  that,  in   1747,  the  jjrivates  of   the  4SJd 
regiment,  then  in  Flanders,  were  for  the  most  part 
permitted  to  carry  targets.    J\]ilitary  Antiqvilies, 
vol.  i,  p.  1G4.    A  person  thus  armed  had  a  consid- 
erable advantage  in  private  fray.    Among  verses 
between  Swift  and  Sheridan,  lately  published  by 
Dr.  Barrett,  there  is  an  account  of  such  an  encoun- 
ter, in  which  the  circumstances,  and  consequently 
the  relative  superiority  of  the  combatants,  are  pre- 
cisely the  reverse  of  those  in  the  text: 
A  highlander  once  fought  a  Frenchman  at  Margate, 
The  weapons,  a  rapier,  a  baek-sword,  and  target; 
Brisk  monsieur  advanced  as  fast  as  he  could. 
But  all  his  fine  pushes  were  caught  in  the  wood. 
And  sawny,  with  back-sword,  did  slash  him  ind  nick  him. 
While  t'other  enraged  that  he  could  not  once  prick  him, 
Criedj  "  Sirrah,  you  rascal,  you  son  of  a  whore. 
Me  will  fight  you,  be  gar!  if  you'll  come  from  your  door." 
7.   For,  trained  abroad  his  arras  to  wield, 

Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. — P.  151, 
The  use  of  defensive  armour,  and  particularly 
of  the  buckler  or  target,  wa>  general  in  queen 
Elizabeth's  time,  although  that  of  the  single  rapier 
seems  to  have  been  occasirnally  practised  much 
earlier.*  Rowland  Yorke,  however,  who  betrayed 
the  fort  of  Zutphen  to  the  Spaniards,  for  wliich 
good  service  he  was  afterwards  poisoned  by 
them,  is  said  to  liave  been  the  first  who  brought 
the  r;ipier-fight  into  general  use.  Fuller,  speak- 
ing of  the  swash-bucklers,  or  bullies  of  queen  Eli- 
zabeth's time,  says,  "  West  Smilhfield  was  for- 
merly called  Ruffian's  Hall,  where  such  men  usu- 
ally met,  casually  or  otherwise,  to  try  masler/ex 
with  sword  and  buckler.     More  were  frightened 


S-e  Donee's  Illustration';  of  Shakspeare,  vol.  ii,  p.  61. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE   LAKE. 


185 


than  hurt,  more  hurt  than  killed  therewith,  it  be- 
ing accounted  unmanly  to  strike  beneath  the  knee. 
But  since  that  desperate  traitor  Rowland  Yorke 
first  introduced  thrusting  with  rapiers,  sword  and 
buckler  are  disused."  In  "The  Two  Angry  Women 
of  Abingdon,"  a  comedj',  printed  in  1599,  we  have 
a  pathetic  complaint; — "  Sword  and  buckler  fight 
begins  to  grow  out  of  use.  I  am  sorry  for  it:  I 
shall  never  see  good  manhood  again.  If  it  be  once 
gone,  this  poking  figlit  of  rapier  and  dagger-  will 
come  up;  then  a  tall  man,  and  a  good  sword  and 
buckler  man,  will  be  spitted  like  a  cat  or  rabbit." 
But  the  rapier  had  upon  the  continent  long  super- 
seded, in  private  duel,  the  use  of  sword  and  shield. 
The  masters  of  the  noble  science  of  defence  were 
chiefly  Italians.  They  made  great  mystery  of  their 
art  and  mode   of  instruction,  never   suffered   any 


9.  — Ye  towers! 


.   ^        ,  ithin  whose  circuit  drt:ad 

A  Douglas  by  iiis  suvcrti?n  blui, 
Ai.d  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound! 
That  oft  hast  huard  the  deaili-axe  sound. -P.  152, 
Stirling  was  often   polluted    with  noble  blood. 
It  is  thus  apostrophized  by  J.  Johnston: 

; Discordia  tristis 

Heu  quoties  procerum  sangpuine  tinxit  humum! 
Hoc  uno  infelix,  et  fclix  ccetera,  nusquam 
Lstior  aut  cceli  fions  geniusve  soli. 
The  fate  of  William,   eighth  earl  of  Douglas, 
whom  James  II  stabbed  in  Stirling  caslle  with  bis 
own  hand,  and  while  under  his  royal  safe-conduct, 
is  familiar  to  all  who  read  Scottish  history.  Mur- 
dack  duke  of  Albany,  Duncan  earl  of  Lennox,  his 
father-in-law,  and  his  two  sons,  Walter  and  Alex- 
ander Stuart,  were  executed  at  Stirling,  in   1425. 


person  to  be  present  but  the  scholar  who  was  to  be  I  T*"'^'  "fre  beheaded  upon  an  eminence  without 
♦„.,„i.t  „„.i  »„„„  „^„.„:.,„,i  „i„=..,*„  ).„,!„  „„  J  „.i,,..  I  the  castle  walls,  but  making  part  of  the  same  hill. 


taught,  and  even  examined  closets,  beds,  and  other 
places  of  possible  concealment.  Their  lessons  of- 
ten gave  the  most  treacherous  advantages;  for  the 
challenger,  liaving  the  right  to  choose  his  wea- 
pons, frequently  selected  some  strange,  unusual, 
and  inconvenient  kind  of  arms,  the  use  of  whicli 
he  practised  under  these  instructors,  and  thus  kill- 
ed at  his  ease  his  antagonist,  to  whom  it  was  pre- 
sented for  the  first  time  on  the  field  of  battle.  See 
£raniome^s  discourse  on  Duels,  and  the  work  on 
the  same  subject,  "  si gentement  ^crit," hy  the  ve- 
nerable Dr.  Paris  de  Puteo.  The  highlanders 
continued  to  use  broadsword  and  target  until  dis- 
armed after  tlie  afliiir  of  1745-6. 


8.  Lilie  mountain-cat  who  guards  her  Vounjj, 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung.— P.  151. 
1  have  not  ventured  to  render  this  duel  so  sa- 
vagely desperate  as  that  of  the  celebrated  sir  E  wan 
of  Lochiel,  chief  of  the  clan  Cameron,  called,  from 
his  sable  complexion,  Ewan  Dliu.  He  was  the  last 
man  in  Scotland  who  maintained  tlie  royal  cause 
during  tlie  great  civil  war,  and  his  constant  incur- 
sions rendered  him  a  very  unpleasant  neighbour 
to  the  republican  garrison  at  Inverlochy,  now  Fort 
William.  The  governor  of  the  fort  detached  a 
party  of  three  hundred  men  to  lay  waste  Lochiel's 
possessions,  and  cut  down  his  trees;  but,  in  a  sud- 
den and  desperate  attack,  made  upon  them  bj'  the 
chieftain,  with  very  inferior  nupabers,  the)'  were 
almost  all  cut  to  pieces.  The  skirmish  is  detail- 
ed in  a  curious  memoir  of  sir  Ewan's  life,  printed 
in  the  Appendix  of  Pennant's  Scottish  Tour. 

"  Tn  this  engagement,  Lochiel  himself  had  se- 
veral wonderful  escapes.  In  the  retreat  of  the  En- 
glish, one  of  the  strongest  and  bravest  of  the  offi- 
cers retired  behind  a  bush,  when  he  observed  Lo- 
chiel pursuing,  and  seeing  him  unaccompanied 
with  any,  he  leaped  out,  and  tliougbt  iiira  his  prey. 
They  met  one  another  with  equal  fury.  The  com- 
bat was  long  and  doubtful:  the  Eiiglisli  gentleman 
had  by  far  tlie  advantage  in  strength  and  size;  but 
Lochiel  exceeding  him  in  nimbleness  and  agility, 
in  tlie  end  tript  the  sword  out  of  his  hand:  they 
closed,  and  wrestled,  till  both  fell  to  the  ground, 
in  each  other's  arms.  The  English  officer  got  above 
Lochiel,  and  j)ressed  him  har<l,but  stretching  forth 
his  neck,  by  attempting  to  disengage  himself,  Lo- 
chiel, wiio  by  this  time  had  his  hands  at  libertj', 
•with  his   left  hand    seized  him  by  the  collar,  and 


from  whence  they  could  behold  their  strong  castle 
of  Doune,  and  their  extensive  possessions.  This 
"  heading  hill,"  as  it  was  sometimes  termed,  bears 
commonly  the  less  terrible  name  of  Hurly-hacket, 
from  its  having  been  the  scene  of  a  courtly  amuse- 
ment alluded  to  by  Sir  David  Lindsay,  who  says 
of  the  pastimes  in  which  the  young  king  was  en- 
ffasfed. 


"  Some  hark'd  him  to  the  Hurly-hacket;" 
which  consisted  in  sliding,  in  some  sort  of  chair 
it  may  be  supposed,  from  top  to  bottom  of  a  smooth 
bank.  The  boys  of  Edinburgh,  about  twenty  years 
ago,  used  to  play  at  the  hurly-hacket  on  the  Cal- 
ton-hill,  using  for  their  seat  a  horse's  skull. 

10.  The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day.—  P.  152. 
Every  burgh  of  Scotland,  of  tlie  least  note,  but 
more  especially  the  considerable  towns,  had  their 
solemn  fjinji,  or  festival,  when  feats  of  archerv 
were  exhibited,  and  prizes  distributed  to  those 
who  excelled  in  wrestling,  hurling  the  bar,  and 
tlie  other  gymnastic  exercises  of  the  period.  Stir- 
ling, a  usual  place  of  royal  residence,  was  not  like- 
ly to  be  deficient  in  pomp  upon  such  occasions, 
especially  since  .Tames  V  was  very  partial  to  tliem. 
His  ready  participation  in  these  ])opular  amuse- 
ments was  one  cause  of  his  acquiring  the  title  of 
king  of  the  Commons,  or  Rex  Plebeionim,  as  Les- 
ley has  latinized  it.  The  usual  prize  to  the  best 
shooter  was  a  silver  arrow.  Such  a  one  is  pre- 
served at  Selkirk  and  at  Peebles.  At  Dumfries, 
a  silver  gun  was  substituted,  and  the  contention 
transferred  to  fire-arms.  The  ceremonv,  .is  there 
performed,  is  the  subject  of  an  excellent  Scottish 
poem,  by  Mr.  John  Mayne,  entitled  the  Siller 
Gun,  1808,  which  surpasses  the  efforts  of  Fergu- 
son, and  comes  near  those  of  Burns. 

Of  James's  attachment  to  archery,  Pitseottie, 
the  faithfid,  though  rude  recorder  of  the  manners 
of  that  period,  has  given  us  evidence: 

"  In  tliis  year  tliere  came  an  ambassador  out  of 
England,  named  lord  William  Howar;!,  wiih  a 
bishop  with  him,  with  many  other  gentlemen,  to 
tlie  number  uf  threescore  horse,  which  were  all 
the  able  men  and  waled  (picked)  men  for  all  kind 
ofgames  and  pastimes,  shooting,  louping,  running, 
wrestling,  and  casting  of  the  stone,  but  they  were 
well  'sayed  (essayed  or  tried)  ere  they  ])ast  out  of 
Scotland,  and  lliat  by  their  own  provocation;  but 


jumping  at  his  extended  throat,  he  bit  it  with  his   ever  they  tint:  till  at  last,  tlie  (pieen  of  Scotland, 


teeth  quite  through,  and  kei)t  such  a  hold  of  his 
grasp,  that  he  brought  away  his  mouthful:  this,  he 
said,  was  the  sweetest  bit  he  ever  had  in  his  life- 
time."— Vol.  i,  p.  375. 


the  king's  mother,  favoured  the  Englisli-men,  bt 
cause  she  was  the  king  of  England's   sister:    and 
therefore  she  took  an  enter[)rise  of  archery  upon 
the  English-men's  hands,  contrary  lier  son  the  king. 


186 


SCOTT'S  FOF/nCAL  WORKS. 


and  any  six  in  Scotland  that  he  wouUl  wale,  either 
gentletiien  or  vcoiikmi,  tliat  the  En^lisli-mcn  should 
shoot  against  tlicm,  eitlicr  at  pricks,  rovers,  or 
buts,  as  the  Scots  i)leased. 

"  The  king  hearing  this  of  his  mother,  was  con- 
tent, and  gari  her  i)a«n  a  huudiod  crowns,  and  a 
tun  of  wine,  upon  the  English-men's  hands;  and  he 
incontinent  laid  down  as  much  for  the  Scottish- 
men.  The  field  un<l  ground  was  cliosen  in  St.  An- 
drews, and  three  landed  men  and  tliree  yeomen 
chosen  to  shoot  against  tiie  Englisli-men,  to  wit, 
David  Wemyss  ot  tliat  ilk,  David  Arnot  of  that 
ilk,  and  Mr.  John  W'edderburu,  vicar  of  Dundee; 
the  yeomen,  .lolni  Thomson,  in  Leith,  Steven 
Tabiirner,  with  a  pii>i  r,  called  Alexander  Bailie; 
they  sliot  very  near,  and  warred  (worsted)  the  En- 
glish-iuen  of  the  enterprise,  and  wan  the  hundred 
crowns  and  the  tun  of  wine,  which  made  the  king 
very  merry  that  his  men  wan  the  victory." — P.  147. 
11.  Robin  Hood.— P.  152. 

The  exhibition  of  iliis  renowned  outlaw  and  his 
band  was  a  favourite  frolic  at  such  festivals  as  we 
are  describing.  This  sporting,  in  which  kings  did 
not  disdain  to  be  actors,  was  prohibited  in  Scot- 
land upon  the  Reformation,  by  a  statute  of  the  6th 
parliament  of  queen  Mary,  c.  61,  A.  D.  1555, 
which  ordered,  under  heavy  penalties,  that  "  na 
manner  of  person  be  chosen  Robert  Hude,  nor 
Little  John,  Abbot  of  Unreason,  queen  of  May,  nor 
otherwise."  But  1561,  "the  rascal  multitude," 
says  Joiin  Knox,  "  were  stirred  up  to  make  a  Ro- 
bin Hude,  whilk  enormity  was  of  mony  years  left 
and  damned  by  statute  and  act  of  parliament;  yet 
would  they  not  be  forbidden."  Accordingly  they 
raised  a  very  serious  tumult,  and  at  length  made 
prisoners  the  magistrates  who  endeavoured  to  sup- 
press it,  and  would  not  release  them  till  they  ex- 
torted a  formal  promise  that  no  one  should  be 
punished  for  his  share  of  the  disturbance.  It  would 
seem,  from  the  complaints  of  the  general  assem- 
bly of  the  kirk,  that  these  profi^ne  festivities  were 
continued  down  to  1592.*  Bold  Robin  was,  to  say 
the  least,  equally  successful  in  maintaining  his 
ground  against  the  reformed  clergy  of  England: 
for  the  simple  and  evangelical  Latimer  complains 
of  coming  to  a  country  cliurcli,  where  the  people 
refused  to  hear  him,  because  it  was  Robin  Hood's 
day;  and  his  mitre  and  rochet  were  fain  to  give 
way  to  the  village  pastime.  Much  curious  infor- 
mation on  this  subject  may  be  found  in  the  ])reli- 
minary  Dissertation  to  the  late  Mr.  Ritson's  edi- 
tion of  the  songs  respecting  this  memorable  out- 
law. The  game  of  Robin  Hood  was  usually  acted 
in  May;  and  he  was  associated  with  the  morrice- 
dancers,  on  whom  so  much  illustration  has  been 
bestowed  by  the  commentators  on  Shakspeare. 
A  very  lively  picture  of  these  festivities,  contain- 
ing a  great  deal  of  curious  information  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  private  life  and  amusements  of  our  an- 
cestors, was  thrown,  by  the  late  ingenious  Mr. 
Strutt,  into  his  romance  entitled  Queen-Hoo-IIall, 
published,  after  his  death,  in  1808. 

12,  Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight. 

The  monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright.— P.  153. 
The  Douglas  of  the  poem  is  an  imaginary  per- 
son, a  supposed  uncle  of  tlie  earl  of  Angus.  But 
the  king's  behaviour  during  an  unexpected  inter- 
view with  the  laird  of  Kilspinde,  one  of  the  ban- 
ished Douglasses,  under  circumstances  similar  to 
those  in  tlie  text,  is  imitated  from  a  real  stoiy 

•  Book  of  the  universal  kirk,  p.  411. 


told  by  Hume  of  Godscroft.  I  would  have  avail- 
ed myself  more  fully  of  the  simple  and  affecting 
circumstances  of  the  old  history,  had  they  not  been 
already  woven  into  a  pathetic  ballad  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Finlay.* 

"  His  (the  king's)  implacability  (towards  the 
family  of  Douglas)  diil  also  appear  in  his  carriage 
towards  Arcliibakl  of  Kilspiiidie,  whom  he,  when 
he  was  a  cliild,  loved  singularly  well  for  his  ability 
of  body,  and  was  wont  to  call  him  his  Gray-SleilLf 
Archibald  being  banished  into  England,  could  not 
well  comport  with  the  humour  of  that  nation,  wliich 
he  thouglit  to  be  too  proud,  and  that  they  had  loo 
high  a  conceit  of  tliemselves,  joined  with  a  contempt 
and  despising  of  all  others.  Wherefore,  being 
wearied  of  that  life,  and  remembenng  the  king's 
favour  of  old  towards  him,  he  determined  to  try 
the  king's  mercifulness  and  clemency.  So  he  comes 
into  Scotland,  and,  taking  occasion  of  the  king's 
hunting  in  the  park  at  Stn-ling,  he  casts  himself  to 
be  in  his  way,  as  he  was  coming  home  to  the  cas- 
tle. So  soon  as  tlie  king  saw  liim  afar  off,  ere  he 
came  near,  he  guessed  it  was  he,  and  said  to  one 
of  his  courtierii,  yonder  is  my  Gray-Steill,  Archi- 
bald of  Kilspindie,  if  he  be  alive.  The  otiier  an- 
swered, that  it  could  not  be  he,  and  that  he  durst 
not  come  into  the  king's  presence.  Tiie  king  ap- 
proaching, he  fell  upon  his  knees  and  craved  pai- 
don,  and  promised  from  thenceforward  to  abstain 
from  meddling  in  public  affairs,  and  to  lead  a  quiet 
and  private  life.  Tlie  king  went  by,  williout  giving 
him  an)'  aLiswer,  and  trotted  a  good  round  pace  up 
the  hill.  Kilsjjindie  followed,  anil,  tliougli  he  wore 
on  him  a  secret,  or  shirt  of  mail,  for  his  particular 
enemies,  was  as  soon  at  the  castle-gate  as  the  king. 
There  lie  sat  him  down  upon  a  stone  without,  and 
entreated  some  of  the  king's  servants  for  a  cup 
of  drink,  being  weary  and  thirsty;  but  tiiey,  fuar- 
ing  the  king's  disijleasure,  durst  give  him  none. 
When  the  king  was  set  at  his  dinner,  he  asked 
what  lie  hail  done,  what  he  had  said,  and  Mhither 
he  had  gone?  It  was  told  him  that  he  had  desired 
a  cup  of  drink,  and  had  gotten  none.  The  king  re- 
proved Uiem  very  sharply  for  tlieir  discourtesy,  and 
told  them,  that  if  he  had  not  taken  an  oatii  that  no 
Douglas  should  ever  serve  him,  he  would  have  re- 
ceived him  into  his  service,  for  he  had  seen  him 
some  time  a  man  of  great  ability.  Tlien  he  sent 
him  word  to  go  to  Leith,  and  expect  his  further 
pleasure.  Tlun  some  kinsman  of  David  Falconer, 
the  caiionier  tliat  was  slain  at  Tantallon,  began  to 
quarrel  with  Archibald  about  the  matter,  wherewith 
the  king  sliowed  himself  not  well  pleased  when  he 
heard  of  it.  Tlien  he  commanded  him  to  go  to 
France  fjr  a  ceiLain  space,  till  he  iieard  further 
from  him.  And  so  he  did,  and  died  shortly  after. 
This  gave  occasion  to  tlie  king  of  England  (Henry 
VHl)  to  blame  his  nephew,  alleging  the  old  say- 
ing, Tliat  a  king's  face  should  give  grace.  For 
this  Archibald  (whatsoever  were  Angus's  or  sir 
George's  fault)  had  not  been  principal  actor  of 
any  thing,  noi'  no  counsellor  nor  stirrer  up,  but 
only  a  follower  of  his  friends,  and  tnat  noways 
cruelly  disposed." — iluMS,  of  Godscroft,  ii,  107. 

13.  Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  king 
'i'o  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring.— P.  153. 

The  usual  prize  of  a  wrestling  was  a  ram  and  a 


•  See  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  Ballads,  Glas- 
gow, 1308,  vol.  ii,  p.  117. 

t  A  ohajui>iou  of  popular  romance.  See  Ellis's  Romances, 
vol.  ii. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


1C7 


ring,  but  the  animal  would  liave  embarrassed  mj- 
story.  Thus  in  the  Coke's  Tale  of  Gamelyn,  as- 
cribed to  Chaucer: 

There  happed  to  be  there  beside 

Ti-)'ed  a  wrestling; 
And  therefore  there  was  y-setten 

A  ram  and  als  a  ring. 

Again  the  Litil  Geste  of  Robin  Hood: 
-By  a  bridge  was  a  wrestling, 


And  there  taryed  was  Jie, 
And  there  was  all  the  best  yemen 

Of  all  the  west  countrey. 
A  full  fayre  game  there  was  set  up, 

A  white  bull  up  y-pight, 
A  great  courser  with  saddle  and  brydle. 

With  gold  burnished  full  bryght; 
A  payre  of  gloves,  a  red  golde  ruig, 

A  pipe  of  w)-ne,  good  fey; 
What  man  bereth  hun  best  I  wis, 

The  prise  shall  bear  away. 

Ritson's  Robin  Hood,  vol.  i. 


KOTES  TO  CANTO  TI. 
1.  These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord. 
Nor  owned  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  chieftain  in  their  leader's  name; 
Adventurers  they, P.  155. 

The  Scottish  armies  consisted  chiefly  of  the  no- 
bility and  barons,  with  their  vassals,  who  held 
lands  under  them,  for  military  service  by  them- 
selves and  their  tenants.  The  patriarchal  influence 
exercised  by  the  heads  of  clans  in  the  highlands 
and  borders  was  of  a  different  nature,  and  some- 
times at  variance  with  feudal  principles.  It  flow- 
ed from  the  patria  potestais  exercised  by  the  chief- 
lain,  as  representing  the  original  father  of  the 
whole  name,  and  was  often  obeyed  in  contradic- 
tion to  the  feudal  superior.  James  V  seems  first 
to  have  introduced,  in  addition  to  the  militia  fur- 
nished from  these  sources,  the  service  of  a  small 
number  of  mercenaries,  who  formed  a  body-guard, 
called  the  foot-band.  The  satirical  poet,  sir  Da- 
vid Lindsay  (or  the  person  who  wrote  the  prologue 
to  his  pla\'  of  the  "Three  Estaites,")  has  intro- 
duced Finlay  of  the  fool-band,  who,  after  much 
swaggering  upon  the  stage,  is  at  length  put  to  flight 
by  the  tool,  who  terrifies  him  by  means  of  a  sheep's 
skull  upon  a  pole.  L  have  ratlier  chosen  to  give 
them  the  harsh  features  of  the  mercenary  soldiers 
of  the  period,  than  of  this  Scottish  Thraso.  These 
partook  of  the  character  of  the  adventurous  com- 
panions of  Froissart,  or  the  Condoltieri  of  Italy. 

One  of  the  best  and  liveliest  truits  of  such  man- 
ners is  the  last  will  of  a  leader,  called  Geff"roy 
Tete  Noir,  who  having  been  sliglitly  wounded  in 
a  skirmish,  his  intemperance  brougfit  on  a  mortal 
disease.  When  he  found  himself  dying,  lie  sum- 
moned to  his  bed-side  the  adventurers  whom  he 
commanded,  and  thus  addressed  tliem: 

"  Fayre  sirs,  quod  Geftray,  I  knov.e  well  ye 
have  al  wayes  served  and  honoured  me  as  men  ought 
to  serve  their  soveraygne  and  capitayne,  and  1  slial 
be  the  gladder  if  ye  will  agre  Id  have  to  your  ca- 
pitayne  one  that  is  descended  of  my  blode.  Behold 
here  Aleyne  Roux,  my  cosyn,  and  Peter  his  bro- 
ther, who  are  men  of  armes  and  of  my  blode.  I 
require  vou  to  make  Aleyne  your  capitayne,  and 
to  swere'tohim  faythe,  obeysaance,  love,  and  loy- 
alte,  here  iu  my  presence,  and  also  to  his  brother: 
howe  be  it,  I  will  that  Aleyne  have  the  soverayne 
charge. — Sir,  quod  they,  we  are  well  content,  for 
ye  hauve  right  well  chosen.  Tliere  all  the  corapa- 
iiyons  made  theym  servyanl  to  Aleyne  Roux  and  to 


Peter  his  brother.  ^^  hen  all  thp.t  -.vas  done,  then 
Geflraye  spake  aga\  ne,  and  sayd:  Nov.e,  sirs,  ve 
have  obeyed  to  n\y  pleasure,  I  canne  ycu  great 
thanke:  wherefore,  sirs,  I  wyll  ye  have  ])arle  of 
that  ye  have  holpen  to  conquere.  I  say  unto  you, 
that  in  yonder  chest  that  ye  se  stande  yonder,  there- 
in is  to  the  sura  of  xxx  thousand  frankes, — I  wyll 
give  them  accordynge  to  my  conscyence.  Wyll  ye 
all  be  content  to  fulfil  my  testament;  howe  say 
ye' — Sir,  quod  they,  we  be  ryghte  well  contente 
to  fulfvl  your  commaundement.  Thane  first,  quod 
he,  1  wyil  and  give  to  the  chapell  of  sayrt  George, 
here  in  this  castell,  for  the  reparacions  thereof,  a 
thousande  and  five  hundrede  frankes:  and  1  give  to 
my  lover,  who  hath  truly  served  me,  two  thousand 
and  five  hundrede  frankes:  and  also  I  give  to  Aleyne 
Roux,  your  new  capitayne,  four  thousande  frankes: 
also  to'  the  varieties  of  my  chambre  I  gyve  fyve 
hundrede  frankes.  To  mine  oftycers  I  give  a  thou- 
sande and  five  hundrede  frankes.  The  rest  I  gyve 
and  bequeth  as  I  shall  show  you.  Ye  be  upon  a 
thjrtie  companyons  all  of  one  sorte:  ye  ought  to 
be  brethrene,  and  all  of  one  alyaunce,  without  de- 
bate, lyotte,  or  stryfFe  among  you.  All  this  that 
I  have  showed  you  ye  shall  fynde  in  yonder  cheste. 
1  wylle  that  ye'dep'arte  all  the  residue  equally  and 
truellv  bitwene  you  thyrtie.  And  if  ye  be  nat  thus 
contente,  but  that  the  (le\-}lle  wyll  set  debate  bi- 
twene you,  than  beholde  yonder  is  a  strong  axe, 
breke  up  the  coffer,  and  get  it  who  can. — To  these 
words  every  one  ansuered  and  said,  sir,  and  dere 
maister,  we  are  anil  shall  be  all  of  one  accorde. 
Sir,  we  have  so  much  loved  and  doated  you,  that 
we  will  breke  no  coffer,  nor  breke  no  poynt  of  that 
ye  have  ordayned  and  commanded." — Lord  Beu- 
>-EHs'  Froissart. 

2.  Thou  Tnow  hast  glc-e-rar.iden  and  harp! 
Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trurlge  the  land. 
The  leader  of  a. juggler  band. — P.  156. 

The  jongleurs,  or  jugglers,  as  we  learn  from  the 
elaborate  workoftlie  late  Mr.  Strutt,  on  the  sports 
and  pastimes  of  the  people  of  England,  used  to 
call  in  tiie  aid  of  various  assistants,  to  render  these 
performances  as  captivating  as  possible.  The  glee- 
maiden  was  a  necessary  attendant.  Her  duty  was 
tumbling  and  dancing:  and  therefore  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  version  of  saint  Mark's  gospel  states  He- 
rodias  to  have  vaidtefl  or  tumbled  before  king 
Herod.  l:i  Scotland,  these  poor  creatures  seem, 
even  al  a  late  period,  to  have  been  bondswomen 
tr)  tlieir  masters,  as  appears  from  a  case  reported 
by  Fountainliall.  "  lieid  tlie  mountebank  pursues 
Scott  of  Harden  and  ids  lady,  for  stealing  away 
trOm  him  a  little  girl,  called  the  tumbling-lassie, 
that  danced  upon  liis  stage;  and  he  claimed  da- 
mages, and  produced  a  contract,  whereby  he  bought 
her  from  her  motlier,  for  30/.  Scots.  But  we  have 
no  slaves  in  Scotland,  and  mothers  cannot  sell 
their  bairns;  and  physicians  attested,  the  employ- 
ment of  tumbling  would  kill  her;  and  her  joints 
were  now  grown  stift",  and  she  declined  to  retiu-n; 
thougli  she  was  at  least  a  'prentice  and  so  could 
not  run  away  from  her  master;  yet  some  cited  Mo- 
ses's law,  that  if  a  servant  sheltered  himself  w  ith 
thee,  against  his  master's  cruelty,  tliou  shall  surely 
not  deliver  him  up.  Ttie  lords,  renitente  cancellario, 
ilzied  Harden  on  the  2rth  of  January,  (1687. )" 
vol.  i,  p.  439.* 


asso 

— Foimtainha 


Decisions 


*  Though  less  to  my  jiurpose,  I  cannot  help  noticing  a 
circumstance  resoecting  another  of  this  Mr.  Reid's  at- 
tendants, which  occurred  duringjames  II's  zeal  for  ca- 
tholic pro5"lvtisin,  and  is  told  by  Founuinhall,  with  dry 


1S8 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  facetious  f(ualities  of  tliC  :ipe  soon  rcnilt-rcd 
him  an  jicecplaMu  adilition  to  tlie  stroUiiif;  band 
of  the  jonglfiic.  IJenJonson,  in  his  splenetic  intro- 
ihiction  to  tiic  fOnu-dy  iif  "  IJai-lliolonicw-  Fair," 
is  at  pains  to  intoiMU  the  audience  that  "  he  has 
i\e'er  a  sword  ami  huckhT  nian  iu  his  fair,  nor  a 
juggler,  with  a  well  educated  ape,  to  come  over 
the  chaine  for  the  king  of  t'.nslanil,  anil  hack  again 
for  the  prince,  and  sit  still  on  liis  haunches  for  the 
pope  and  the  king  of  Spain." 

3.  Th.nt  stiiriii)^  air  that  pc.ils  on  high. 
O'er  Ucriiiiil"s  race  our  victory. 
Strike  it! 1'.  157. 

There  are  several  instances,  at  least  in  tradition, 
of  persons  so  much  attaciied  to  particular  tunes,  as 
to  reijuire  to  hear  them  on  their  death-bed.  Such 
an  anecdote  is  mentioned  by  the  late  Mr.  Riddell, 
of  Glenriddcll,  iti  Jiis  collection  of  border  tnnes, 
respecting  an  air  called  the  "  Dandling  of  the 
Bairns,"  for  which  a  certain  Gallo\idian  laird  is 
said  to  have  evinced  this  strong  mark  of  jjarliality. 
It  is  popularly  told  o;'a  famous  freebooter,  that  he 
composed  the  tune  know  n  by  the  name  of  Mac- 
l)herson's  rant  «hile  under  sentence  of  death,  and 
played  it  at  the  galluws-lree.  Some  spirited  words 
nave  been  adapted  to  it  by  Br.j-ns.  A  similar  stoiy 
is  recounted  of  a  Welsh  bard,  who  composed  and 
played  on  his  deatii-bi  d  the  air  called  DuJ'i/ddii 
Gavregg  JVcn. 

Hut  the  most  curious  example  is  given  by  Bran- 
tome,  of  a  maid  of  honour  at  tiie  court  of  France, 
entitled,  Mademoiselle  de  Limueil.  "  Uurant  sa 
maladie,  dont  elle  trespassa,  jamais  elle  ne  cessa, 
ains  causa  tousjonrs:  car  elle  estoit  forte  grande 
parleuse,  brocardeuse,  et  tres-bien  et  fort  a  propos, 
el  tres-belle  avec  cela.  Quand  I'heure  de  sa  fin  fut 
venne,  elle  fit  venir  .a  soy  son  valet,  (ainsi  que  les 
filles  de  la  cour  en  oril  chacune  un,)  qui  s'appeloit 
Julien,  et  scavoit  trt^s-bien  jouer  duviolon.  '  Julien, 
luy  dit  elle,  prenez  vostre  violon,  et  siiimez  moy 
tousjours  jus(|ues  a  ce  que  me  voyez  morte  (carje 
ni'y  en  vais)  ia  defaite  dt;s  Suisses,  et  le  niieux 
que  voiis  pourrez,  et  quand  vous  serez  sur  le  mot, 
'  Tout  est  [)erdu,'  sonnez  le  par  ijuatre  ou  cing  fois, 
Je  plus  piteusement  que  vous  poiu-rez,'  ce  qui  fit 
I'autre,  et  elle-mesme  luy  aidoit  de  la  voi.\,  tt 
quand  ce  vint  '  tout  est  perdu,'  elle  le  reitera  par 
deux  fois;  et  se  tourLiant  de  I'autre  coste  du  chevet, 
elle  dit  a  ses  compagnes;  '  Tout  est  perdu  ii  ce  coup, 
et  a  bon  escient;'  et  ainsi  deceda.  \'oila  uue  morte 
joyeuse  et  plaisante.  Je  tiens  ceconte  de  deux  de  ses 
compagnes,  dignesde  fois,  qui  vi rent joiier  ce  mys- 
tere. '' — (Envres  de  Bvantome,  iii,  5U/. 

The  tune  to  which  this  fair  lady  chose  to  mifke 
her  final  exit  was  composed  on  the  clefeat  of  the 
Swiss  at  Marignano.  The  burden  is  quoted  by 
Panurge,  in  Rabelais,  and  consists  of  these  words, 
imitating  the  jargon  of  the  Swiss,  whicii  is  a  mix- 
ture of  French  and  German: 

"  Tout  est  velore 
La  Tinlelore. 
Tout  est  vtlore  by  Got!"' 

4.  Battle  of  Heal' ail  Duinc— P.  1J7. 
A  skirmish  actually  took  place  at  a  pass  thus 
called  in  the   Trosachs,  and  closetl  with  the  re 


Scottish  irony.  "  January  17th,  1687.— Rcid  the  mounti:- 
baiik  is  received  into  the  popish  elnirch,  and  one  of  liis 
blacUamores  was  pcrsuadetl  to  accept  of  baptism  from  tlie 
popish  priests,  and  to  turn  christ-an  papist;  which  was  a 
prut  tropliy:  he  was  called  James,  aflrr  the  king-  and 
chaiitelloi,  and  the  Apostle  Jamce."— Ibid,  p.  440. 


markable  incident  mentioned  in  the  text.    It  was 
greatly  posterior  in  date  to  the  reign  of  James  V. 

"  In  this  roughly-wooded  island,*  the  country 
peoi)le  secreted  their  wives  and  children,  and  their 
most  valuable  efiects,  from  the  rapacity  of  Crom- 
well's soldiers,  during  their  inroad  into  this  coun- 
try, in  the  time  of  the  republic.  These  invaders, 
not  venturing  to  ascend  by  the  ladders,  along  the 
side  of  the  lake,  took  a  more  circuitous  road, 
through  tlie  heart  of  the  Tros.'»chs,  the  most  fre- 
quented ]iatli  at  that  time,  which  penetrates  the 
wilderness  about  half  way  between  liinean  and 
the  lake,  by  a  tract  called  Yea-chilleach,  or  the 
Old  Wife's  Bog. 

"  In  one  of  the  defiles  of  this  by-road,  the  men 
of  the  country  at  that  time  hnng  upon  the  rear  of 
the  invading  enemy,  and  shot  one  of  Cromwell's 
men,  whose  grave  marks  tlie  scene  of  action,  and 
gives  name  to  that  pass.f  In  revenge  of  this  insult, 
the  soldiers  resolved  to  plunder  the  island,  to 
violate  the  women,  and  put  the  children  to  death. 
Willi  this  brutal  intention,  one  of  the  party  more 
expert  than  the  rest,  swam  towards  the  island,  to 
fetch  the  boat  to  his  comrades,  which  had  carried 
the  women  to  their  asylum,  and  lay  moored  in 
one  of  the  creeks.  His  companions  stood  on  the 
shore  of  the  main  laud,  in  full  view  of  all  that  was 
to  pass,  -w  ailing  anxiously  for  his  return  with  the 
boat.  But,  just  as  the  swimmer  had  got  to  the 
nearest  point  of  the  island,  and  was  laying  hold  of 
a  black  rock,  to  get  on  shore,  a  heroine,  who  stood 
on  the  very  point  where  he  meant  to  land,  hastily 
snatching  a  dagger  from  below  her  apron,  with 
one  stroke  severed  his  head  from  the  body.  His 
party  seeing  this  disaster,  and  relinquishing  all 
future  hope  of  revenge  or  conquest,  made  the  best 
of  their  way  out  of  their  perilous  situation.  This 
amazon's  great-grantison  lives  at  Bridge  of  Turk, 
who,  besides  others,  attests  the  anecdote." — Sketch 
of  the  Scenery  near  Cullender.  Stirling,  ISUG,  p. 
'■20.  1  have  only  to  add  to  this  account,  that  the 
heroine's  name  was  Helen  Stuart. 

5.  And  Suowdoun's  kiught  is  Scotland's  king.— P.  160. 

This  discovery  will  probably  remind  the  reader 
of  tiie  beautiful  Arabian  tale  of  11  Bondocani. 
Yet  the  incident  is  not  borrowed  from  that  elegant 
story,  but  from  Scottish  tradition.  Jaiues  \',  of 
whom,  we  are  treating,  was  a  monarch  whose  good 
and  benevolent  intentions  often  rendered  liis  ro- 
mantic freaks  venial,  if  not  respectable,  since, 
from  his  anxious  attention  to  the  interests  of  the 
lower  and  most  oppressed  class  of  his  subjects,  he 
was,  as  we  have  seen,  popularly  termed  the  king 
of  the  commons.  For  the  purpose  of  seeing  that 
justice  was  regularly  administered,  and  frequently 
from  the  less  justifiable  motive  of  gailantrv,  he 
used  to  traverse  the  vicinage  of  his  several  palaces 
in  various  disguises.  The  two  excellent  comic 
songs,  entilled  "The  Gaberlimzie  Man,"  and 
••'  We'll  gae  nae  mair  a  roving,"  are  said  to  have 
been  founded  upon  the  success  of  his  amorous  ad- 
veutni'es  when  travelling  in  the  disguise  of  a  beg- 
gar. 'Ihe  laller  is  perhajis  the  best  comic  ballad 
m  any  language. 

Another  adventure,  which  had  nearly  cost  James 
his  life,  is  syiid  to  have  taken  place  at  the  village 
of  Cramond,  near  Edinburgh,  where  he  had 
rendered  his  addresses  acceptable  to  a  pretty  girl 
of  the  lower  rank.    Four  or  five  persons,  whether 


•  That  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Loch  Katrine,  so  of- 
ten mentioned  in  die  text, 
t  Beallach  an  duiue. 


THE  LADY   OF  THE  LAKE. 


189 


relations  or  lovers  of  his  mistress  is  uncertain,  be- 
set tlie  disguised  monarch,  as  he  returned  from  his 
rendezvous.  Natural])'  gallant,  and  an  admirable 
master  of  liis  weapon,  the  king  took  post  on  the 
high  and  narrow  bridge  over  the  Almond  river, 
and  defended  himself  bravely  with  his  sword.  A 
peasant,  who  was  threshing  in  a  neighbouring  barn, 
came  out  upon  the  noise,  and,  whether  moved  by 
compassion  or  by  natural  gallantry,  took  the  weak- 
er side,  and  laid  about  with  his  flail  so  effectually, 
as  to  disperse  the  assailants,  well  threshe<i,  even 
according  to  the  letter.  He  then  conducted  the 
king  into  his  barn,  where  his  guest  reijuesied  a 
basin  and  towel,  to  remove  the  stains  of  the  broil. 
This  being  procured  with  difficulty,  James  em- 
ployed himself  in  learning  what  was  the  summit 
of  his  deliverer's  earthly  wishes,  and  found  that 
they  were  bounded  by  the  desire  of  possessing,  in 
property,  the  farm  of  Braehead,  upon  wliicii  he 
laboured  as  a  bondsman.  The  lands  clianced  to 
belong  to  the  crown;  and  James  directed  hiai  to 
come  to  the  palace  of  Holy-Rood,  and  inquire  for 
the  gudeman  (/.  e.  farmer)  of  Ballenguich,  a  name 
by  wiiicli  he  was  known  in  his  excursions,  and 
which  answered  to  ihe. II Bondocam  of  Haroun  Al- 
raschid.  He  presented  himself  accordingly,  and 
found,  with  due  astonishment,  that  he  had  saved 
his  monarch's  life,  and  that  he  was  to  be  gratified 
with  a  crown-charter  of  the  lands  of  Braehead,  un- 
der the  service  of  presenting  an  ewei",  basin,  and 
towel,  for  the  king  to  wash  his  hands,  when  he 
shall  happen  to  pass  the  bridge  of  Craraond. 
This  person  was  ancestor  of  the  Howisons,  ot 
Braehead,  in  Mid-Lothian,  a  respectable  family, 
who  continue  to  hold  the  lands  (now  passed  into 
the  female  line)  under  the  same  tenure. 

Another  of  James's  frolics  is  tiius  narrated  by 
Mr.  Campbell, from  the  Statistical  Account.  "  Be- 
ing once  benighted  when  out  a  hunting,and  separat- 
ed from  his  attendants, he  happened  to  enter  a  cot- 
tage in  the  midst  of  a  moor,  at  the  foot  of  the 
Ochil  hills,  near  Alloa,  where,  unknown,  he  was 
kindly  received.  In  order  to  regale  their  unex- 
pected guest,  the  gudeman  [i.  e.  landlord,  farmer) 
desired  the  giidewife  to  fetch  the  hen  that  roosted 
nearest  the  cock,  which  is  always  the  plumpest, 
for  the  stranger's  supper.  The  king,  highly  pleas- 
ed with  his  night's  lodging  and  hospitable  enter- 
tainment, told  mine  host,  at  parting,  that  he  siiould 
be  glad  to  return  liis  civilit)',  and  requested  that 
the  first  time  lie  came  to  Stirling  lie  would  call  at 
the  castle,  and  inquire  for  xhe  gudeman  of  Balieii- 
gvich.  Donaldson,  the  landlord,  did  not  fail  to 
call  on  \.\\e  gudeman  of  Ballenguich,  when  his  as- 
tonishment at  finding  that  the  king  had  been  iiis 
guest  afforded  no  small  amusement  to  tiie  merry 
monarch  and  his  courtiers;  and,  to  carry  on  the 
pleasantry,  he  was  thenceforth  designated  by  James 
with  the  title  of  king  of  the  moors,  which  name 
and  designation  have  descended  from  father  to  son 
ever  since,  and  they  h.ive  continued  in  possession 
of  the  identical  spot,  the  property  of  Mr.  Erskine, 
of  Mar,  till  very  lately,  when  this  genUeman,  with 
reluctance,  turned  out  the  descendant  and  repre- 
sentative of  the  king  of  the  moors,  on  account  of 
Ills  majesty's  invincible  indolence,  and  great  dis- 
like to  reform  or  innovation  of  any  kind,  although, 
from  the  spirited  example  of  his  neighbour  tenants 
on  the  same  estate,  he  is  convinced  similar  exer- 
tion would  promote  his  advantage." 

The  author  requests  permission  yet  farther  to 
verify  the  subject  of  his  poem,  by  an  extract  from 


the  genealogical  work  of  Buchanan  of  Auchmar» 
upon  Scottish  surnames. 

"  This  John  Buchanan  of  Auchmar  and  Ampr}-- 
or  was  afterwards  termed  king  of  Kippen,*  upon 
the  following  account:  King  James  V,  a  verj-  so- 
ciable, debonair  prince,  residing  at  Stirling,  in 
Buchanan  of  Arnpryor's  lime,  carriers  were  very 
frequenllv  passing  along  the  common  road,  being 
near  Arnpryor's  house,  with  necessaries  for  the 
use  of  the  king's  family;  and  he,  having  some  ex- 
traordinar}'  occasion,  ordered  one  of  these  carriers 
to  leave  his  load  at  his  house,  and  he  would  pay 
hiiu  for  it:  which  the  carrier  refused  to  do,  telling 
liim  he  was  the  king's  carrier,  and  his  load  for  his 
majesty's  use;  to  which  Arnpryor  seemed  to  have 
small  regard,  comjielling  the  carrier,  in  the  end,  to 
leave  his  load,  telling  him,  if  king  James  was  king 
of  Scotland,  he  was  king  of  Kippen,  so  that  it  was 
reasonable  he  should  share  with  his  neighbour  king 
in  some  of  these  loads,  so  frequently  earned  that 
road.  The  carrier  representing  this  usage,  and 
telling  the  story,  as  Arnpryor  spoke  it,  to  some 
of  the  king's  servants,  it  came  at  length  to  his  ma- 
jesty's ears,  who,  shortly  thereafter,  with  a  few  at- 
tendants, came  to  visit  his  neighbour  king,  who 
was  in  tlie  mean  time  at  dinner.  King  James  hav- 
ing sent  a  servant  to  demand  access,  was  denied 
the  same  by  a  tall  fellow  with  a  battle-axe,  who 
stood  porter  at  the  gate,  telling,  there  could  be  no 
access' till  dinner  was  over.  This  answer  not  sa- 
tisfying the  king,  he  sent  to  demand  access  a  se- 
cond time;  upon  whicli  he  was  desired  by  the  por- 
ter to  desist,  otherwise  he  would  find  cause  to  re- 
pent his  rudeness.  His  majesty  finding  this  method 
would  uot  do,  desired  the  porter  to  tell  his  master 
that  the  goodman  of  Ballageigh  desired  to  Sj)eak. 
with  the  king  of  Kippen.  The  porter  telling  Arn- 
pryor SO  much,  he,  in  all  humble  manner,  came  i;nJ 
received  the  king,  and  ha\ing  entertained  him  with 
much  suraptuousness  and  jollity,  became  so  agree- 
able to  king  James,  that  he  allowed  him  to  take  so 
much  of  any  pro^  ision  he  foun<i  carrying  that  road 
as  he  had  occasion  for;  and  seeing  he  made  the  first 
visit,  desired  Arnpryor  in  a  Xnw  days  to  return  him 
a  second  to  Stirling,  which  he  performed,  and  con- 
tinued in  very  much  favour  with  the  king,  always 
thereafter  being  termed  king  of  Kippen  while  he 
lived." — Buchanan's  Essay  upon  the  fami'.y  of 
Buchanan.    Edin.  ITZo,  8vo.  p.  "4. 

Tiie  readers  of  Ariosto  must  give  credit  for  the 
amiable  features  with  which  he  is  represented, 
since  he  is  generally  considered  as  the  prototype 
of  Zerbino,  the  most  interesting  hero  of  the  Orlan- 
do Furioso. 

-Stirling's  tower 


Of  yore  the  iiaiue  of  Snowdoun  claims.— P.  100. 
William  of  Worcester,  v»lio  wrote  about  the 
middle  of  the  fifteenth  century,  calls  Stirling  cas- 
tle Snowdoun.  Sir  David  Lindsay  bestows  the  same 
epithet  upon  it  in  his  complaint  of  the  Papingo: 

Adieu,  fair  Siiawdoun,  witli  ttiy  towers  high. 
Thy  chapel-royal,  park,  and  table  ixiuiid; 
May,  June,  aiid  July,  would  I  dwell  in  thee, 
Were  I  a  mail,  to  hear  the  birdis  sound, 
Whilk  dotli  again'  thy  ro>  al  lock  rebound, 

Mr.  Chalmers,  in  his  late  excellent  cdiliou  of 
sir  David  Lindsay's  works,  has  refuted  the  chime- 
rical derivation  of  Snawdoun  from  snedding,  or 
cutting.  It  was  probably  derived  from  the  roman- 
tic legend  which  connected  Stilling  with  king  Ar- 
thur, to  whicli  the  mention  of  the  Round  Table 


■  A  small  district  of  Perthshire. 


130 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


gives  countfiiHiice.  The  rin;^  within  which  justs 
were  formf  riy  i)rnetisiHl,  in  the  castle  p«rk,  is  still 
c»lle()  the  KouikI  'i'ahk'.  Snawdouii  is  the  official 
tille  of  one  of  the  Scottish  heralds,  whose  epithets 
seem  in  all  comitri(.s  to  have  been  tantastically 
adopted  from  ancient  history  or  romance. 

It  appears  fi-om  the  preceding  note,  that  the  real 
name  l)y  which  James  was  actually  distinguished 
in  his  private?  excursions,  was  the  goodmau  of  Hal- 
lenguich;  derived  from  a  steep  pass  leading  up  to 
the  castle  of  Stirling,  so  called.    But  the  epithet 


would  not  have  suited  poetr)',  and  would  besides 
at  once,  and  prematurely,  have  announced  the  plot 
to  many  of  my  countrymen,  among  whom  the  tra- 
ditional stories  above  mentioned  are  still  current. 


The  author  has  to  apologise  for  the  inadvertent 
appropriation  of  a  whole  line  from  the  tragedy  of 
Douglas, 

"I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe." 


MouDm 


A  POEM. 


TO  JOHN  B.  S.  MORRITT,  Esa. 

THIS  POEM,  THE  SCEXE  OF  WHICH  IS    LAID  IX    HIS  BEAfTIFUL  DEMESXE  OF  HOKEBT,  IS  IXSCRIBEH, 
IX  TOKEN  OF  SIXCEUE  FRIENDSHIP,  BY  WALTER  SCOTT. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  scene  of  the  poem  is  laid  at  Rokeby,  near 
Greta-bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  and  shifts  to  the 
adjacent  fortress  of  Barnard  castle,  and  to  other 
places  in  that  vicinity. 

The  time  occupied  by  the  action  is  a  space  of 
five  days,  three  of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse 
between  the  end  of  the  fifth  and  beginning  of  the 
sixth  canto. 

The  date  of  the  supposed  events  is  immediately 
subsequent  to  tlie  great  battle  of  Marston-moor, 
Sd  July,  1644.  This  period  of  public  confusion 
has  been  chosen,  without  any  purpose  of  combin- 
ing the  fable  with  the  military  or  political  events 
of  the  civil  war,  but  only  as  affording  a  degree  of 
probability  to  the  fictitious  narrative  now  presented 
to  the  public. 


ROKEBY. 

CANTO  I. 
I. 

The  moon  is  in  her  summer  glow. 
But  hoarse  and  high  the  breezes  blow, 
And,  racking  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud; 
On  Barnard's  towers,'  and  Tees's  stream. 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream. 
When  conscience,  with  remorse  and  fear, 
Goads  sleeping  fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seemed  now  the  blush  of  shame. 
Seemed  now  fiei-ce  anger's  darker  ftame. 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go, 
Like  a])prehension's  hurried  glow; 
Then  soitow's  livery  dims  the  air. 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north. 
Hears,  upon  turret-roof  and  wall. 
By  fits  the  plashing  rain-drop  fall. 
Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound. 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 


II. 

Those  towers,  which,  in  the  changeful  gleam 
Throw  murky  shadows  on  the  stream. 
Those  towers  of  Barnard  hold  a  guest. 
The  emotions  of  whose  troubled  breast. 
In  xvild  and  strange  confusion  driven. 
Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 
Ere  sleep  stern  Oswald's  senses  tied. 
Oft  had  lie  changed  his  wear_v  side, 
Com])osed  his  limbs,  and  vainly  sought 
By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 
Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 
Of  feelings  true  and  fancies  vain, 
Mingling,  in  wild  disorder  cast, 
The  expected  future  with  the  past. 
Conscience,  anticipating  time, 
Already  rues  the  unacted  crime. 
And  calls  her  furies  forth,  to  shake 
The  sounding  scourge  and  hissing  snake; 
While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 
Bear  witness  to  his  mental  woes, 
And  show  what  lesson  may  be  read 
Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed. 

Ill, 

Thus  Oswald's  labouring  feelings  trace 
Strange  changes  in  tiis  sleeping  face. 
Rapid  and  ominous  as  these 
With  which  tlie  moon-beams  tinge  the  Tees. 
There  tni!;ht  be  seen  of  shame  tlie  blush. 
There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush. 
While  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand 
Seemed  grasping  dagger-knife,. or  brand. 
Relaxed  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye. 
The  pallid  cheek  and  brow,  confessed 
That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast; 
Nor  paused  that  mood — a  sudden  start 
Impelled  tne  life-blood  from  tlie  heart; 
Features  convulsed,  and  mutterings  dread, 
Show  terror  reigns  in  sorrow's  stead; 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke, 
And  Oswald,  with  a  start,  awoke. 


ROKEBY. 


191 


IV. 

He  •woke,  and  feared  again  to  close 
His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose; 
He  woke, — to  •watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 
From  hour  to  hour  the  castle  bell, 
Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry, 
Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 
Or  catch,  by  fits,  the  tuneless  rhyrae 
With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  time, 
And  envying  think  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done. 
Couched  on  his  straw,  and  fancy  free, 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

V. 

Far  townward  sounds  a  distant  tread, 
Anri  Oewald.  starting  from  his  bed. 


Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Proti'ncted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast. 
Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  last, 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast. 
Almost  he  seemed  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  liis  train  withdrew. 
And  left  him  with  the  stranger,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

YUl. 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears. 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 
And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time,* 
Roughened  the  brow,  the  temples  bared, 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared. 


Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 
Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said. 
Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed; 
As  free  from  ceremony's  swaV, 
As  famished  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

YII. 
With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear. 
His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer. 
And  quaff  the  full  carouse,  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Xow  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 
^V'ow  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 
In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 


Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar. 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore; 
For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  hard. 
Quailed  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard. 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train. 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show, 
Unasked,  the  news  he  longed  to  know. 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  faltered  from  his  tongue. 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spai-e  his  secret  pain. 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort. 
Returned  him  answer  dark  and  short, 


190 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


gives  countenance.  The  rin<»  within  which  justs 
wi-re  tormerly  ])r:\ctisi'(l,  in  the  castle  j)(ii-k,  is  still 
called  the  Kniiiul  Tahli-.  Snawdoun  is  the  official 
title  of  one  of  the  Scottisii  heralds,  whose  epitliets 
seem  in  all  coiinti-iis  to  have  heen  fantastically 
adopted  from  ancient  history  or  romance. 

It  appears  from  the  preceding  note,  that  the  real 
name  by  wlfich  James  was  actually  distinguished 
in  his  private  excursions,  was  the  goodman  of  Hal- 
lenguich;  derived  from  a  steep  pass  leading  up  to 
the  castle  of  Stirling,  so  called.    But  the  epithet 


would  not  have  suiteil  poetrj",  and  would  besides 
at  once,  and  prematurely,  have  announced  the  plot 
to  many  of  my  countrymen,  among  whom  the  tra- 
ditional stories  above  mentioned  are  still  current. 


The  author  has  to  apologise  for  the  inadvertent 
ap|)ropriation  of  a  wliole  line  from  tiie  tragedy  of 
Douglas, 

"I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe." 


Moutf>m 


Goatls  sleeping  fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seemed  now  the  blush  of  shame. 
Seemed  now  fierce  anger's  daricer  flame. 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go, 
Like  a])prehension's  hurried  glow; 
Then  soitow's  livery  dims  the  air. 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north. 
Hears,  upon  turret-roof  and  wall. 
By  fits  the  plashing  rain-drop  fall. 
Lists  to  tlie  breeze's  boding  sound. 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 


With  which  tlie  moon-beams  tinge  the  Tees. 
Tlieremii;ht  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush. 
There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush. 
While  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand 
Seemed  grasping  dagger-knife,  or  brand. 
Relaxed  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye. 
The  palliil  cheek  and  brow,  confessed 
That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast; 
Nor  paused  that  mood — a  sudden  start 
Impelled  liie  life-blood  from  the  heart; 
Features  convulsed,  and  mutterings  dread, 
Show  terror  reigns  in  soitow's  stead; 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke, 
And  Oswald,  with  a  start,  awoke. 


ROKEBY. 


191 


IV. 

He  woke,  and  feai'ed  again  to  close 
His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose; 
He  woke, — to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 
From  hour  to  hour  the  castle  bell, 
Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry. 
Or  tlie  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 
Or  catch,  by  fits,  the  tuneless  rhyme 
With  which  the  warder  cheats  tlie  time, 
And  envying  think  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done, 
Couched  on  his  straw,  and  fancy  free. 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

V. 

Far  townward  sounds  a  distant  tread. 
And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed, 
Hath  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear, 
Unsharpened  by  revenge  and  fear,     . 
Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank,2 
Until  it  reached  the  castle-bank. 
Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 
The  warder's  challenge  now  he  hears. 
Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell, 
That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell, 
And,  in  the  castle  court  below. 
Voices  are  heard,  and  torches  glow, 
As  marshalling  the  stranger's  way. 
Straight  for  the  room  where  Oswald  lay; 
The  cry  was — "Tidings  from  the  host, 
Of  weight — a  messenger  comes  post." 
Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast. 
His  answer  Oswald  thus  expressed — 
"  Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire; 
Admit  the  stranger,  and  retire." — 

VI. 

The  sti-anger  came  with  heavy  stride; 
The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 
And  the  buff  coat,  in  ample  fold. 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould. ^ 
Full  slender  answer  deigned  he 
To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy. 
But  marked,  by  a  disdainful  smile. 
He  saw  and  scorned  the  petty  wile, 
When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place. 
Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face 
Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown. 
To  siiow  his  looks,  yet  hide  his  own. 
His  guest,  the  while,  laid  slow  aside 
The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide. 
And  to  tlie  torch  glanced  broad  and  clear 
The  corslet  of  a  cuirassier. 
I'lien  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew. 
And  from  the  dank  plume  dashed  the  devv, 
From  gloves  of  mail  relieved  his  hands. 
And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  iirands, 
And,  turning  to  the  genial  board. 
Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 
Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said. 
Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed; 
As  free  from  ceremony's  sway, 
As  famished  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

VII. 
With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  host  beheld  hira  gorge  his  cheer. 
And  quaff  the  full  carouse,  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 
J^ow  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 
In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 


Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast. 
Yet,  viewing  with  alarm,  at  last, 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast. 
Almost  he  seemed  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  iiis  train  withdrew. 
And  left  him  witli  the  stranger,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

VIII. 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears, 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime. 
And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time,* 
Roughened  the  brow,  the  temples  bared. 
And  sable  hairs  witli  silver  shared. 
Yet  left — what  age  alone  could  tame — 
The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame, 
The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  curled, 
The  eye,  that  seemed  to  scorn  the  world. 
That  lip  had  terror  never  blanched; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  liad  tear-drop  quenched 
The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow, 
That  mocked  at  pain,  and  knew  not  wo; 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm. 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow, 
By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball. 
Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scorned  them  all. 

IX. 
But  yet,  though  Bertram's  hardened  look, 
Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 
Still  worse  than  apatliy  had  place 
On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face; 
For  evil  passions,  cherished  long. 
Had  ploughed  them  with  impressions  strong. 
All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 
Light  folly,  passed  witli  youth  away. 
But  rooted  stood,  in  manhood's  hour. 
The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 
And  yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew. 
Had  it  been  tamed  when  life  was  new. 
Had  depth  and  vigour  to  bring  forth 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Not  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
The  gentler  feelings'  kindlier  tone; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bounty  in  his  chastened  mind. 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed. 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed. 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 

X. 

E'en  now,  by  conscience  unrestrained. 
Clogged  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stained, 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar. 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore; 
For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  liard. 
Quailed  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard. 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  U-ain, 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  sliow. 
Unasked,  the  news  he  longed  to  know. 
While  on  far  otlier  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  faltered  from  his  tongue. 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain, 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort. 
Returned  him  answer  dark  and  short. 


192 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Or  stiirteil  IVoni  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  rligi-ession  wild  and  strange, 
And  force(i  the  emharrassed  host  to  buy, 
By  query  close,  direct  reply. 

XI. 

Awhile  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 

Of  commons,  covenant,  and  laws. 

And  church  reformed — but  felt  rebuke 

Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look. 

Then  stammered — "  Has  a  field  been  fought? 

Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought? 

For  sure  a  soldier,  famed  so  far 

In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war. 

On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host. 

Until  the  tield  were  won  or  lost. " 

"  Here,  in  your  towers  by  circling  Tees, 

You,  Oswald  Wycliffb,  rest  at  ease; 

"\Vh_v  deem  it  strange  that  others  come 

To  sh.ire  such  safe  and  easy  home, 

From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toil. 

Are  the  rewai-d  of  civil  broil'" 

"  Xay,  mock  not,  friend! — since  well  we  know 

The  near  advances  of  (he  foe. 

To  mar  our  northern  army's  work. 

Encamped  before  beleaguered  York; 

Thy  horse  with  valiant  Fairfax  lay. 

And  must  have  fought — how  went  the  day?" 

XII. 
"  Wouldst  hear  the  talei" — On  Marston  heath 
Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death;' 
Flourished  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now 
Fired  was  each  eye,  and  flushed  each  brow; 
On  either  side  loud  clamours  ring, 
'  God  and  the  cause! — God  and  the  king!' 
Right  English  all,  they  rushed  to  blows, 
^Vith  nought  to  win,  and  all  to  lose. 
]  could  have  laughed — hut  lacked  the  time — 
To  see,  in  phrenezy  sublime. 
How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled, 
For  king  or  state,  as  humour  led; 
Some  for  a  dream  of  public  good. 
Some  for  church-tippet,  gown,  and  hood, 
Draining  their  veins;  in  death  to  claim 
A  patriot's  or  a  martyr's  name. — 
Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts. 
That  countered  tliere  on  adverse  parts, 
No  superstitious  fool  had  [ 
Souglrt  El  Dorados  in  the  sky! 
Chili  liad  heard  me  through  her  states. 
And  I^ima  oped  lier  silver  gates. 
Rich  Mexico  1  had  marched  through. 
And  sacked  the  splendours  of  Peru, 
Till  sunk  Pizarro's  daring  name. 
And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame." 
— "  Still  from  the  purpose  wilt  thou  stray  ! 
Good  gentle  friend,  how  went  tlie  day?" 

Xlll. 

"  Good  am  I  deemed  at  trumpet-sound. 
And  good  where  goblets  dance  the  round, 
Though  gentle  ne'er  was  joined,  till  now, 
With  rugged  Bertram's  breast  and  brow. — 
But  I  resume.    The  l)attle's  rage 
Was  like  the  strife  which  currents  wage. 
Where  Orinoco,  in  his  pride. 
Rolls  to  the  main  no  tribute  tide, 
But  'gainst  broad  ocean  urges  far 
A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war; 
While,  in  ten  thousand  eddies  driven, 
Ttie  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven. 
And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain. 
Where  rolls  the  river,  where  the  main. 


E'en  tlms,  upon  the  bloody  field. 

The  eddying  tides  of  conflict  wheeled 

Ambiguous,  till  that  heart  of  flame. 

Hot  Rupert,  on  our  squadrons  came, 

Hurling  against  our  spears  a  line 

Of  gallants,  fiery  as  their  wine; 

Then  ours,  though  stubborn  in  their  zeal, 

In  zeal's  despite  began  to  reel. 

What  wouldst  thou  more' — in  tumult  tost. 

Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost. 

A  thousand  men,  who  drew  the  sword 

For  both  the  houses  and  the  word. 

Preached  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down, 

To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown, 

Now,  stark  and  sliflT,  lie  stretched  in  gore. 

And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitrfe  more. — 

Thus  fared  it,  when  1  left  the  fight. 

With  the  good  cause  and  commons'  right." 

XIV. 

"  Disastrous  news!"  dark  Wyclifl'e  said; 

Assumed  despondence  bent  his  head, 

While  troubled  joy  was  in  his  eye. 

The  well-feigned  sorrow  to  belie. — 

"Disastrous  news! — when  needed  most, 

Told  ye  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost? 

Complete  the  woful  t.ale,  and  say, 

Who  fell  upon  that  fatal  day; 

What  leaders  of  repute  and  name 

Bought  by  tlieir  death  a  deatliless  fame. 

[f  such  my  direst  foeman's  doom. 

My  tears  shall  dew  his  honoured  tomb. — 

Xo  answer' — Friend,  of  all  our  host, 

Tliou  know'st  wliom  I  should  hate  the  most; 

Whom  tlru  too  once  were  wont  to  hate, 

Yet  leav'st  me  doubtful  of  his  fate.'' — 

With  look  unmoved, — "  Of  friend  or  foe. 

Aught, "answered  Bertram,  "  wouldst  thou  know 

Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain, 

A  soldier's  answer  shalt  tliou  gain; 

For  question  dark,  or  riddle  high, 

I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply." 

XV. 

The  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppressed 

Now  blazed  at  once  in  Wycliffe's  breast; 

And  brave  from  man  so  meanly  born. 

Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 

— "  Wretch!  Iiast  thou  paid  thy  bloody  debt? 

Philip  of  Mortham,  lives  he  yet? 

False  to  thy  patron  or  thine  oath, 

Trait'rous  or  perjured,  one  or  both. 

Slave!  hast  thnu  kept  thy  promise  plight. 

To  slay  thy  leader  in  the  fight?" — 

Then  from  his  sei.l  the  soldier  sprung. 

And  Wycliffe's  hand  he  strongly  wrung; 

His  grasp,  as  Irinl  as  glove  of  mail. 

Forced  the  red  hlood-drop  from  the  nail — 

"  A  health!"  he  cried;  and,  ere  he  quafi'eil. 

Flung  from  him  Wycliffe's  hand,  and  laughed: 

— "  Now,  Oswald  Wyclifl'e,  speaks  tliy  heart! 

Now  play'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part! 

Wortliy,  but  for  thy  craven  fear. 

Like  me  to  roam  a  buccaneer. 

Wiiat  reck'st  thou  of  the  cause  divine. 

If  Mortham's  wealth  and  lands  be  thine' 

What  car'st  thou  for  beleaguered  York, 

If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work? 

Or  what  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 

Are  reddening  Marston's  swarthy  breast, 

If  Philip  Mortham  with  them  lie. 

Lending  his  life-blood  to  the  dye' 


ROKEBY. 


193 


Sit  then !  and  as  'mid  comrades  free 

Carousing  after  victory, 
^Vhen  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear. 
That  boys  and  women  slirink  to  hear, 
From  point  to  point  1  frankly  tell 
The  deed  of  death  as  it  befel. 

XVI. 

"  ^^^len  purposed  vengeance  I  forego, 

Term  rae  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe: 

And  when  an  insult  1  forgive, 

Then  brand  me  as  a  slave,  and  live! — 

Philip  of  Morthara  is  witli  those 

Whom  Bertram  Risingham  calls  foes; 

Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends, 

If  numbered  with  ungrateful  friends. 

As  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glowed, 

Along  the  marsiialled  ranks  he  rode. 

And  wore  his  vizor  up  the  while. 

I  saw  his  melancholy  smile, 

When,  full  opposed'in  front,  he  knew 

Where  Rokeby's  kindred  banner  flew. 

•And  thus,'  he  said,  'will  friends  divide!' — 

]  heard,  and  thought  how,  side  by  side, 

We  two  had  turned  the  battle's  tide, 

In  many  a  well  debated  field, 

Wliere  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's  shield. 

I  thought  on  Darien's  deserts  pale, 

Where  death  bestrides  the  evening  gale, 

How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  1  threw. 

And  fenceless  f;»ced  the  deadly  dew; 

I  thought  on  Quariana's  cliff. 

Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff. 

Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  i  bore 

Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore; 

And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found, 

I  sucked  the  Indian's  venomed  wound. 

These  thoughts  like  torrents  rushed  along. 

To  sweep  away  my  pui-pose  strong. 

XVII. 

"  Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent; 

Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 

When  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  yore, 

Be  near  him  in  the  battle's  roar, 

I  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 

1  scarcely  heard  the  trumpets  blow; 

Lost  was  the  war  in  inward  strife. 

Debating  Mortham's  death  or  life. 

' Twas  then  I  thought,  how,  lured  to  come 

As  partner  of  his  wealth  and  home, 

Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er, 

With  him  I  sought  our  native  shore. 

But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 

From  the  bold  hearts  w  ith  whom  he  ranged; 

Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears. 

Saddened  and  dimmed  descending  years; 

The  wily  priests  their  victim  souglit. 

And  damned  each  freeborn  deed  and  thought. 

Then  must  I  seek  another  home. 

My  license  shook  his  sober  dome; 

If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 

1  revelled  thrice  the  sum  away. 

An  idle  outcast  then  I  strayed. 

Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade. 

Deemed,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  hince. 

Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 

The  women  feared  my  hardy  look. 

At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook: 

The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame, 

And  locked  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came; 

EhcIi  child  of  coward  peace  kept  far 

i;jm  the  neglected  son  of  war. 


XVIII. 

"  But  civil  discord  gave  the  call. 
And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  all. 
By  Mortham'urged,  I  came  again 
His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  tr.'^in. 
What  guerdon  waited  on  my  care? 
I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer; 
Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtained. 
And  I,  dishonoured  and  disdained, 
Gained  but  the  high  and  happy  lot. 
In  these  poor  arms  to  front  the  shot!^ 
All  this  thou  know'st,  thy  gestures  tell; 
Yet  hear  it  o'er,  and  mark  it  well. 
'Tis  honour  bids  me  now  relate 
Each  circumstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

XIX. 

"  Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  that  slowly  part. 
Glance  quick  as  lightning  through  the  heart. 
As  my  spur  pressed  my  courser's  side, 
Philip  of  Mortham's  cause  was  tried, 
And,  ere  the  charging  squadrons  mixed. 
His  plea  was  cast,  his  doom  was  fixed. 
I  watched  him  through  the  doubtful  fray. 
That  changed  as  March's  moody  day. 
Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  bank, 
Fierce  Rupert  thundered  on  our  flank. 
'Twas  then,  "midst  tumult,  smoke,  and  strife. 
Where  each  man  fought  for  death  or  life, 
'Twas  tlien  I  fired  my  petronel, 
And  Mortham,  steed  and  rider,  fell. 
One  dying  look  he  upward  cast. 
Of  wrath  and  anguish — 'twas  his  last. 
Think  not  that  there  I  stopped  to  view 
What  of  the  battle  should  ensue; 
But  ere  I  cleared  that  bloody  pi-ess. 
Our  northern  horse  ran  masterless; 
Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news. 
How  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 
And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 
Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past. 
Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 
First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed." 
Yet  when  1  reached  the  banks  of  Swale, 
Had  rumour  learned  another  tale; 
With  his  barbed  horse,  fresh  tidings  say 
Stout  Cromwell  has  redeemed  the  day:' 
But  whether  false  the  news,  or  true, 
Oswald,  I  reck  as  light  as  you." — 

XX. 

Not  then  by  Wycliff"e  might  be  shown. 
How  his  pride  startled  at  the  tone 
In  which  his  conjplice,  fierce  and  free, 
Asserted  guilt's  equality. 
In  smoothest  terms  his  speech  he  wove 
Of  endless  friendsliii),  faith,  and  love; 
Promised  and  vowed  in  courteous  sort, 
But  Bertram  broke  professions  short. 
"  Wyclifte,  be  sure  not  here  I  stay! 
No,  scarcely  till  the  rising  day: 
W^arned  by  the  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  not  an  associate's  truth. 
Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 
Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 
Trained  forward  to  his  bloody  fall, 
By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall?* 
Oft,  by  the  Pringle's  haunted  side. 
The  sliepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 
And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name. 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham, 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees. 
Sweet  Wooubunrs  cottages  and  trees. 


194 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  imaj;e  on  the  stonc;^ 
Unmatclicd  in  strength,  a  pjiant  he, 
With  quivered  back,  anil  kirtleil  knee; 
Ask  how  he  died,  that  hnnu-r  bold, 
The  tameless  nionarcii  ot"  the  wold. 
And  asje  and  infancy  can  tell, 
By  brother's  treachery  he  fell. — 
Thus  warned  by  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  to  no  associate's  truth. 

XXI. 
"  Wlien  last  we  reasoned  of  this  deed, 
Nought,  I  bethink  me,  was  agi-eed. 
Or  by  wliat  rule,  or  when,  or  where. 
The  wealtlj  of  Mortham  we  should  share; 
Then  list,  while  I  the  portion  name. 
Our  ibfil-ring  laws  give  each  to  claim. 
Thou,  vassal  sworn  to  England's  throne, 
Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own; 
They  deal  ihee,  as  to  nearest  heir. 
Thy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  fair, 
And  these  1  yield: — do  tliou  revere 
The  statutes  of  the  buccaneer.-" 
Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 
To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne. 
When  falls  a  mate  in  battle  broil, 
His  comrade  heirs  his  portioned  spoil; 
When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe. 
He  claims  his  wealth  who  struck  the  blow; 
And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 
Those  spoils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines, 
Hoarded  in  Mortham's  caverns  dark; 
Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark, 
Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne. 
And  gems  from  shrieking  beauty  torn. 
Each  siring  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar. 
And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war; 
I  go  to  search,  where,  dark  and  deep. 
Those  transatlantic  treasures  sleep. 
Thou  must  along — for,  lacking  thee, 
The  heir  will  scarce  find  entrance  free: 
And  then  farewell,  I  haste  to  try 
Each  varied  pleasui-e  wealth  can  buy; 
AVhen  cloyed  each  wisii,  these  wars  afford 
Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword,  "— 

XXII. 

An  undecided  answer  hung 
On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 
Despite  his  craft,  he  heard  with  awe 
This  ruffian  stabber  fix  the  law; 
While  his  own  troubled  passions  veer 
Through  hatred,  joy,  regret,  and  fear. 
Joyed  at  tlie  soul  that  Bertram  flies. 
He  grudged  the  murderer's  mighty  prize, 
Hated  his  pride's  presumptuous  tone, 
And  feared  to  wend  with  him  alone. 
At  lenglii,  that  middle  course  to  steer, 
To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear, 
"  His  charge,"  he  said,  "  would  ill  allow 
His  absence  from  the  fortress  now; 
Wilfred  on  Bertram  should  attend. 
His  son  should  journey  with  his  friend." 

XXlll. 
Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anger  down. 
And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 
"  Wilfrid,  or  liiou — 'tis  one  to  me. 
Whichever  bears  the  golden  key. 
Yet  think  not  but  I  mark,  and  smile 
To  mark,  thy  poor  and  selfish  wile! 
If  iniury  from  me  you  fear, 
Wli;it,  Oswald  WycliflFe,  shields  thee  here? 


I've  sprung  from  walls  more  high  than  these, 

I've  swam  ihrough  deeper  streams  than  Teesi 

Might  I  not  stab  thee,  ere  one  yell 

Could  rouse  the  distant  s.entinel? 

Start  not — it  is  not  my  design. 

But,  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine; 

And,  trust  me,  tliat,  in  time  of  need. 

This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed.—* 

Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  son; 

Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone." 

XXIV. 

Nought  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 
Polluted  Wilfrid's  gentle  heart; 
A  heart,  too  soft  from  early  life 
To  hold  with  fortune  needi'ul  strife. 
His  sire,  while  yet  a  hardier  race 
Of  numerous  sons  were  Wycliffe's  gi'ace. 
On  Wilfrid  set  contemptuous  brand. 
For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand; 
Hut  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 
Were  centered  in  her  sickly  boy. 
No  touch  of  childhood's  frolic  mood 
Showed  the  elastic  spring  of  blood; 
Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore. 
But  turned  from  martial  scenes  and  light, 
From  Falstaff's  feast  and  Percy's  fight. 
To  ponder  Jacques's  moral  strain, 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  viiin; 
And  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 

XXV. 

In  youth,  he  sought  not  pleasures  found 
By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound, 
But  loved  the  quiet  J03S  that  wake 
Uy  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake; 
In  Deepdale's  soliturle  to  lie. 
Where  all  is  clifi^,  and  copse,  and  sky: 
To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak. 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek. 
Such  was  his  wont;  and  there  his  dream 
Soared  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme. 
Of  faithful  love,  or  ceaseless  spring. 
Till  contemplation's  wearied  wing 
Tlie  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain, 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

XXVI. 

He  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  tell. 
Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  dell; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught; 
He  loved — his  soul  did  nature  frame 
For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame; 
Vainly  he  loved- -for  seldom  swain 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again; 
Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 
Was  passion,  friendship  in  his  phrase. 
So  mused  his  life  away — till  died 
His  brethren  all,  their  father's  pride. 
Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 
Of  all  his  stratagems  and  care. 
And  destined,  darkling,  to  pursue 
Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  clue. 

xxvir. 

Wilfrid  must  love  and  woo  the  bright 
Matilda,  heir  of  Ilokeby's  knight. 
To  love  her  was  an  easy  best. 
The  secret  empress  of  his  breast; 
To  woo  her  was  a  harder  task 
To  one  that  durst  not  hope  or  ask; 


ROKEBY. 


195 


Yet  all  Matilda  could  she  gave 
In  pity  to  her  gentle  slave; 
Friendship,  esteem,  and  fair  regard, 
And  praise,  the  poet's  best  reward! 
She  read  the  tales  his  taste  approved, 
And  sung  the  lays  he  framed  or  loved; 
Yet,  loth  to  nurse  the  fatal  flame 
Of  iiopeless  love  in  friendship's  name. 
In  kind  caprice  she  oft  withdrew 
The  fiivouring  glance  to  friendship  due, 
Then  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain, 
And  gave  the  dangerous  smiles  again. 

XXVIII. 

So  did  the  suit  of  Wilfrid  stand. 
When  war's  loud  summons  waked  the  land. 
Three  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Toes, 
The  wo-foreboding  peasant  sees. 
In  concert  oft  they  braved  of  old 
The  bordering  Scot's  incursion  bold; 
Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride. 
Their  vassals  now  and  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  hall  on  Greta  hanks. 
The  knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks. 
To  aid  the  valiant  northern  earls. 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles; 
Morlhp.m,  by  marriage  near  allied, — 
His  sister  had  been  Rokeby 's  bride. 
Though  long  before  the  civil  fray, 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay, — 
Philip  of  Morlham  raised  his  band. 
And  marched  at  Fairfax's  command; 
While  Wycliffe,  bound  by  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane, 
Less  prompt  to  brave  the  bloody  field. 
Made  Barnard's  battlerLents  his  shield, 
Secured  them  with  his  Lunedale  powers. 
And  for  the  commons  held  the  towers. 

XXIX. 

The  lovely  heir  of  Rokeby's  knight 
Waits  in  his  halls  the  event  of  fight; 
For  England's  war  revered  the  claim 
Of  every  unpi-otected  name. 
And  spared,  amid  its  fiercest  raje, 
Childhood,  and  womanhood,  and  age. 
But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokeby's  foe. 
Must  the  dear  privilege  forego. 
By  Greta's  side,  in  evening  gray, 
To  steal  upon  Matilda's  way. 
Striving,  with  fond  hypocrisy. 
For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye; 
Calming  each  anxious  look  and  glance. 
To  give  the  meeting  all  to  chance. 
Or  framing  as  a  fair  excuse. 
The  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  muse; 
Something  to  give,  to  sing,  to  say. 
Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 
Then,  while  the  longed-for  minutes  last, — 
Ah!  minutes  quickly  over  past! — 
Recording  each  expression  free, 
Of  kind  or  careless  courtesv, 
Each  friendly  look,  eaeii  softer  tone. 
As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 
All  this  is  o'er     but  still,  unseen, 
Wilfrid  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green, 
To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round, 
While  springs  his  heart  at  everv  sound. 
She  comes! — 'tis  but  a  passing  sight, 
Yet  S'-rves  to  cheat  his  weary  night: 
She  comes  not — he  will  wait  the  hour. 
When  her  lamp  lightens  in  the  tower; 


'Tis  something  yet,  if,  as  she  past, 
Her  shade  is  o'er  the  lattice  cast. 
"  W^hat  is  my  life,  my  hope?"  he  said; 
"Alas!  a  transitory  shade." 

XXX. 

Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love. 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  wo  and  ills  to  come. 
While  still  he  turned  impatient  ear 
From  truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indifferent,  and  subdued, 
In  all  but  this,  unmoved  he  viewed 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good: 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mild, 
Was  fancy's  spoiled  and  wayward  child; 
In  her  bright  car  she  bade  him  ride. 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side, 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat. 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat, 
liathed  in  her  dews  his  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  sprea<l. 
For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow. 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 
From  every  stern  reality. 
Till,  to  the  visionary,  seem 
Her  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXI. 

Wo  to  the  youth  whom  fancy  gains. 
Winning  from  reason's  hand  the  reins. 
Pity  and  wo  I  for  sueli  a  mind 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind; 
And  wo  to  those  wlio  train  such  youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengtlion  and  anneal. 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  steel! 
O  teach  him,  while  your  lessons  last, 
To  judge  the  present  by  the  past; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued. 
How  rich  it  glowed  with  promised  good; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoyed, 
How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloyed ! 
Tell  him,  we  play  unequal  game, 
When'er  we  shoot  by  fancy's  aim; 
And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race. 
Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase. 
Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set, 
Cold  disappointment  and  regret; 
One  disenchants  tlie  winner's  eyes. 
And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize, 
While  one  augments  its  gaudy  show, 
More  to  enhance  the  loser's  wo. 
The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold 
Transformed,  when  won,  to  drossy  mould; 
But  still  the  vanquished  mourns  his  loss. 
And  rues,  as  gold,  that  glittering  dross. 

XXXII. 

More  would'sl  thou  know — yon  tower  survey, 
Yon  couch  unpressed  since  parting  day. 
Yon  untrimmed  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 
Is  mingling  with  the  cold  moonbeam, 
And  yon  thin  form!  the  hectic  red 
On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread; 
The  head  reclined,  the  loosened  liair, 
The  limbs  relaxed,  the  mournful  air. 
See,  he  looks  up;  a  woful  smile 
Lightens  his  wo-worn  cheek  a  while; 
'Tis  fancy  wakes  some  idle  thought. 
To  gild  the  ruins  she  has  wrought; 


196 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes, 
Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 
And  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain, 
She  drinks  his  life-blood  from  the  vein. 
Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes, 
Vain  hope !  to  see  the  sun  arise. 
The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast, 
Still  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast; 
Another  hour  must  wear  away. 
Ere  the  east  kindle  into  day, 
And  hark!  to  waste  that  weary  hour. 
He  tries  the  minstrel's  magic  power. 

xxxm. 

SONG TO  THE  MOOX. 

Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam. 

Pale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky  I 
Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 

Lend  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye! 
How  siiould  thy  pure  and  peaceful  eye 

Untroubled  view  our  scenes  below. 
Or  how  a  tearless  beam  supply 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  wo! 

Fair  queen!  I  will  not  blame  thee  now, 

As  once  by  Greta's  fairy  side, 
Each  little  cloud  that  dimmed  tliy  brow 

Did  then  an  angel's  beauty  hide; 
And  of  the  shades  I  then  could  chide, 

Still  are  the  thoughts  to  memory  dear. 
For,  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried, 

I'hey  hid  my  blush  and  calmed  my  fear. 

Then  did  I  swear  thy  ray  serene 

Was  formed  to  light  some  lonely  dell. 
By  two  fond  lovers  only  seen, 

Reflected  from  tlie  crystel  well; 
Or  sleeping  on  their  mossy  cell. 

Or  quivering  on  the  lattice  bright, 
Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night! 

XXXIV. 

He  starts — a  step  atitiiis  lone  liour! 
A  voice!  his  father  .si^ks  the  tower, 
W^ith  hagard  look  aixl  troubled  sty|se, 
Fresh  from  his  dreadful  conferenol. 
"  Wilfrid!  what,  not  to  sleep  addrest' 
Thou  hast  no  cures  to  chase  thy  rest. 
Mortham  has  fallen  on  Marslou-moor; 
Bertram  brings  warrant  to  secure 
His  treasures,  bought  by  spoil  and  blood. 
For  the  state's  use  and  public  good. 
The  menials  will  thy  voice  obey; 
Let  his  commission  have  its  way, 
In  every  point,  in  every  word." 
Then,  in  a  whisper,  "  take  ihy  sword! 
Bertram  is — what  1  must  not  tell. 
1  heai"  his  hasty  step — farewell!" 

C.iXTO  II. 

I. 

Far  in  the  chambers  of  tiie  west, 
The  gale  had  sighed  itself  to  rest; 
The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear, 
But  pale,  and  soon  to  disappear. 
The  thin  gray  clouds  waxed  dimly  light 
On  Hrusletoti  and  HouglUon  height; 
And  the  rich  dale,  that  eastward  lay. 
Waited  the  wakening  touch  of  day. 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain, 
An(|  towers  and  spires,  to  light  again. 
But,  westward,  Sianmore's  shapeless  swell. 
Am!  Lunedale  wild,  and  Kcllcn-fell, 


And  rock-begirdled  Gilmanscar, 
And  Arkingarth,  lay  dark  afar; 
While,  as  a  livelier  twilight  falls. 
Emerge  proud  Barnard's  bannered  walls. 
High  crowned  he  sits,  in  dawning  pale, 
The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 

n. 

What  prospects  from  his  watch-tower  high, 
Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye! 
Far  sweeping  to  the  east,  he  sees 
Down  his  deep  woods  the  course  of  Tees,^ 
And  tracks  his  wanderings  by  the  steam 
Of  summer  vapours  from  the  stream; 
And  ere  he  pace  his  destined  hour 
By  Brackenbury's  dungeon-towex", 
These  silver  mists  shall  melt  away. 
And  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 
Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  shown 
That  mighty  trench  of  living  stone. 
And  each  huge  trunk  that,  from  the  side, 
Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide. 
Where  Tees,  full  many  a  fathom  low, 
Wears  vith  his  rage  no  common  foe; 
For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 
Nor  clay-mound,  checks  his  fierce  career. 
Condemned  to  mine  a  channelled  way. 
O'er  solid  siieets  of  marble  gray. 

111. 
Nor  Tees  alone,  in  dawning  bright. 
Shall  rush  upon  the  ravished  sight; 
But  many  a  tributary  stream. 
Each  from  its  own  dark  dell  shall  gleam; 
Staindrop,  who,  from  her  .sylvan  bowers. 
Salutes  proud  llaby's  battled  towers; 
The  rural  brook  of  Eglistone, 
And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son; 
And  Greta,  to  whose  banks  ere  long 
We  lead  the  lovers  of  tiie  song; 
And  silver  Lune,  from  Stanmore  wild, 
And  fairy  Thorsgill's  murmuring  child; 
And  last  and  least,  iiut  loveliest  still. 
Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 
Who  in  that  dim-wood  glen  hath  strayed. 
Yet  longed  for  Roslin's  magic  glade' 
Who,  wandering  there,  had  sought  to  change 
E'en  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange, 
\\'here  Cartland's  crags,  fantastic  rent. 
Through  her  green  cojise  like  spires  are  sent? 
Vet,  Albyn,  yet  the  praise  be  thine. 
Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine! 
Thou  bid'st  him,  who  by  Roslin  strays. 
List  to  the  deeds  of  other  days; 
'Mid  Cartland's  crags  thou  show'st  the  cave. 
The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave. 
Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 
Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale. 
Knitting,  as  witii  a  moral  band. 
Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land. 
To  lend  each  scene  the  interest  high 
Which  genius  beams  from  beauty's  eye. 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Which  sunrise  shows  from  Barnard's  height. 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day. 

With  Wilfrid  early  took  his  way. 

While  misty  dawn,  and  moon-beam  pale, 
I  Still  mingled  in  the  silent  dale. 
;  By  Barnard's  bridge  of  stately  stone. 

The  southern  bank  of  Tees  they  won; 

Their  winding  path  then  eastward  cast, 
[  And  Eglistone's  gray  ruins^  past; 


ROKEBY. 


Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent, 
Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 
Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood 
To  Wilfrid  savage  seemed  and  rude; 
Well  may  you  think,  bold  Risingham 
Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame: 
And  small  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 
Such  uncongenial  souls  between. 

V. 

Stem  Bertram  shunned  the  nearer  w'ay, 
Throudi  Hokeby's  park  and  chase  that  lay, 
And,  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge, 
They  crossed  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge, 
Descending  where  her  waters  wind 
Free  for  a  space  and  unconfined. 
As,  'scaped  from  Brignal's  dark  wood  glen, 
She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 
There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o'er  the  mound, 
liaised  by  that  legion  long  renowned, 
AVhose  votive  shrme  asserts  their  claim. 
Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame,^ 
"Stern  sons  of  war!"  sad  Wilfrid  sighed, 
"  Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride! 
What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known? 
A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone!" 
This  to  himself,  for  moral  strain 
To  Bertram  were  addressed  in  vain. 

VI. 

Of  different  mood,  a  deeper  sigh 
Awoke,  when  Rokeby's  turrets  high-* 
Were  northward  in  the  dawning  seen 
To  rear  them  o'er  the  thicket  green. 
O  then,  thougii  Spencer's  self  had  strayed 
Beside  him  through  the  lovely  glade, 
Lending  his  rich  luxiu-iant  glow 
Of  fancy,  all  its  charms  to  sliow, 
Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free. 
As  captive  set  at  liberty, 
Flashing  her  sparkling  waves  abroad. 
And  clamouring  joyful  on  her  road; 
Pointing  where,  up  the  sunny  banks. 
The  trees  retire  in  scattered  ranks. 
Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest. 
On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest — 
Lonely  and  huge,  the  giant  oak — 
As  champions,  when  their  band  is  broke, 
Stand  forth  to  guard  the  rearw  ard  post. 
The  bulwark  of  the  scattered  host — 
All  this,  and  more,  might  Spencer  say. 
Yet  waste  in  >ain  his  magic  lay. 
While  Wilfrid  eyed  the  (hstaiil  lower, 
Whose  lattice  ligiils  Matilda's  bower. 

VII. 

The  open  vale  is  soon  past  o'er, 

Rokebv,  though  nigh,  is  seen  no  more: 

Sinking  'mid  Greta's  thickets  deep, 

A  wild  and  darker  course  they  keep, 

A  stern  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road. 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  minstrel  trode !' 

Broad  shadows  o'er  tlieir  passage  fell. 

Deeper  and  narrower  gi-ew  the  dell; 

It  seemed  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 

A  channel  for  the  stream  had  given. 

So  high  the  clifls  of  limestone  gray 

Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 

Yielding,  along  their  rugged  base, 

A  flinty  footpath's  niggard  space, 

M'here'  he,  wlio  winds  'twixt  rock  and  wave. 

May  hear  the  headlong  torrent  i-ave. 

And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit, 

riiat  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit. 


May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spr«y. 
O'er  everj-  rock  that  bars  her  way. 
Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride, 
Thick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride. 
That  down  life's  current  drive  ariain. 
As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain! 

VIII. 
The  cliffs,  that  rear  the  haughty  head 
High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed. 
Were  now  all  naked,  wild,  and  j;ray, 
Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray; 
Here  trees  to  every  crevice  clung, 
And  o'er  the  dell  their  branches  hung; 
And  there,  all  splintered  and  uneven, 
The  shivered  rocks  ascend  to  heaven. 
Oft,  too,  the  ivy  swathed  their  breast. 
And  wreathed  its  garland  round  iheir  crest. 
Or  from  their  spires  bade  loosely  flare 
Its  tendrils  in  tiie  middle  air,       , 
As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old. 
O'er  the  high  feast  of  baron  bold. 
When  revelled  loud  the  feudal  r  ■  i', 
And  the  arched  halls  returned  thi  !'•  shou'.. 
Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  ri  ar, 
And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shu'e. 
And  so  the  ivied  banner's  gleam 
Waved  wildly  o'er  the  brawling    trenm. 

IX. 

Now  from  the  stream  the  rocks  i  i-ct-de. 

But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead, 

No,  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand. 

Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  stmid. 

Forming  such  warm  and  dry  reti   .it. 

As  fancy  deems  the  lonely  seat, 

Where  hermit,  wandering  from  !iis  cell. 

His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 

But  here,  'twixl  rock  and  river  |:rew 

\  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew, 

\\  ith  whose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 

The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  gn  c  n, 

Seemed  that  the  trees  their  sliadnw-  last, 

The  earth  that  nourished  them  to  bit  t. 

For  never  knew  tiiat  swarthy  gro<e 

The  verilant  hue  that  fairies  love; 

Nor  wilding  green,  nur  woodland  Ihiuer. 

.\rose  within  its  baleful  bower; 

The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives      * 

lis  only  carpet  from  the  leaves. 

That,  from  the  witliering  branches  cast. 

Bestrewed  the  ground  with  every  bl  i-.t. 

Though  now  the  sun  was  o'er  tht  hill. 

In  this  dark  spot  iwas  twilight  still, 

Save  that  on  (ireta's  farther  side 

Some  straggling  beams  llirough  copse-wood  glide. 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

That  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade,    . 

VVitii  the  hrigiit  tints  of  early  day, 

Which,  glinunering  through  the  ivy  spi  : 

On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 

X. 

The  lated  peasant  shunned  the  dell, 

For  superstition  wont  to  tell 

Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sisl't) 

Scaring  its  jjath  at  dead  of  nigrit. 

When  Christmas  logs  blaze  high  ami  '.ude, 

Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide, 

Wliile  curiosity  and  fear, 

Pleas\He  and  pain,  sit  ci-ouehing  iitra  . 

Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  gl 

And  \illage  maidens  lose  the  ruse. 


198 


6C0TT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  thriUinp;  interest  rises  higher, 

Tlie  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  behind, 

As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 

Believe,  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 

For  such  wild  tales  in  Mortham's  glade; 

I'or  who  had  seen  on  Greta's  side, 

15y  that  dim  light,  fierce  Jk-riram  stride; 

III  such  a  spot,  at  sucli  an  hour. 

If  touched  bv  superstition's  power, 

Might  well  have  deemed  that  hell  had  given 

A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  heaven, 

While  Wilfrid's  form  had  seemed  to  glide 

Like  his  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XI. 

Kor  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthly  terrors  known; 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
Is  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind. 
Hearts  firm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith,  and  love,  and  pity  barred, 
Have  quaked  like  aspin  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  universal  sway. 
Bertram  had  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale. 
That  in  his  secret  soul  retained 
The  credence  they  in  childhood  gained; 
Nor  less  his  wild  and  venturous  youth 
Believed  in  every  legend's  truth. 
Learned  when  beneath  the  tropic  gale 
Full  swelled  the  vessel's  steady  sail. 
And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Poured  on  the  wp.tch  of  middle  night, 
W^hen  seamen  love  to  hear  and  tell 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  spell; 
What  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore,^ 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempest  roar;' 
Of  witch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite. 
Of  Erick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light;* 
Or  of  that  phantom  ship,  whose  form 
Shoots  like  a  meteor  through  the  storm. 
When  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard, 
And  lowered  is  every  topsail  yard. 
And  canvass,  wove  in  earthly  looms. 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presumes ! 
Then,  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky. 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high. 
Full-spread  and  crowded  every  sail, 
The  demon-frigate^  braves  the  gale; 
And  well  the  doomed  spectators  know. 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  w  o. 

XII. 
Then  too  were  told,  in  stifled  tone. 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own; 
How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,'" 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  ihcir  cruelty. 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood. 
Strange  nightly  sounds  of  wo  and  fear 
Appalled  the  listening  buccaneer. 
Whose  light-armed  shallop  anchored  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain. 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  carte; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare. 
Who  wearies  memory  lor  a  prayer. 
Curses  the  road-stead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  lifts  the  sail. 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 


XIU. 

Thus,  as  a  man,  a  youth,  a  child. 
Trained  in  the  mystic  and  the  wild, 
With  this  on  Bertram's  soul  at  times 
Rushed  a  dark  feeling  of  his  crimes; 
Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  form, 
As  the  pale  death-ship  to  the  storm, 
And  such  their  omen  dim  and  dread. 
As  shrieks  and  voices  of  the  dead. 
That  pang,  whose  transitory  force 
Hovered  'twixt  horror  and  remorse; 
That  pang,  perchance,  his  bosom  pressed, 
As  Wilfrid  sudden  he  addressed. 
"  Wilfrid,  this  glen  is  never  trod 
Until  the  sun  rides  high  abroad; 
Yet  twice  have  I  beheld  to-day 
A  form  that  seemed  to  dog  our  w-ay; 
Twice  from  my  glance  it  seemed  to  flee, 
And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree; 
How  think'st  thou?  is  our  path  waylaid. 
Or  hath  they  sire  mj'  trust  betrayed? 
If  so" — Ere,  starting  from  his  dream, 
That  turned  upon  a  gentler  theme, 
Wilfrid  had  roused  him  to  reply, 
Bertram  sprung  forward,  shouting  high, 
"  What'er  thou  art,  thou  now  shalt  stand!" 
And  forth  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 

XIV. 

As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath. 

He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path: 

Rock,  wood,  and  stream,  rung  wildly  out. 

To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout. 

Seems  that  the  object  of  his  race 

Hath  scaled  the  cliffs;  his  frantic  chase 

Sidelong  he  turns,  and  now  'tis  bent 

Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement; 

Straining  each  sinew  to  ascend. 

Foot,  hand,  and  knee  their  aid  must  lend. 

Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay. 

View  s  from  beneath  his  dreadful  way; 

Now  to  the  oak's  warped  roots  he  clings. 

Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings; 

Now,  like  the  wild  goat,  must  he  dare 

An  unsupported  leap  in  air; 

Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now. 

You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  boUgh, 

And  by  his  corslet's  sullen  clank. 

And  by  the  stones  spurned  from  the  bank. 

And  by  the  hawk  scared  from  her  nest. 

And  ravens  croaking  o'er  their  guest, 

Who  deem  his  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 

The  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

XV. 

See,  he  emerges! — desperate  now 

All  farther  course — yon  beetling  brow, 

In  craggy  nakedness  sublime. 

What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb? 

It  bears  no  tendril  tor  his  clasp. 

Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp; 

Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon. 

Is  yon  earth-bedded  jetting  stone. 

Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop. 

He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 

Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 

By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes! 

Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends. 

It  sways,  it  loosens,  it  descends! 

And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way. 

Crashing  o'er  rock  and  copse-wood  spray. 

Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell! — 

Fell  it  alone? — alone  it  fell. 


ROKEBY. 


199 


Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 
The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 
He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands, 
And  on  the  top  unharmed  he  stands ! 

XVI. 
Wilfrid  a  safer  path  pursued. 
At  intervals  where,  roughly  hewed. 
Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  dell 
Rendered  the  cliffs  accessible. 
By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attained 
The  height  that  Risingham  had  gained, 
And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood, 
Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.!' 
'Twas  a  fair  scene !  the  sunbeam  lay 
On  battled  tower  and  portal  gray, 
And  from  the  grassy  slope  he  sees 
The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees, 
Where,  issuing  from  her  darksome  bed. 
She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 
And  through  the  softening  vale  below 
Rolled  her  bright  waves  in  rosy  glow. 
All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed, 
Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred. 
While  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay. 
Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

XVII. 
Twas  sweetly  sung  that  roundtlay, 
That  svunmer  morn  shone  blith  and  gay. 
But  morning  beam,  and  wild  bird's  call 
Awaked  not  Mortham's  silenl  hall. 
No  porter,  by  the  low-browed  gate, 
Took  in  the  wonted  niche  his  seat; 
To  the  paved  couil,  no  peasant  drew, 
Waked  to  their  toil  no  menial  crew; 
The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heard, 
As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared; 
In  the  void  offices  around. 
Rung  not  a  hoof,  nor  bayed  a  hound. 
Nor  eager  steed,  with  shrilling  neigh. 
Accused  the  lagging  gi-oom's  delay; 
Untrimmed,  undresstd,  neglected  now, 
Was  alleyed  walk  and  orchard  bough; 
All  spoke  the  master's  r.lisent  care, 
All  spoke  neglect  and  disri-nair. 
South  of  the  gate  an  an-'  w  flight, 
Two  mighty  elms  their   imbs  iiiiiLe, 
As  if  a  canopy  to  spread 
O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  d'^.a]; 
For  their  huge  boughs  in  arciies  bent 
Above  a  massive  monument. 
Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise. 
With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device: 
There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 
Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

XVIII. 

"  It  vanished,  like  a  flitting  ghost! 
Behind  this  tomb,"  he  said,  "  'twas  lost — 
This  tomb,  where  oft  I  deemed,  lies  stored 
Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth,  the  hoard. 
'Tis  true,  the  aged  servants  said 
Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid; 
But  weightier  reasons  may'^  guessed 
For  their  lord's  strict  and  stern  behest. 
That  none  should  on  his  steps  intrude, 
^Miene'er  he  sought  this  solitude. — 
An  ancient  mariner  I  knew. 
What  lime  I  sailed  with  -Morgan's  crew. 
M'ho  oft,  'mid  our  carousals,  spake 
Of  Raleigh,  Forbisher,  and  Drake; 
Adventurous  hearts!  who  bartered  bold 
Their  English  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 

15 


Trust  not,  would  his  experience  say. 
Captain  or  comrade  with  yotu"  prey: 
But  seek  some  charnel,  when,  at  full. 
The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull; 
There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap, 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep;'^ 
Sure  stewards  they,  if  fitting  spell 
Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 
Lacks  there  such  charnel! — kill  a  slave, 
Or  prisoner,  on  the  treasure  grave; 
And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 
Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonely  post. 
Such  was  his  tale.  Its  truth,  I  ween. 
Is  in  my  morning  visior  seen." 

XIX. 

Vv''ilfrid,  who  scorned  the  legend  wild, 

In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled. 

Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 

In  such  fond  tale  belief  shoidd  hold; 

But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 

The  apparition' s  form  and  show. 

The  power  within  the  guilty  breast, 

Oft  vanquished,  never  quite  suppressed. 

That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 

To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, '^ 

And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 

In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell. 

That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke; 

Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke: 

"  'Twas  Mortham's  form,  from  foot  to  head  ! 

His  morion,  with  the  plume  of  red, 

His  shape,  his  mien,  'twas  Mortham  right. 

As  when  1  slew  him  in  the  fight." 

"  Thou  slay  him?  thou'"  With  conscious  start 

He  heard,  then  manned  his  haughty  heart. 

"  I  slew  him!  I!  I  had  forgot. 

Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot. 

But  it  is  spoken;  nor  will  I 

Deed  done,  or  spoken  word,  deny. 

I  slew  him,  I!  for  thankless  pride; 

Twas  by  this  hand  that  Axortham  died." 

XX. 

Wilfrid,  of  gentle  hand  and  heart. 
Averse  to  every  active  part. 
But  most  averse  to  martial  broil. 
From  danger  shrunk,  and  turned  from  toil; 
Yet  the  meek  lover  of  the  hTe 
Nursed  one  brave  spark  of  noble  fire; 
Against  injustice,  fraud,  or  wrong. 
His  blood  beat  high,  his  hand  waxed  strong. 
Xot  his  the  nerves  that  could  sustain. 
Unshaken,  danger,  toil,  and  pain; 
!  But  when  that  spark  blazed  forth  to  flame. 
He  rose  superior  to  his  frame. 
And  now  it  came,  that  generous  mood; 
And,  in  full  current  of  his  blood, 
On  Bertram  he  laid  desperate  hand. 
Placed  firm  his  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 
"  Should  every  fiend  to  whom  Ihou'rt  sold, 
Rise  in  thine  aid,  I  keep  my  hold. — 
Arouse  there,  ho!  take  spear  and  sword! 
Attack  the  murderer  of  your  lord!" 

XXI. 

A  moment,  fixed  as  by  a  spell. 

Stood  Bertram — it  seemed  miracle. 

That  one  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame. 

Set  grasp  on  warlike  Risingham. 

But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke, 

The  fiend  within  the  ruffian  woke! 

To  wrench  the  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 

To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand, 


•200 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Was  but  one  moment's  work,^one  more 

Had  drenched  tlie  blade  in  Wilfrid's  gore; 

Rut,  in  the  instant  it  arose. 

To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 

A  warlike  form,  that  marked  the  scene, 

Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between, 

Parries  the  fast-descending  blow. 

And  steps  'tuixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe; 

Nor  then  unscabbarded  his  brand, 

But  sternly  pointing  with  his  hand. 

With  monarch's  voice  forbade  the  fight. 

And  motioned  Bertram  from  his  sight. 

"  Go,  and  repent,"  he  said,  "  while  time 

Is  given  thee;  add  not  crime  to  crime." 

XXU. 
-Mute  and  uncertain,  and  amazed. 
As  on  a  vision,  Bertram  gazed! 
'Twas  Mortham's  bearing  bold  and  high. 
His  sinewj'  frame,  his  falcon  eye, 
His  look  and  accent  of  command, 
The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand. 
His  stately  form,  spare-built  and  tall, 
His  war-bleached  locks,  'twas  Mortham  all. 
Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career 
A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear. 
His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite. 
But  more  he  feared  it,  if  it  stood 
His  lord,  in  living  flesh  and  blood — 
W'hal  spectre  can  the  charnel  send. 
So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend' 
Then,  too,  the  habit  of  command, 
U^ed  by  the  leader  of  the  band, 
When  Risingham,  for  many  a  day. 
Had  marched  and  fought  beneath  his  sway. 
Tamed  him — and,  with  reverted  face. 
Backward  he  bore  his  sullen  pace. 
Oft  stopped,  and  oft  on  Mortham  stared, 
And  dark  as  rated  mastitf  glared; 
But  when  the  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard. 
Plunged  in  the  glen,  and  disappeared. 
Nor  longer  there  the  warrior  stood, 
Retiring  eastward  through  the  wood; 
But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 
"  Tell  thou  to  none  that  Mortham  lives." 

XXllI. 
Still  rung  these  words  in  Wilfrid's  ear, 
Hinting  he  knew  not  what  of  fear, 
Wlien  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 
And,  with  his  father  at  their  liead. 
Of  horsemen  ai-med,  a  gallant  power 
Reined  \\[i  their  steeds  before  llie  tower. 
"  Whence  tliese  jiale  looks,  my  son?"  he  said; 
"  Wliv.'re's  Bertram'  why  that  naked  blade'" 
Wilfrid   unbiguously  replied, 
(For  Mortham's  charge  his  honour  tied,) 
"  Bertram  is  gone — the  villain's  word, 
Avouched  him  murderer  of  his  lord! 
E'en  nuw  we  fought — but,  when  your  tread 
Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled." 
In  Wyclifte's  conscious  eye  appear 
A  guilty  hope,  a  guilty  fear; 
On  his  pale  brow  the  dew-dro[>  broke, 
And  his  lip  quivered  as  he  spoke. 

XXIV. 
■"  A  murderer!  Philip  Mortham  died 
Amid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 
Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves,  or  you ! 
Yet  grant  sucii  strange  confession  true. 
Pursuit  were  vain — let  him  fly  far — 
Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war." 


A  gallant  youth  rode  near  his  side. 
Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried; 
That  morn,  an  embassy  of  weight 
He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle  gate, 
And  followed  now  in  Wycliffe's  train, 
An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 
His  steed,  whose  arched  and  sable  neck 
An  hundred  wreaths  of  foam  bedeck, 
Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 
Than  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply; 
He  bit  his  lip,  implored  his  saint, 
(His  the  old  faith) — then  burst  restraint. 

XXV. 
"  Yes! — 1  beheld  his  bloody  fall. 
By  that  base  traitor's  dastard  ball, 
Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword. 
Presumptuous  hope !  with  Mortham's  lord. 
And  shall  the  murderer  'scape,  who  slew 
His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true' 
'  Escape !  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 
The  marks  of  his  gigantic  pace' 
No !  ere  the  sun  that  dew  sliall  dry. 
False  Risingham  shall  yield  or  die. 
Ring  out  the  castle  larum  bell ! 
Arouse  the  peasants  with  the  knell ! 
Meantime,  disperse — ride,  gallants,  ride! 
Beset  the  wood  on  eveiT  side. 
But  if  among  you  one  there  be. 
That  honours  Mortham's  memory, 
Let  him  dismoimt  and  follow  me! 
Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 
And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name!" 

XXVI. 
Instant  to  earth  young  Redmond  sprung. 
Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 
Of  twenty  men  of  Wyclifte's  band, 
Who  waited  not  their  lord's  command. 
Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 
His  mantle  from  his  slioulder  threw, 
His  pistols  in  his  belt  he  placed, 
The  greenwood  gained,  the  footsteps  traced, 
Shouted  like  huntsman  to  his  hounds, 
"  To  cover,  hark!" — and  in  he  bounds. 
Scarce  heard  was  Oswald's  anxious  cry, 
"Suspicion!  yes — pursue  him — fly — 
But  venture  not,  in  useless  strife. 
On  ruffian  desperate  of  his  life. 
Whoever  finds  him,  shoot  him  dead  ! 
Five  hundred  nobles  for  his  head." 

XXVII. 
The  horsemen  galloped,  to  make  good 
Each  pass  that  issued  from  the  wood. 
Loud  from  the  thickets  rung  the  shout 
Of  Redmond  and  his  eager  route; 
AVith  them  was  Wilfrid,  stung  with  ire, 
And  envying  Redmond's  martial  fire. 
And  emulous  of  fame.   But  where 
Is  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir' 
He,  bound  by  honour,  law,  and  faith, 
Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death? 
Leaning  against  the  elmine  tree. 
With  drooping  head  and  slackened  knee. 
And  clenched  teeth,  and  close  clasped  hands, 
In  agonj'  of  soul  he  stands! 
His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent. 
His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent. 
For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air 
May  ring  discovery  and  despair 

XXVIIl. 
What  'vailed  it  him,  that  brightly  played 
The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade? 


ROKEBY. 


201 


All  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride, 

Like  objects  on  a  stormy  tide, 

Seen  eddying  by  the  moonlight  dim, 

Imperfectly  to  sink  or  swim. 

AVhat  'vailed  it,  that  the  fair  domain, 

Its  battled  mansion,  hill,  and  plain, 

On  which  the  sun  so  brightly  shone. 

Envied  so  long,  was  now  his  own? 

The  lowest  dungeon,  in  that  hour. 

Of  Brackenburj's  dismal  tower,'-* 

Had  been  his  choice,  could  such  a  doom 

Have  opened  Mortham's  bloody  tomb! 

Forced,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 

To  each  surmise  of  hope  or  fear. 

Murmured  among  the  rustics  round, 

Who  gathered  at  the  larum  sound. 

He  dare  not  turn  his  head  away. 

E'en  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray; 

Or  call  on  hell,  in  bitter  mood. 

For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood ! 

XXIX. 

At  length  o'erpast  tViat  dreadful  space. 
Back  straggling  came  the  scattered  chase j 
Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man, 
Returned  the  troopers,  one  by  one. 
Wilfrid,  the  last,  arrived  to  say, 
All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way. 
Though  Redmond  still,  up  Brignal  wood, 
The  hopeless  quest  in  vain  pursued. 
O  fatal  doom  of  human  race  I 
What  tyrant  passions  passions  chase! 
Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone. 
Avarice  and  pride  resume  their  throne; 
The  pang  of  instant  terror  l)y. 
They  dictate  thus  their  slave's  reply. 

XXX. 
"  Ay — let  him  range  like  hasty  hound! 
And  if  the  grim  wolf's  lair  be  found. 
Small  is  my  care  how  goes  the  game 
With  Redmond  or  with  Risingham, 
Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy! 
Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 
To  thee,  is  of  another  mooil 
To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 
Thy  ditties  will  she  freeh'  praise. 
And  pay  thj'  pains  with  courtly  phrase; 
In  a  rough  p;vth  will  oft  command — 
Accept  at  least — thy  friendly  hand; 
His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  prayed, 
Unwilling  takes  his  proffered  aid. 
While  conscious  passion  plainlj-  speaks 
In  downcast  look  and  blushing  cheeks. 
Whene'er  he  sings  will  she  glide  nigh. 
And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye. 
Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 
Tlie  wonted  words  of  courtesy. 
These  are  strong  signs!  yet  wherefore  sigh. 
And  wipe,  effeminate,  thine  eye' 
Thine  shalt  she  be,  if  thou  attend 
The  counsels  of  thy  sire  antl  friend. 

XXXI. 
"  Scarce  weil  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light 
Brought  genuine  news  of  Marston's  fight. 
Brave  Cromwell  turne<l  the  doubtful  tide, 
And  conquest  blest  the  rightful  side; 
Three  thousand  cavaliers  lie  dead, 
Rupert  and  that  bold  marfiuis  fled; 
Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 
Of  these  committed  to  my  charge, 
Is  Rokeby,  prisoner  at  large; 


Redmond,  his  page,  arrived  to  say 

He  reaches  Barnard's  towers  to-day. 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be. 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee!'* 

Go  to  her  now — be  bold  of  cheer. 

While  her  soul  floats  'tw  ixt  hope  and  fear: 

It  IS  the  very  change  of  tide. 

When  best  the  female  heart  is  tried — 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty. 

Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea. 

And  the  bold  swain,  who  plies  his  oar, 

May  lightly  row  his  bark  to  shore." 

CANTO  III. 

I. 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth; 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind, 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assigned. 
The  falcon  poised  on  soaring  wing, 
Watches  the  wild-duck  by  the  spring; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair, 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb. 
The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam; 
E'en  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear. 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare. 
Man,  only,  mars  kind  nature's  plan. 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on'man; 
Plying  war's  desultory  trade. 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade. 
Since  Nimrod,  Gush's  mighty  son, 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

II. 

The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey. 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way,* 

And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 

Camp  his  red  brethren  of  the  war; 

He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 

To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries. 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  hide. 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide. 

Now  covering  with  the  withered  leaves 

The  foot-prints  which  the  dew  receives; 

He,  skilled  in  every  sylvan  guile. 

Knows  not,  nor  tries,  such  various  wile. 

As  Risingham,  when  on  the  wind 

Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 

In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  lieanl 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 2 

When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high. 

To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hound's  cry. 

Announcing  Jedwood-axe  and  spear, 

And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear; 

And  well  liis  venturous  life  had  proved 

The  lessons  tliat  his  childhood  loved. 

111. 
Oft  had  he  shown,  in  climes  afar, 
Each  attribute  of  roving  war; 
The  sharpened  ear,  the  piercing  eye. 
The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh; 
The  speed,  that,  in  the  flight  or  chase. 
Outstripped  the  Carib's  rapid  race; 
The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  limb. 
To  leap,  to  climb,  to  dive,  to  swim; 
'I'he  iron  frame,  inured  to  bear 
Each  dire  inclemency  of  air, 
Xor  less  confirmed  to  undergo 
Fatigue's  faint  chill,  and  famine's  throe. 
These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  save. 
In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 


202 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


On  Arawaca's  desert  shore, 
Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar, 
When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spain 
Tracked  the  marauder's  steps  in  vain. 
These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried, 
Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side. 

IV. 

'Twas  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 

He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  speed. 

Now  slow  he  stalked  with  stealthy  pace, 

Now  started  forth  in  rapid  race. 

Oft  doubling  back  in  mazy  train. 

To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain; 

Now  clombe  the  rocks  projecting  high. 

To  bafile  the  pursuer's  eye. 

Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 

The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drowned. 

But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 

There  trample  steeds  and  glimmer  spears; 

If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew, 

He  heard  the  rangers'  loud  halloo. 

Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 

As  if  to  start  the  sylvan  game. 

'Twas  then — like  tiger  close  beset 

At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net. 

Countered,  where'er  he  turns  his  glare. 

By  clashing  arms  and  torches'  flare. 

Who  meditates,  with  furious  bound, 

To  burst  on  hunter,  horse,  and  hound,— 

•Twas  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose, 

Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes: 

But  as  that  crouching  tiger,  cowed 

By  brandished  steel  and  shouting  crowd. 

Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 

Bertram  suspends  his  purpose  stern. 

And  couches  in  the  brake  and  fern. 

Hiding  his  face,  lest  foeraen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye." 


Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 

Of  the  bold  youth  who  led  the  chase. 

Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound. 

Climbed  every  height  to  look  around, 

Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword. 

Each  dingle's  bosky  depths  explored. 

'Twas  Redmond — by  the  azure  eye; 

'Twas  Redmond — by  the  locks  that  fly 

Disordered  from  his  glowing  cheek; 

INIien,  face,  and  form,  young  Redmond  speak. 

A  form  more  active,  light,  and  strong. 

Ne'er  shot  the  ranks  of  war  along: 

The  modest,  yet  the  manlj'  mien, 

jNlight  grace  the  court  of  maiden  queen; 

A  face  more  fair  you  well  might  find. 

For  Redmond's  knew  the  sun  and  wind, 

Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free, 

The  charm  of  regularity; 

But  every  feature  had  the  power 

Tx)  aid  the  expression  of  tlie  hour: 

Whether  gay  w-it,  and  humour  sly. 

Danced  laughing  in  his  light-blue  eye; 

Or  bended  brow,  and  glance  of  fire. 

And  kindling  cheek,  spoke  Erin's  ire< 

Or  soft  and  saddened  glances  show 

Her  ready  sympathy  with  wo; 

Or  in  that  wayward  mood  of  mind, 

AVhen  various  feelings  are  combined. 

When  joy  and  sorrow  mingle  near. 

And  hope's  bright  wings  are  check'd  bj'  fear, 

And  rising  doubts  keep  transport  down, 

And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  frown; 


In  that  strange  mood  which  maids  approve. 
E'en  when  they  dare  not  call  it  love, 
With  eveiy  change  his  features  played. 
As  aspens  show  the  light  and  shade. 

VI. 
Well  Risingham  young  Redmond  knew; 
And  much  he  marvelled  that  the  crew, 
Roused  to  revenge  bold  Morthara  dead, 
Were  by  that  Mortham's  foeman  led; 
For  never  felt  his  soul  the  wo. 
That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 
Far  less  that  sense  of  justice  strong. 
That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 
Rut  small  his  leisure  now  to  pause; 
Redmond  is  first  whate'er  the  cause: 
And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near, 
Where  Bertram  couched  like  hunted  deer, 
The  very  boughs  his  steps  displace. 
Rustled  against  the  ruffian's  face. 
Who,  desperate,  twice  prepared  to  start, 
And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart! 
But  Redmond  turned  a  dift'erent  way. 
And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway. 
And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen, 
Deeper  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 
Thus,  circled  in  his  coil,  the  snake. 
When  roving  hunters  beat  the  brake, 
Watches  with  red  and  glistening  eye. 
Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh. 
With  forked  tongue  and  venomed  fang 
Instant  to  dart  the  deadly  pang; 
But  if  the  intruders  turn  aside. 
Away  his  coils  unfolded  glide. 
And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind. 
Some  undisturbed  retreat  to  find. 

VII. 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew, 
And  heard  the  loud  pursuit  renew. 
And  Redmond's  hollo  on  the  wind. 
Oft  muttered  in  his  savage  mind — 
"  Redmond  O'Neule!  were  thou  and  I 
Alone  this  day's  event  to  try. 
With  not  a  second  here  to  see, 
But  the  gray  clift'and  oaken  tree, — 
That  voice  of  thine,  that  shouts  so  loud. 
Should  ne'er  repeat  its  summons  proud! 
No!  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 
Again  in  maiden's  summer  bower." — 
Eluded,  now  behind  him  die. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  each  hostile  cry; 
He  stands  in  Scargill  wood  alone. 
Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 
Than  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 
Or  Greta's  sound  that  murmurs  by; 
And  on  the  dale,  so  loue  and  wild. 
The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 

VIII. 

He  listened  long  with  anxious  heart, 
Ear  bent  to  hear,  and  foot  to  start. 
And,  while  his  stretched  attention  glows, 
Refused  his  weary  frame  repose. 
'Twas  silence  all — he  laid  him  down. 
Where  purple  heath  profusely  strown 
And   throatwort  with  its  azure  bell,'* 
And  moss  and  thyme  his  cushion  swell. 
There,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 
The  course  of  Greta's  playful  tide; 
Beneatii  her  banks  now  eddying  dun. 
Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 
As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone. 
In  yellow  light  her  current  shone. 


ROKEBY. 


303 


Matching  in  hue  the  favourite  gem 

Of  Albyn's  mountain  diadem. 

Then,  tired  to  watch  the  current's  play, 

He  turned  his  weary  eyes  away. 

To  where  the  bank  opposing  showed 

Its  huge  square  cliffs  through  shaggy  wood. 

One,  prominent  above  the  rest, 

Reared  to  the  sun  its  pale  gray  breast; 

Around  its  brolcen  summit  grew 

The  hazel  rude,  and  sable  yew; 

A  thousand  various  lichens  died 

Its  waste  and  weather  beaten  side, 

And  round  its  rugged  bases  lay. 

By  time  or  thunder  rent  away. 

Fragments,  that,  from  its  frontlet  torn, 

Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 

Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty. 

That  filled  stern  Bertram's  gazing  eye. 

IX. 
In  sullen  mood  lie  lay  reclined, 
Revolving,  in  his  stormy  mind. 
The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt, 
His  patron's  blood  by  treason  spilt; 
A  crime,  it  seemed,  so  dire  and  dread, 
That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead. 
Then  pondering  on  his  life  betrayed 
By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade. 
In  treacherous  purpose  to  withhold. 
So  seemed  it,  Mortham's  promised  gold, 
A  deep  and  full  revenge  he  vowed 
On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud; 
Revenge  on  Wilfrid — on  his  sire 
Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  dire ! 
If,  in  such  mood  (as  legends  sa}-. 
And  well  believed  that  simple  day) 
The  enemy  of  man  has  power 
To  profit  by  the  evil  hour. 
Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge!^ 
But  though  his  vows,  with  such  a  fire 
Of  earnest  and  intense  desire 
For  vengeance  dark  and  fell,  were  made. 
As  well  miglit  reach  hell's  lowest  shade, 
No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrowned, 
No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground; 
The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart. 
And  spared  temptation's  needless  art. 

X. 
Oft  mingled  with  the  direful  theme. 
Came  Mortham's  form— was  it  a  dream? 
Or  had  he  seen,  in  vision  true, 
That  very  Mortham  whom  he  slew? 
Or  had  in  living  flesh  appeared 
The  only  man  on  earth  he  feared  ? — 
To  try  the  mystic  cause  intent. 
His  eyes,  that  on  the  cliff  were  bent. 
Countered  at  once  a  dazzling  glance. 
Like  sunbeam  flashed  from  sword  or  lance. 
At  once  he  started  as  for  fight. 
But  not  a  foeman  was  in  sight; 
He  heard  the  cushat's  murmur  hoarse. 
He  heard  the  river's  sounding  course. 
The  solitary  woodlands  lav. 
As  slumbering  in  the  summer  ray. 
He  gazed,  like  lion  roused,  around. 
Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 
'Twas  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam, 
Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream: 
Then  plunged  him  in  his  gloomy  train 
Of  ill-connected  thoughts  again. 
Until  a  voice  behind  him  cried, 
"  Bertram!  well  met  on  Greta-side." 


XI. 


Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand. 

As  instant  sunk  the  ready  brand; 

Yet,  dubious  still,  opposed  he  stood 

To  him  that  issued  from  tlie  wood:^ 

"  Guy  Denzil!  is  it  thou?"  he  said; 

"  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade? — 

Stand  back  a  space! — thy  purpose  show. 

Whether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 

Report  hath  said  that  Denzil's  name 

From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame." 

"  A  shame  I  owe  that  hot  O'Neale, 

Who  told  his  knight,  in  peevish  zeal, 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs. — ^ 

I  reck  not.     In  a  war  to  strive. 

Where,  save  the  leaders,  none  can  thrive, 

Suits  ill  my  mood;  and  better  game 

Awaits  us  both,  if  thou'rt  the  same 

Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham, 

Wlio  watched  with  me  in  midnight  dark. 

To  snatch  a  deer  from  Rokeby-park. 

How  think'st  thou'" — "  Speak  thy  purpose  out; 

I  love  not  myster)'  or  doubt." 

XII. 
"  Then  list. — Not  far  there  lurk  a  crew, 
Of  trusty  comrades,  stanch  and  true. 
Gleaned  from  both  factions — roundheads,  freed 
From  cant  of  sermon  and  of  creed; 
And  cavaliers,  whose  souls,  like  mine, 
Spurn  at  the  bonds  of  discipline. 
VViser  we  judge,  by  dale  and  wold, 
A  warfare  of  our  own  to  hold, 
Tlian  breathe  our  last  on  battle-down, 
For  cloak  or  surplice,  mace  or  crown. 
Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set, 
A  chief  and  leader  lack  we  yet. — 
Thou  art  a  wanderer,  it  is  said. 
For  Mortham's  deatli  tliy  steps  waylaid. 
Thy  head  at  price — so  say  our  spies, 
Who  ranged  tbe  valley  in  disguise — 
Join  then  with  us;  though  wild  debate 
And  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state. 
Each,  to  an  equal  loth  to  bow, 
Will  yield  to  chief  renowned  as  thou." 

Xlll. 

"  E'en  now,"  thought  Bertram,  "  passion-slirred, 

I  called  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard! 

What  lack  1,  vengeance  to  command. 

But  of  stanch  comrades  such  a  band! 

This  Denzil,  vowed  to  eveiy  evil. 

Might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 

Well,  be  it  so!  each  knave  and  fool 

Shall  serve  as  my  revenge's  tool." — 

Aloud,  "  I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy, 

But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie." 

"  Not  far  from  hence,"  Guy  Denzil  said; 

"  Descend  and  cross  the  river's  bed. 

Where  rises  jonder  clift'so  graj". " 

"  Do  thou,"  said  Bertram,  "  lead  the  way," 

Then  muttered,  "  It  is  best  make  sure; 

Guy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure." — 

He  followed  down  the  steep  descent. 

Then  through  tbe  Greta's  streams  they  went. 

And,  when  they  reached  the  farther  shore, 

They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

XIV. 

With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 
The  flinty  rock  a  murmured  din; 
But  when  Guy  pulled  the  wilding  spray 
And  brambles  fi'om  its  base  away. 


204 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He  saw,  appearins;  to  the  air, 
A  little  eiitnince  low  and  square, 
Like  opeiiins,'  cell  of  hermit  lone. 
Dark  wimlin;^  tl)roii!i;h  the  livini^  stone. 
Here  entered  Denzii,  Hertram  here, 
Anil  lontl  and  louder  on  their  ear, 
As  from  tlie  bowels  of  the  earth, 
Resouniled  sliouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 
Of  old,  the  cavern  straii^dit  and  rude 
In  slatv  rock  the  peasant  hewed; 
And  U'riKnal's  woo<ls,  and  Scargill's,  wave 
L'eii  now  oVr  many  a  sister  cave,'' 
Where,  for  within  the  darksome  rift, 
The  wedi^e  and  lever  ply  their  thrift. 
But  war  iiad  silenced  rural  trade, 
And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 
The  banquet  hall,  and  fortress  too, 
Of  Denzii  and  his  desperate  crew. 
There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept; 
There  on  his  sordid  pallet  slept 
Guilt-born  Excess,  the  goblet  drained 
Still  in  his  slumbering  grasp  retained; 
Uegret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 
With  vain  repining  on  the  past; 
Among  the  feasters  waited  near, 
Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 
And  Blasphemy,  to  frenzy  driven. 
With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  heaven; 
W"hile  Bertram  showed,  amid  the  crew, 
The  raaster-liend  that  Milton  drew. 

XV. 
Hark!  the  loud  revel  wakes  again, 
To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 
Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp, 
That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 
By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known 
To  single  out  and  mark  her  own! 
Yet  some  there  are,  whose  brows  retain 
Less  deeply  stamped,  her  brand  and  stain. 
See  yon  pale  stripling!  when  a  boy, 
A  mother's  pride,  a  lather's  joy  ! 
Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined. 
An  early  image  fills  his  mind: 
The  cottage,  once  his  sire's,  he  sees, 
Embowered  upon  the  banks  of  Tees; 
He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene. 
And  sh.ires  the  dance  on  Gainford-green. 
A  tear  is  springing — but  the  zest 
Of  some  wild  lale,  or  brutal  jest, 
Hath  to  loud  laughter  stirred  the  rest. 
On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mate 
For  jovial  song  and  merry  feat; 
Fast  flies  his  dream — with  dauntless  air, 
As  one  victorious  o'er  despair. 
He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round. 
Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  drowned. 
And  soon  in  merry  wassail  he, 
The  life  of  all  their  revelry, 
Peals  his  loud  song! — I'he  muse  has  found 
Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground, 
'Mid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strewed. 
Themselves  all  profitless  and  rude. — 
With  desperate  merriment  he  sung. 
The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung; 
Yet  mingled  with  his  reckless  glee 
Remorse's  bitter  agonv. 

XVI. 

SONO. 

O,  Brignal  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 
And  (^reta  woods  are  green, 

And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 
Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 


And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  meirily, — 
ciroRtJS. 
*'  O,  Brignal  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there. 

Than  reign  our  English  queen." — 

"  If,  maiden,  thou  would'st  wend  with  me. 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town. 
Thou  first  must"  guess  what  life  lead  we, 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  full  well  you  may. 
Then  to  the  green- wood  shalt  thou  speed, 

As  blith  as  queen  of  May." 
caoHus. 
Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignal  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green: 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there. 

Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

XVII. 

"  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle  horn, 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  green-wood." — 
"  A  ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn. 

And  'tis  at  peej)  of  lij^ht; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn. 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 

CHORTJS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignal  banks  are  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay, 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  tnere, 

To  reign  his  queen  of  May  ! 

"  With  burnished  brand  and  musquetoon. 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  dragoon. 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum." 
"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum. 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 

CHORUS. 

"  And  O!  though  Brignal  banks  be  fair. 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay. 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare. 

Would  reign  my  queen  of  May ! 
XVIIl. 
"  Maiden !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die; 
The  fiend  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead 

Were  better  mate  than  1! 
And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met, 

Beneath  the  green-wood  bough, 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 

CHORUS. 

"  Yet  Brignal  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there. 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen." 

When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song. 
Was  silence  on  the  sullen  throng. 
Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their  glee 
With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsy. 
But,  far  apart,  in  dark  divan, 
Denzii  and  Bertram  many  a  plan, 


ROKEBY. 


205 


Of  import  foul  and  fierce,  designed, 
While  still  on  Bertram's  grasping  mind 
The  wealth  of  murdered  Mortham  hung; 
Though  half  he  feared  his  daring  tongue, 
When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth, 
Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth! 

XIX. 

At  length  his  wond'rous  tale  he  told. 

When  scornful  smiled  his  comrade  bold; 

For,  trained  in  license  of  a  court, 

Religion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport; 

Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 

The  visionary  tales  of  eld! 

His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repressed 

The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest. 

"  'Twere  hard,"  he  said,  "  for  sage  or  seer 

To  spell  the  subject  of  your  fear; 

Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renowned, 

Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 

Yet,  faith,  if  I  must  needs  afford 

To  spectre  watching  treasured  hoard, 

As  ban-dog  keeps  his  master's  roof. 

Bidding  the  plunderer  stand  aloof, 

This  doubt  remains — thy  goblin  gaunt 

Hath  chosen  ill  liis  ghostly  haunt; 

For  why  his  guard  on  Mortham  hold. 

When  Rokeby  castle  hath  the  gold 

Thy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil, 

By  stealth,  by  piracy,  and  spoil.'" 

XX. 

At  this  he  paused — for  angry  shame 

Lowered  on  the  brow  of  Risingham. 

He  blushed  to  think  that  he  should  seem 

Assertor  of  an  airy  dream. 

And  gave  his  wrath  another  theme. 

"Denzil,"  he  says,  "  though  lowly  laid. 

Wrong  not  the  memory  of  the  deud; 

For,  while  he  lived,  at  Mortham's  look 

Thy  very  soul,  Guy  Denzil,  shook! 

And  when  he  taxed  thy  breach  of  word 

To  yon  fair  rose  of  Allenford, 

I  saw  thee  crouch  like  chastened  hound, 

Whose  back  the  huntsman's  lash  hath  found. 

Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 

The  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth; 

He  won  it  bravely  with  his  brand. 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.' 

Mark  too — 1  brook  no  idle  jeer, 

Nor  couple  Bertram's  name  with  fear; 

Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot. 

For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not. — 

Enough  of  this. — Say,  why  this  hoard 

Thou  deem'st  at  Rokeby  castle  stored  i 

Or  think'st  that  Mortham  would  bestow 

His  treasure  with  his  faction's  foe?" 

XXI. 

Soon  quenched  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth: 

Rather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 

Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  birth, 

Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 

The  deadly  wrath  of  Risingham. 

Submiss  he  answered, — "  Mortham's  mind, 

Thou  know'sl,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 

In  youth,  'tis  said,  a  gallant  free, 

A  lusty  reveller  was  he; 

But  since  returned  from  over  sea, 

A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 

Hath  numbed  the  current  of  his  blood. 

Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 

To  Rokeby 's  hospitable  hall. 


And  our  stout  knight,  at  dawn  of  morn, 
Who  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn. 
Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  emhrowned, 
To  see  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 
Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 
Refused  to  share  his  chase  and  cheer; 
Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jai-, 
Ere  they  divided  in  the  war. 
Yet  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 
Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir." 

XXII. 

"  Destined  to  her!  to  yon  slight  maid! 
The  prize  my  life  had  well  nigh  paid, 
When  'gainst  Laroche,  by  Cayo's  wave, 
I  fought,  my  patron's  wealth  to  save!— 
Denzil,  I  knew  him  long,  but  ne'er 
Knew  him  that  joyous  cavalier, 
Whom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 
Called  soul  of  gallantly  and  game. 
A  moody  man  he  sought  our  crew. 
Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew; 
And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise. 
By  scorning  life  and  all  its  ties. 
On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved. 
As  danger  for  itself  he  loved; 
On  his  sad  brow  nor  mirth  nor  wine 
Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  untwine; 
111  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled. 
For  'twas  in  peril  stern  and  wild; 
But  when  he  laughed,  each  luckless  mate 
Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate. 
Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil. 
Then  scornful  turned  him  from  the  spoil; 
Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 
Between  his  comrades  and  their  prey; 
Preaching,  e'en  then,  to  such  as  we. 
Hot  with  our  dear-bougiit  victory. 
Of  mercy  and  humanity! 

XXUI. 
"  I  loved  him  well — his  fearless  part. 
His  gallant  leading,  won  my  heart. 
And,  after  each  victorious  fight, 
'Twas  1  that  wrangled  for  his  right. 
Redeemed  his  portion  of  the  prey 
That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away; 
In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  life. 
And  once  amid  our  comrades'  strife. — ^ 
Yes,  I  liave  loved  thee !  well  hath  proved 
My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved! 
Yet  will  1  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 
Ingrate  in  life,  in  death  ingrate. 
Rise,  if  thou  canst!"  he  looked  around. 
And  sternly  stamped  upon  the  ground — 
"  Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high, 
E'en  as  this  morn  it  met  mine  eye. 
And  give  me,  if  thou  dar'st,  the  lie!" 
He  paused — then,  calm  and  passion-freed. 
Bade  Denzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

XXIV. 

"  Bertram,  to  thee  I  need  not  tell 
What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well. 
How  superstition's  nets  were  twined 
Around  the  lord  of  Mortham's  mind; 
But  since  he  drove  thee  from  his  tower, 
A  maid  he  found  in  Greta's  bower. 
Whose  speech,  like  David's  hai'p,  had  sway 
To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 
I  know  not  if  her  features  moved. 
Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved; 
But  he  would  gaze  upon  her  eye. 
Till  his  mood  softened  to  a  sigh. 


306 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He,  whom  no  livinj;  mortal  sought 
To  question  ofhis  secret  thought, 
Now,  eveiy  thouglil  and  care  confessed 
To  his  fair  niece's  faitliful  breast; 
Nor  was  there  auglil  of  rich  or  rare, 
In  earth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air. 
But  it  must  deck  Malihia's  hair. 
Her  love  still  bound  him  unto  life; 
But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife. 
And  menials  bore,  by  his  commands, 
Tiu-cc  coffers  w  ilh  tlieir  iron  bands. 
From  Mortham's  vault  at  midnight  deep. 
To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby-keep, 
Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride. 
His  gift,  if  he  in  battle  died." — 

XXV. 
"  Then  Denzil,  as  1  guess,  lays  train, 
These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain; 
Else,  wherefore  should  he  hover  here, 
AVhere  many  a  peril  waits  him  near, 
For  all  his  teats  of  war  and  peace, 
For  plundered  boors  and  harts  of  greece'* 
Since  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared. 
What  hearth  has  Guy's  marauding  spared, 
Or  where  the  chase  that  hath  not  rung 
With  Denzil's  bow  at  midnight  strung?" 
—"1  hold  my  wont — my  rangers  go    . 
E'en  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.'O 
Bv  Rokeby-hall  she  takes  her  lair, 
III  Greta  wood  she  harbours  fair. 
And  when  mv  huntsman  marks  her  way, 
What  think's't  thou,  Bertram,  of  the  prey  ? 
Were  Rokeby's  daughter  in  our  power, 
We  rate  her  ransom  at  her  dower!" 

XXVI. 
"  'Tis  well! — there's  vengeance  in  the  thought! 
Matilda  is  by  Wilfrid  sought. 
And  hot-brained  Redmond,  too,  'tis  said, 
Pavs  lover's  homage  to  the  maid. 
Bertram  she  scorned— if  met  by  chance, 
She  turned  from  me  her  shuddering  glance, 
Like  a  nice  dame,  that  will  not  brook 
On  what  she  hates  and  loathes  to  look; 
She  told  to  Mortham,  she  could  ne'er 
Behold  me  without  seoret  fear. 
Foreboding  evil;— she  may  rue 
To  find  her  prophecy  fall  true ! 
The  war  has  weeded'  Rokeby's  train. 
Few  followers  in  his  halls  remain; 
If  thv  scheme  miss,  then,  briet  and  bold, 
We  are  enow  to  storm  the  hold. 
Bear  off  the  plunder  and  the  dame. 
And  leave  the  castle  all  in  flame." — 

XXVII. 
««  Still  art  thou  valour's  venturous. son! 
Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run; 
The  menials  of  the  castle,  true. 
And  stubborn  to  their  charge,  though  few; 
The  wall  to  scale — the  moat  to  cross — 
The  wicket-grate — the  inner  fosse" — 

^i  Fool !  if  we  blench  for  toys  like  these. 

On  w  hat  fair  guerdon  can  we  seize  ? 
Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 
Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door. 
And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away. 
The  earnings  of  his  sordid  day." — 
— "  Awhile  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear: 
In  sight  of  road  more  sure  and  fair. 
Thou  would'st  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath. 
Or  wantonness,  a  desperate  path? 
•  Deer  in  season. 


List  then: — for  vantage  or  assault. 
From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon  vault. 
Each  path  of  Rokeby-house  I  know: 
Tiiere  is  one  postern  dark  and  low. 
That  issues  at  a  secret  spot. 
By  most  neglected  or  forgot. 
Now,  could  a  spial  of  our  train 
On  fair  pretext  admittance  gain. 
That  sally-port  might  be  unbarred; 
Then,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward'" 

XXVIII. 
"  Now  speak'st  thou  well; — to  me  the  same, 
If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game; 
Indifferent  if  like  fox  I  wind. 
Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind. — 
But  hark!  our  merry-men  so  gay 
Troll  forth  another  roundelay. " 

SONG. 

"  A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weai-y  lot  is  thine! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid. 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine! 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien, 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green, — 

N  o  more  of  me  you  knew. 

My  love ! 

No  more  of  me  you  knew. 
"  This  morn  is  meiTy  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain. 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow. 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  turned  his  charger  as  he  spake, '^ 

Upon  the  river  shore, 
He  gave  his  bridle  reins  a  shake, 

Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore. 

My  love ! 

And  adieu  for  evermore." — 

XXIX. 

"  What  youth  is  this  your  band  among, 
The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song? 
In  hi<s  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 
A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret." — 
"  Edmund  of  Winston  is  his  name; 
The  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 
Of  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave, — 
Now  centered  all  in  Brignal  cave! 
I  watch  him  well — his  wayward  course 
Shows  oft  a  tincture  of  remorse: 
Some  early  love-shaft  grazed  his  heart. 
And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smart. 
Yet  is  he  useful; — of  the  rest 
By  fits  the  darling  and  the  jest. 
His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay, 
Oft  aid  tfie  idle  hours  away; 
When  unemployed,  each  fiery  mate 
Is  ripe  for  mutinous  debate. 
He  tuned  his  strings  e'en  now — again 
He  wakes  them,  with  a  blither  strain." 
XXX. 

SONG. ALLEN- A-DALE. 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  faggot  for  burning, 
AUen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning. 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle !  come,  hearken  my  tale ! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  baron  of  Ravensworth'^  prances  in  pride. 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
[The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame; 


ROKEBY. 


207 


Fet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  Talc, 
Are  less  fi-ee  to  lord  Dacre  than  AUan-a-Dale ! 

AUen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight, 
Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as 

bright; 
AUen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord. 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen  will  draw  at  his  word; 
And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  vail. 
Who  at  Rere-cross  on  Stanmore'^  meets  Allen- 

a-Dale. 
AUen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come; 
The  mother,  she  asked  of  his  household  and  home; 
"  Tho'  the  castle  of  Richmond  stands  fair  on  the 

hill; 
My  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "shows  gallanter 

still; 
'Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so 

pale, 
And  with  all  its  bright  spangles!"  said  Allen-a- 

Dale. 
l"he  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone; 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  begone ! 
But  loud  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their  cry ! 
He  had  laughed  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black 

eye, 
And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale. 

XXXI. 
"  Thou  seest  that,  whether  sad  or  gay, 
Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 
But  when  bis  boyish  wayward  fit 
Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit; 
O!  'tis  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 
Each  dialect,  each  various  shape." 
"Nay,  then,  to  aid  thy  project,  Gny — 
Soft!  who  comes  here?" — "My  trusty  spy. 
Speak,  Hamlin!  hast  thou  lodged  our  deer?"''* 
"I  have — but  two  fair  stags  are  near; 
1  watched  her  as  she  slowly  strayed 
From  Eglistone  up  Thorsgill  glade: 
But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side, 
And  then  young  Redmond  in  his  pride 
Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way; 
Much,  as  it  seemed,  was  theirs  to  saj-: 
There's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net. 
Before  their  path  be  homeward  set." 
A  hurried  and  a  whispered  speech 
Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  teach. 
Who,  turning  to  the  robber  band. 
Bade  four  the  bravest  take  the  brand. 

CANTO  IV. 

I. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soared  on  high. 
Triumphant  through  Northumbriau  sky. 
Till,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke,'- 
And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blackened  each  cataract  and  spring. 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  source, 
Thuodering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force;2 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Xorthmen  came. 
Fixed  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name,3 
Reared  high  their  altars'  rugged  stone. 
And  gave  their  gods  the  land  they  won. 
Then,  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine, 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  line. 
And  Woden's  croft  did  title  gain 
From  the  stern  father  of  the  slain! 
But  to  the  monarch  of  the  mace. 
That  held  in  fight  the  foremost  place. 


To  Odin's  son,  and  Sifia's  spouse. 
Near  Startforth  high  they  paid  their  vows, 
Remembered  Thor's  victorious  fame. 
And  gave  the  dell  the  thunderer's  name. 

n. 

Yet  scald  or  kemper  erred,  I  ween. 
Who  gave  that  soft  and  quiet  scene, 
With  all  its  varied  light  and  shade. 
And  every  little  sunny  glade. 
And  the  blith  brook  that  strolls  along 
Its  pebbled  bed  with  summer  song. 
To  the  grim  god  of  blood  and  scar. 
The  grisly  king  of  northern  war. 
O  better  were  its  banks  assigned 
To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind! 
For,  where  the  thicket-groups  recede. 
And  the  rathe  primrose  decks  the  mead, 
The  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 
For  the  light  fairies'  lively  feet. 
Yon  tufted  knoll,  with  daisies  strown. 
Might  make  proud  Oberou  a  throne. 
While,  hidden  in  the  thicket  nigh, 
Puck  should  biood  o'er  his  frolic  sly; 
And  where  profuse  the  wood-veitch  clings 
Round  ash  and  elm  in  verdant  rings. 
Its  pale  and  azure  pencilled  flower 
Should  canopy  Titania's  bower. 

III. 

Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade, 
But  skirting  every  sunny  glade. 
In  fair  variety  of  green 
The  woodland  lends  its  sylvan  screen. 
Hoary,  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak. 
Its  boughs  by  weight  of  ages  broke; 
And  towers  erect,  in  sable  spire. 
The  pine-tree  scathed  by  lightning  fire; 
The  drooping  ash  aod  birch,  between. 
Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  green. 
And  all  beneath  at  random  grow. 
Each  coppice  dwarf  of  varied  show, 
Or  round  the  stems  profusely  twined. 
Fling  summer  odours  on  the  wind. 
Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 
Round  him  of  Tarsus  nobly  planned. 
What  time  he  bade  proud  Athens  own 
On  Mars's  mount  the  God  unknown! 
Then  gray  Philosophy  stood  nigh. 
Though  bent  by  age,  in  spirit  high; 
There  rose  the  scar  seamed  veteran's  spenr, 
There  Grecian  Beauty  bent  to  hear, 
While  childhood  at  her  foot  was  placed. 
Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist. 

IV. 

"  And  rest  we  liere,"  Matilda  said, 
And  sate  her  in  the  varying  shade. 
"  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour. 
To  friendship  due  from  fortune's  power. 
Thou,  Wilfrid,  ever  kind,  must  lend 
Thy  counsel  to  thy  sister  friend; 
And  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest. 
No  farther  urge  thy  desperate  quest. 
For  to  my  care  a  charge  is  left. 
Dangerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft. 
Well  nigh  an  orphan,  and  alone. 
Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced, 
Beside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed; 
Then  paused,  with  downcast  look  and  eye. 
Nor  bade  young  Redmond  seat  him  ni^h. 
Her  conscious  dithdence  he  saw. 
Drew  backward  as  in  modest  awe. 


208 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  sate  a  little  space  removed, 
Unmarked  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 

V. 
Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hair 
Half  Iiid  Matilda's  forehead  fair. 
Half  hid  and  half  revealed  to  view 
Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 
The  rose,  with  faint  and  feeble  streak. 
So  slighllj-  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek. 
That  you  had  said  her  iiue  was  pale; 
But  if  she  fiiced  the  summer  gale. 
Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved, 
Or  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved. 
Or  when  of  interest  was  expressed 
Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 
The  mantling  blood  in  readj-  play 
Rivalled  the  blush  of  rising  daj'. 
There  M'as  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 
A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face. 
That  suited  well  the  forehead  high. 
The  eye-lash  dark  and  downcast  eye; 
The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind 
In  duty  firm,  composed,  resigned; 
'Tis  that  which  Romiin  art  has  given. 
To  mark  their  maiden  queen  of  heaven. 
In  hours  of  sport,  that  mood  gave  way 
To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play;  ^ 
And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song. 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along. 
Full  oft  her  doating  sire  would  call 
His  Maud  the  merriest  of  them  all. 
But  days  of  war,  and  civil  crime. 
Allowed  but  ill  such  festal  time. 
And  her  soft  pensiveness  of  brow 
Had  deepened  into  sadness  now. 
In  Marston  field  her  father  ta'en. 
Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham  slain, 
"While  every  ill  her  soul  foretold. 
From  Oswald's  thirst  of  jjower  and  gold. 
And  boding  tlioughts  that  she  must  part 
With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, — 
All  lowered  around  the  lovely  maid, 
To  darken  her  dejection's  shade. 

VI. 
Who  has  not  heard — while  Erin  yet 
Strove  'gainst  the  Saxons'  iron  bit — 
Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel, -i 
Against  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high 
The  banners  of  his  tanistry. 
To  fierj'  Essex  gave  the  foil. 
And  reigned  a  prince  in  Ulster's  soil' 
But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride. 
When  that  brave  marshal  fought  and  dieQ  ^ 
And  Avon-DufFto  ocean  bore 
His  billows,  red  with  Saxon  gore. 
'Twas  first  in  that  disastrous  fight, 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  might. 
There  had  they  fallen  amongst  the  rest. 
But  pity  touched  a  chieftain's  breast; 
The  tanist  he  to  great  O'NealejS 
He  checked  his  followers'  bloody  zeal, 
To  quarter  took  the  kinsmen  bold. 
And  bore  them  to  his  mountain  hold. 
Gave  them  each  sylvan  joy  to  know, 
Slieve-Donard's  cliffs  and  woods  could  show; 
Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer. 
Showed  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer. 
And,  when  a  fitting  time  was  come, 
Safe  and  unransomed  sent  them  home. 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift,  to  prove 
A  gene .ous  foe's  respect  and  love. 


vn. 

Years  sped  away.  On  Rokeby's  head 
Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed; 
Calm  he  enjoyed,  by  Greta's  wave. 
The  peace  which  James  the  peaceful  gave. 
While  Mortham,  far  beyond  the  main. 
Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain. 
It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  night. 
That  whitened  Stanmore's  stormy  height. 
The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  killed, 
In  Rokeby-hall  the  cups  were  filled. 
And,  by  the  huge  stone  chimney,  sate 
The  knight,  in  hospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late. 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate, 
And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aiil 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  prayed; 
The  porter  answered  to  the  call. 
And  instant  rushed  into  the  hall 
A  man,  whose  aspect  and  attire 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 

VIII. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread' 

Around  his  bare  and  matted  head; 

On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretched  and  trim, 

His  vesture  showed  the  sinewy  limb: 

In  saftVon  died,  a  linen  vest 

Was  frequent  folded  round  his  breast; 

A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore. 

Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stained  with  gore. 

He  clasped  a  burthen  to  his  heart, 

And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart, 

The  snow  from  liair  and  beard  he  shook, 

And  round  him  gazed  with  wildered  look; 

Then  up  the  liall,  witli  staggering  pace. 

He  hastened  by  the  blaze  to  place. 

Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air. 

His  load,  a  boy  of  beauty  rare. 

To  Rokeby,  next,  he  louted  low. 

Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show, 

With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone. 

Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne:* 

"  Sir  Richanl,  lord  of  Rokeby,  hear! 

Turlough  O'Xeale  salutes  thee  dear; 

He  graces  thee,  and  to  Ihy  care 

Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 

He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 

For  Turlough 's  da3-s  of  joy  are  done; 

And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land, 

And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand. 

And  all  the  glory  of  Tyrone 

Is  like  a  morning  vapour  flown. 

To  bind  tlie  duty  on  tliy  soul. 

He  bids  thee  ihiiik  of  Erin's  bowl: 

If  any  wrong  the  young  O'Neale, 

He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin's  steel. 

To  Mortham  first  this  charge  was  due, 

But,  in  his  absence,  honours  you. 

Now  is  my  master's  message  by. 

And  Ferraught  will  contented  die." 

IX. 

His  look  grew  fixed,  his  cheek  grew  pale. 

He  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale; 

For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 

A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 

Vain  was  all  aid — in  terror  wild. 

And  sorrow,  screamed  the  orphan  child. 

Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes. 

And  faintly  strove  to  sooth  his  cries; 

All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain. 

He  blest,  and  blest  him  o'er  again! 


ROKEBY. 


209 


And  kissed  the  little  hands  outspread, 
And  kissed  and  crossed  the  infant  head. 
And,  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase. 
Prayed  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days; 
Then  all  his  strength  together  drew. 
The  charge  to  Rokeby  to  renew. 
When  half  was  faltered  from  his  breast. 
And  half  by  dying  signs  expressed, 
"  Bless  thee,  O'Neill"  he  faintly  said. 
And  tlius  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

X. 

'Twas  long  ere  soothing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  child  to  end  the  tale; 
And  then  he  said,  that  from  his  home 
His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam. 
Which  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 
Had  but  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand, 
The  brand  of  Lenaugh  More  the  red, 
That  hung  beside  the  gray  wolf's  head. 
'Twas  from  his  broken  phrase  descried, 
His  foster-father  was  his  guide,9 
Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  bore 
Letters,  and  gifts  a  goodly  store; 
But  ruffians  met  them  in  the  wood, 
Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood. 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpowered  at  length, 
And  stripped  of  all,  his  failing  strength 
Just  bore  him  here — and  then  the  child 
Renewed  again  his  moaning  wild. 

XI. 

The  tear,  down  childhood's  cheek  that  flows. 

Is  like  the  dew-drop  on  the  rose; 

When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by. 

And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  drj; 

Won  by  their  care,  the  orphan  child 

Soon  on  his  new  protectors  smiled. 

With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair. 

Through  his  thick  curls  of  flaxen  hair. 

But  blithest  laughed  that  cheek  and  eye. 

When  llokeby's  little  maid  was  nigli; 

'Twas  his,  with  elder  brotlier's  pride, 

Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide; 

His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue. 

To  sooth  her  infant  ear,  he  sung, 

And  primrose  twined  with  daisy  fair. 

To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 

By  lawn,  by  grove,  by  brooklet's  strand. 

The  children  still  wei-e  hand  in  hand. 

And  good  sir  Richard  smiling  eyed 

The  eai'ly  knot  so  kindly  tied. 

XII. 
But  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 
From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit; 
And  years  draw  on  our  human  span. 
From  child  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man; 
And  soon  in  Rokeby's  woods  is  seen 
A  gallant  boy  in  hunter's  green. 
He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar, 
In  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore. 
And  loves,  against  the  dt;er  so  dun. 
To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun; 
Yet  more  he  loves,  in  autumn  prime. 
The  hazel's  spreading  boughs  to  climb. 
And  down  its  clustered  stores  to  hail. 
Where  young  Matilla  holds  her  veil. 
And  she,  whose  veil  receives  the  shower. 
Is  altered  too,  and  knows  her  power; 
Assumes  a  monitr.jss's  pride, 
Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide. 
Yet  listens  still  to  hear  him  tell 
How  the  gi'im  wild-boar  fought  and  fell. 


How  at  his  fall  the  bugle  rung. 
Till  rock  and  green-wood  answer  flung; 
Then  blesses  her,  that  man  can  find 
A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind  I 

XIII. 
But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 
So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale. 
And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace. 
Gives  living  interest  to  the  chase. 
And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  throw 
His  spirit's  wild  romantic  glow, 
That,  while  she  blamed,  and  while  she  feared. 
She  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 
Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snnw  |nd  rain 
To  bower  and  hall  their  steps  restrain, 
Together  they  exphired  the  page 
Of  glowing  bard  or  gifted  sage; 
Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside, 
The  minstrel  art  alternate  tried, 
While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 
Bade  winter-niglit  flit  fast  away: 
Thus  fi'om  their  childhood  blending  still 
Their  sport,  their  study,  and  their  skill, 
A  union  of  the  soul  they  prove. 
But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 
But,  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 
Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name; 
And  when  so  often,  sivle  by  side, 
From  year  to  year  the  pair  she  eyed. 
She  sometimes  blamed  tlie  good  old  knight. 
As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight. 
Sometimes  his  purpose  would  declare. 
That  voung  O'Xeale  should  wed  his  heir. 

XIV. 
The  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 
And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes; 
'Twas  plain  that  Oswald,  for  his  son, 
Had  Rokeby's  favour  well  nigh  won. 
Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer, 
With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear; 
Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart. 
To  school  her  disobedient  heart; 
And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 
The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 
But  factions  rose,  and  Rokeby  sware. 
No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  heir; 
And  Redmond,  nurtured  while  a  child 
In  many  a  bard's  traditions  wild. 
Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream. 
To  cherish  there  a  happier  dream. 
Of  maiden  won  by  sword  or  lance, 
As  in  the  regions  of  romance; 
And  count  the  heroes  of  his  line. 
Great  Nial  of  the  pledges  nine,'" 
Shane-Dymas  wild,''  and  Geraldine,i2 
And  Connan-More,  who  vowed  his  race 
For  ever  to  the  fight  and  chase. 
And  cursed  him,  of  his  lineage  born. 
Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the  corn, 
Or  leave  the  mountain  and  the  wold. 
To  shroud  himself  iu  castle  hold. 
From  such  examples  hope  he  drew. 
And  brightened  as  the  trumpet  blew. 

XV. 
If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade, 
Redmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid, 
And  all  beside  of  nvu-ture  rare 
That  might  beseem  a  baron's  heir. 
Turlough  O'Neale,  in  Erin's  strife. 
On  Rokeby's  lord  bestowed  his  life. 
And  well  (lid  Rokeby's  generous  knight 
I  Young  liedmond  for  'he  deed  re<juite. 


210 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Nor  was  his  liberal  care  and  cost 
Upon  the  ijallanl  striitling  lost: 
Seok  the  North  Hiding  broad  and  wide, 
Like  Iledmond  none  could  steed  bestride; 
From  Tvnuinouth  search  to  Cumberland, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  wield  a  brand; 
And  then,  of  humour  kind  and  free, 
And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 
With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy. 
There  never  youth  was  formed  to  steal 
Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

XVL 

Sir  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son, 
And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done, 
And  to  the  gales  of  war  he  gave 
Tbe  banner  of  his  sires  to  wave, 
Redmond,  distinguished  by  his  care. 
He  chose  that  lionoured  flag  to  bear,'* 
And  named  his  page,  the  next  degree 
In  that  old  time  to  cliivalry.'-' 
In  five  pitched  fields  he  well  maintained 
The  honoured  place  his  worth  obtained. 
And  high  was  Redmond's  youthful  name 
Blazed  in  the  roll  of  martial  fame. 
Had  fortune  smiled  on  ISIarston  fight, 
The  eve  had  seen  him  dubbed  a  knight; 
Twice,  'mid  the  battle's  doubtful  strife. 
Of  Rokeby's  lord  he  saved  the  life; 
But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made. 
He  kissed,  and  then  resigned  his  blade. 
And  yielded  him  an  easy  prey 
To  those  who  led  the  knight  away. 
Resolved  Matilda's  sire  should  prove. 
In  prison,  as  in  fight,  his  love. 

XV 11. 

When  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 

'Tis  like  a  sun-glimpse  through  a  shower, 

A  watery  ray  an  instant  seen 

The  darkly  closing  clouds  between. 

As  Redmond  on  the  turf  reclined, 

Tlie  past  and  present  filled  his  mind; 

"  It  was  not  thus,"  Affection  said, 

"  I  dreamed  of  my  return,  dear  maid ! 

Not  thus,  when,  from  thy  trembling  hand, 

I  took  the  banner  and  the  brand, 

Wlien  round  me,  as  the  bugles  blew. 

Their  blades  tliree  hundred  warriors  drew, 

And,  wiiile  the  standard  I  unrolled, 

Claslied  their  bright  arms  with  clamour  bold. 

Wliere  is  that  baimer  nowj' — its  pride 

Lies  whelmed  in  Ouze's  sullen  tide! 

Wiiere  now  these  warriors' — in  their  gore. 

They  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor! 

And  what  avails  a  useless  brand. 

Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand. 

That  oidy  would  his  life  retain. 

To  aid  thy  sire  to  bear  his  chain!" 

Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart. 

Nor  lighter  was  his  rival's  heart; 

For  \\  ilfrid,  while  his  generous  soul 

Disdained  to  profit  by  control, 

Bv  many  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain. 

Save  with  such  aid,  his  hopes  were  vain. 

But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 

On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul. 

And  bade  their  mournful  musing  fly. 

Like  mist  before  the  zephyr's  sigh. 

XVUI. 
"  1  need  not  to  my  friends  recal 
How  Mortham  shunned  my  father's  hall; 


A  man  of  silence  and  of  wo. 

Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 

On  my  poor  self  whate'er  could  prove 

A  kinsman's  confidence  and  love. 

My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 

The  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space. 

But,  oftener,  fixed  beyond  my  power, 

I  marked  his  deep  despondence  lower. 

One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguessed, 

His  fearful  confidence  confessed; 

And  twice  it  was  my  hap  to  see 

Examples  of  that  agony. 

Which  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 

And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 

He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 

The  approaching  mental  overthrow, 

And  while  his  mind  had  courage  yet 

To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  fit. 

The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes. 

Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderer's  blows. 

This  malady  I  well  could  mark. 

Sprung  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark; 

But  still  he  kept  its  source  concealed, 

Till  arming  for  the  civil  field; 

Then  in  my  charge  he  bade  me  hold 

A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  gold. 

With  tliis  disjointed  dismal  scroll 

That  tells  the  secret  of  his  soul, 

In  such  wild  words  as  oil  beti-ay 

A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray. 

XIX. 

mohthaji's  histoht. 
"  Matilda!  thou  haSt  seen  me  start. 
As  if  a  dagger  thrilled  my  heart. 
When  it  has  happ'd  some  casual  phrase 
Waked  memory  of  my  former  days. 
Believe,  tliat  few  can  backward  cast 
Their  thoughts  with  pleasure  on  the  past. 
But  I! — ray  youth  was  rash  and  vain, 
And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 
And  my  gray  hairs  must  now  descend 
To  my  cold  s:rave  without  a  friend ! 
E'en  thou,  ]Slatilda,  wilt  disown 
Thy  kinsman,  when  his  guilt  is  known. 
And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veil. 
That  hides  my  dark  and  fatal  tale? 
I  must — I  will — pale  phantom,  cease! 
Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace! 
Thus  haunted,  think'st  thou  1  have  skill 
Thine  own  commission  to  fulfil? 
Or,  while  thou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce. 
Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse. 
How  can  I  paint  thee  as  thou  wert. 
So  fair  in  face,  so  warm  in  heart! 

XX. 

"  Yes,  she  was  fair!  Matilda,  thou 
Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  brow; 
But  her's  was  like  the  sunny  glow. 
That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  below  ! 
We  wedded  secret — there  was  need — 
Differing  in  country  and  in  creed ; 
And  when  to  Mortham 's  tower  she  came, 
We  mentioned  not  her  race  and  name. 
Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar, 
Shovdd  turn  him  home  from  foreign  war, 
On  whose  kind  influence  we  relied 
To  sooth  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 
Few  months  we  lived  retired,  unknown 
To  all  but  one  dear  friend  alone. 
One  darling  friend — I  spare  his  shame, 
I  will  not  write  the  villain's  name ' 


ROKEBY. 


211 


My  trespasses  1  might  forget, 
And  sue  in  vengeance  for  the  debt 
Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me, 
Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency, 
That  spared  me  penitential  time, 
Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime. 

XXI. 

"  A  kindly  smile  to  all  she  lent, 

But  on  her  husband's  friend  'twas  bent 

So  kind,  that,  from  its  harmless  glee. 

The  wretch  misconstrued  villany. 

Repulsed  in  his  presumptuous  love, 

A  vengeful  snare  the  ti-aitor  wove. 

Alone  we  sate — the  flask  had  flowed. 

My  blood  with  heat  unwonted  glowed, 

\Vhen  through  the  alleyed  walk  we  spied 

With  hurried  step  my  Edith  glide. 

Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen. 

As  one  unwilling  to  be  seen. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile 

That  curled  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while ! 

Fiercely  1  questioned  of  the  cause; 

He  made  a  cold  and  artful  pause, 

Theu  prayed  it  might  not  chafe  my  mood- 

'  There  was  a  gallant  in  the  wood!' 

We  had  been  shooting  at  the  deer; 

My  cross-bow  (evil  chance)  was  near. 

That  ready  weapon  of  my  wrath 

I  caught,  and,  hastening  up  the  path, 

In  the  yew-grove  my  wife  I  found, 

A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  bound  ! 

I  marked  his  heart — the  bow  1  drew — 

1  loosed  the  shaft — 'twas  more  than  true ! 

1  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 

Locked  in  her  murdered  brother's  arms! 

He  came  in  secret  to  inquire 

Her  state,  and  reconcile  her  sire. 

XXII. 

"  All  fled  my  rage — the  villain  first. 
Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed; 
He  sought  in  far  and  foreign  clime 
To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 
The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 
Was  known  to  few,  my  guilt  to  none: 
Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed — 
I  know  not  what — of  shaft  misaimed; 
And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew. 
He  hid  the  hand  from  which  it  flew. 
Untouched  by  human  laws  I  stood. 
But  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood! 
There  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind, 
A  fearful  vision  ill-defined. 
Of  raving  till  my  flesh  was  torn. 
Of  dungeon  bolts  and  fetters  worn — 
And  when  [  waked  to  wo  more  mild. 
And  questioned  of  my  infant  child — 
( Have  I  not  written,  that  she  bare 
A  boy,  like  summer  morning  fair?) — 
With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell. 
That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 
Beset  the  nuise's  evening  way. 
And  bore  her,  witli  her  charge,  away. 
My  faithless  friend,  and  none  but  he. 
Could  profit  by  this  villany, 
Him,  then,  I  sought,  with  purpose  dread 
Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head ! 
He  'scaped  me — but  my  bosom's  wound 
Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found, 
And  over  distant  land  and  sea 
1  bore  my  load  of  misery. 


XXIII. 

"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  led 

Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread. 

With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  life 

J  ventured  in  such  desperate  sti-ife. 

That  e'en  my  fierce  associates  saw 

My  frantic  deeds  with  doubt  and  awe. 

Much  then  I  learned,  and  much  can  show, 

Of  human  guilt  and  human  wo. 

Yet  ne'er  have,  in  my  wanderings,  known 

A  wretch,  whose  sorrows  matched  my  own ! 

It  chanced,  that  after  battle  fray. 

Upon  the  bloody  field  we  lay; 

The  yellow  moon  her  lustre  shed 

Upon  the  wounded  and  the  dead. 

While,  sense  in  toil  and  wassail  drowned. 

My  ruffian  comrades  slept  around. 

There  came  a  voice — its  silver  tone 

Was  soft,  Matilda,  as  thine  own — 

'  Ah  wretch!'  it  said,  '  what  makest  thou  here, 

While  unavenged  my  bloody  bier, 

While  unprotected  lives  mine  heir, 

Without  a  father's  name  and  care!' 

XXIV. 
"  I  beared — obeyed — and  homeward  drew; 
The  fiercest  of  our  desperate  crew 
I  brought,  at  time  of  need,  to  aid 
My  purposed  vengeance,  long  delayed. 
But,  humble  be  my  thanks  to  heaven, 
That  better  hopes  and  thoughts  has  given. 
And  by  our  Lord's  dear  prayer  Itas  taught, 
Mercy  by  mercy  must  be  bought! 
Let  me  in  misei-y  rejoice — 
I've  seen  his  face — I've  heard  his  voice — 
I  claimed  of  him  my  only  child — 
As  he  disowned  the  theft,  he  smiled ! 
That  very  calm  and  callous  look, 
That  fiendish  sneer  his  visage  took. 
As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  mood, 
'  There  is  a  gallant  in  the  wood !' 
— I  did  not  slay  him  as  he  stood— 
All  praise  be  to  my  Maker  given  ! 
Long-sufterance  is  one  path  to  heaven." 

XXV. 
Thus  far  the  woful  tale  was  heard. 
When  something  in  the  thicket  stirred. 
Up  Redmond  sprang;  the  villain  Guy 
n^or  he  it  was  that  lurked  so  nigh) 
Drew  back — he  durst  not  cross  liis  steel 
A  moment's  space  with  brave  O'Neale, 
For  all  the  treasuitd  gold  that  rests 
In  Mortham's  iron-banded  chests. 
Redmond  resumed  his  seat; — he  said. 
Some  roe  was  rustling  in  the  shade. 
Bertram  laughed  grimly,  when  he  saw 
His  timorous  comrade  backward  draw: 
"  A  trusty  mate  art  thou,  to  fear 
A  single  arm,  and  aid  so  near! 
Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer — 
Give  me  thy  carabine — I'll  sliow 
An  art  that  thou  wilt  gladly  know. 
How  thou  mayest  safely  quell  a  foe. " 

XXVI. 
On  hands  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 
The  spreading  bircli  and  hazels  through. 
Till  he  had  Redmond  full  in  view. 
The  gun  he  levelled — mark  like  this 
Was  Bertram  never  known  to  miss. 
When  fair  opposed  to  him  there  sate 
An  object  of  his  mortal  hate. 
That  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  seen. 
But  twice  Matilda  came  between 


212 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  carabine  and  Redmond's  breast, 
Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  pressed. 
A  deadly  oalli  the  ruffian  swore, 
But  yet  his  fell  design  forebore: 
"  It  "ne'er,"  he  muttered,  "  shall  be  said, 
That  thus  I  scathed  thee,  haughty  maid!" 
Then  moved  to  seek  more  open  aim, 
Wiien  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  came: 
"  Bertram,  forbear!  we  ai-e  undone 
Forever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 
By  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 
Descends  the  dell,  of  foot  and  horse! 
We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot — 
JVIadman !  we  have  a  safer  plot — 
Nav,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back! 
Behold,  down  yonder  hollow  track. 
The  warlike  leader  of  the  band 
Comes,  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand." 
Bertram  looked  up;  he  saw,  he  knew, 
That  Uenzil's  fears  had  counselled  true. 
Then  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew, 
Threaded  the  woodlands  undescried, 
And  gained  the  cave  on  Greta- side. 

XXVII. 
They  whom  dark  Bertram,  iu  his  wrath. 
Doomed  to  captivity  or  deatli, 
Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent. 
Saw  not,  nor  heard,  the  ambushment. 
Heedless  and  unconcerned  they  sate. 
While  on  the  very  verge  of  fate; 
Heedless  and  unconcerned  remained. 
When  heaven  the  murderer's  arm  resu-ained; 
As  ships  drift  darkling  down  the  tide, 
Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  which  they  glide. 
Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 
What  Mortham's  closing  tale  declared. 
He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load 
By  fortune  on  a  wretch  bestowed, 
In  bitter  mockery  of  hate. 
His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate; 
But  yet  he  prayed  Matilda's  care 
Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir^ 
His  Edith's  son— for  still  he  raved 
As  confident  his  life  was  saved; 
In  frequent  vision,  he  averred. 
He  saw  his  face,  his  voice  he  heard. 
Then  argued  calm — had  murder  been. 
The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen-, 
Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 
On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark. 
Whose  crew,  with  jealous  care,  yet  mild, 
Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 
While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  pressed, 
Hope  seemed  to  kindle  in  his  breast; 
Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 
It  warped  his  judgment  and  his  brain. 

XXVHI. 
These  solemn  words  his  story  close: — 
"  Heaven  witness  for  me,  that  1  chose 
Mv  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight. 
Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right. 
Mv  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 
My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law; 
These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside. 
And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wide. 
Mv  wealth  on  which  a  kinsman  nigh 
Already  casts  a  grasping  eye, 
\\'ilh  tiiee  may  unsuspected  lie. 
>VluMi  of  my  death  Matilda  hears, 
Let  iier  retain  her  trust  three  years; 
If  none,  from  me,  the  treasure  claim, 
Furislied  is  Mortham's  race  and  name; 


Then  let  it  leave  her  generous  hand, 
And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land. 
Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot,         ^ 
Rebuild  the  peasant's  ruined  cot; 
So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 
Shall  mitigate  domestic  war." 

XXIX. 

Ti»e  generous  youth,  who  well  had  known 

Of  Mortham's  mind  the  powerful  tone, 

To  that  high  mind,  by  sorrow  swerved. 

Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved; 

But  Wilfrid  chief,  who  saw  revealed 

Why  Mortham  wished  his  life  concealed, 

In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 

Tlie  schemes  his  wildered  fancy  drew. 

Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell. 

That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell. 

His  partner  of  captivity. 

Where'er  his  prison-house  should  be; 

Yet  grieved  to  think  that  Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled  and  forsook  by  all. 

Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth. 

Had  now  no  safeguard  for  the  wealth 

Intrusted  by  her  kinsman  kind. 

And  for  such  noble  use  designed. 

"  Was  Barnard-castle  then  her  choice," 

Wilfrid  inquired  with  hasty  voice, 

"  Since  there  the  victor's  laws  ordain, 

Her  father  must  a  space  remain?" 

A  fluttered  hope  his  accetits  shook, 

A  fluttered  joy  was  in  his  look. 

Matilda  hastened  to  reply. 

For  anger  flashed  in  Redmond's  eye: — 

"  Duty,"  she  said,  with  gentle  grace, 

"  Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place; 

Else  had  1  for  my  sire  assigned 

Prison  less  galling  to  his  mind. 

Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which  sees, 

And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 

Recalling  thus,  with  every  glance. 

What  captive's  sorrow  can  enhance. 

But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 

Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  care." 

XXX. 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave. 

And  stood  abashed — then  answered  grave: — 

"  I  sought  thy  purpose,  noble  maid. 

Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid. 

I  have  beneath  mine  own  command. 

So  wills  my  sire,  a  gallant  band. 

And  well  could  send  some  horsemen  wight 

I'o  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night. 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

In  these  ill  days  may  safest  seem." — 

"  Thanks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanks,"  she  said: 

"  O  be  it  not  one  day  delayed! 

And,  more  thy  sister-friend  to  aid. 

Be  thou  thyself  content  to  hold, 

In  thine  own  keeping,  Mortliam's  gold. 

Safest  with  thee." — Wliile  thus  she  spoke. 

Armed  soldiers  on  their  converse  broke, 

The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid. 

The  ruflians  left  their  ambuscade. 

Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low. 

Then  looked  around  as  for  a  foe. 

"  What  mean'stthou,  friend'"  young  Wycliffe  said, 

"  Why  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade?" 

— "That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you; 

For  up  my  squadron  as  I  drew, 

To  exercise  our  martial  game 

Upon  the  moor  of  Barninghame, 


ROKEBY. 


213 


A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid, 
Surrounded,  and  to  death  betrayed. 
He  had  a  leader's  voice,  I  ween, 
A  falcon  glance,  a  warrior's  mien. 
He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid; 
I  doubted  not,  and  I  obeyed." 

XXXI. 

Wilfrid  changed  colour,  and,  amazed, 
Turned  short  and  on  the  speaker  gazed. 
While  Redmond  every  thicket  round 
Tracked  earnest  as  a  questing  hound, 
And  Denzil's  carabine  he  found; 
Sure  evidence,  by  which  they  knew 
The  warning  was  as  kind  as  true. 
Wisest  it  seemed,  with  cautious  speed 
To  leave  the  dell.    It  was  as^eed. 
That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair. 
And  fitting  guard,  should  home  repair; 
At  nightfall  Wilfrid  should  attend. 
With  a  strong  band,  his  sister-friend. 
To  bear  with  her  fi'oni  Rokeby's  bowers, 
To  Barnard-castle's  lofty  towers. 
Secret  and  safe,  the  banded  chests, 
In  which  the  wealth  of  Mortham  rests. 
This  hasty  purpose  fixed,  they  part. 
Each  with  a  grieved  and  anxious  heart. 


I. 

The  sultry  summer  day  is  done, 

The  western  hills  have  hid  the  sun. 

But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 

Retain  reflection  of  his  fire. 

Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still, 

To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller-hill: 

Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 

Like  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows; 

And  Stanmore's  ridge,  behind  that  lay. 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day. 

In  crimson  and  in  gold  arrayed, 

Streaks  yet  awhile  the  closing  shade, 

Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 

The  tints  which  brighter  hours  had  given. 

Thus  aged  men,  full  loth  and  slow, 

The  vanities  of  life  forego. 

And  count  their  youthful  follies  o'er. 

Till  Memory  lends  her  light  no  more. 

II. 

The  eve,  that  slow  on  upland  fades. 
Has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's'  glades. 
Where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound'. 
Her  guardian  streams  to  meeting  wound. 
The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown 
Of  noontide  made  a  twilight  brown, 
Impervious  now  to  fainter  light. 
Of  twilight  make  an  early  night. 
Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 
The  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows. 
And  with  congenial  murmurs  seem 
To  wake  the  genii  of  the  stream; 
For  louder  clamoured  Greta's  tide, 
And  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied. 
And  fitful  waked  the  evening  wind, 
Fitful  in  sighs  its  breath  resigned. 
Wilfrid,  whose  fancy-nurtured  soul 
Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control. 
With  lighter  footstep  pressed  the  ground, 
And  often  paused  to  look  .iround; 
And,  though  his  path  was  to  his  love. 
Could  not  but  linger  in  the  gi'ove, 


To  drink  the  thrilling  interest  dear, 
Of  awful  pleasm-e  checked  by  fear. 
Such  inconsistent  moods  have  we. 
E'en  when  our  passions  sti-ike  the  key. 

III. 

Now  through  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past, 
The  opening  law  n  he  reached  at  last. 
Where,  silvered  by  the  moonlight  ray. 
The  ancient  hall  before  him  lay. 
Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled. 
That  frowned  of  old  around  its  head: 
The  battlements,  the  turrets  gray, 
Seemed  half  abandoned  to  decay: 
On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 
Stern  time  the  foeman's  work  had  done; 
Where  banners  the  invader  braved. 
The  hare-bell  now  and  wall-flower  waved: 
In  the  rude  guard-room,  where  of  yore 
Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore, 
Now,  while  the  cheerful  faggots  blaze. 
On  the  paved  floor  the  spindle  plays; 
The  flanking  guns  dismounted  lie. 
The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry. 
The  grim  portcullis  gone — and  all 
The  foitress  turned  to  peaceful  hall. 

IV. 

But  yet  pi'ecautions,  lately  ta'en, 

Showed  danger's  day  revived  again; 

The  court-yard  wall  showed  marks  of  care, 

The  fallen  defences  to  repair. 

Lending  such  strength  as  might  withstand 

Tiie  insult  of  marauciing  band. 

The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 

The  tremblitig  drawbridge  into  air, 

And  not,  till  questioned  o'er  and  o'er. 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  door; 

And  when  he  entered,  bnlt  and  bar 

Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar; 

Then,  as  he  crossed  the  vaulted  porch. 

The  old  gray  porter  raised  his  torch, 

And  viewed  him  o'er  from  foot  to  head. 

Ere  to  the  hall  his  ste])S  he  led. 

That  huge  old  hall,  of  knightly  state. 

Dismantled  seemed  and  desolate. 

The  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone, 

Which  crossed  the  latticed  oriels,  shone. 

And,  by  the  mournful  light  she  gave. 

The  Gothic  vault  seemed  funeral  grave. 

Pennon  and  banner  waved  no  more 

O'er  beams  of  stag  and  tusks  of  boar. 

Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshalled  seen, 

To  glance  those  sylvan  spoils  between. 

Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away. 

Accomplished  Rokeby's  brave  array, 

But  all  were  lost  on  .Slarston's  day! 

Yet,  here  and  there,  the  moonbeams  fall 

Where  armour  yet  adorns  the  wall, 

Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  to  sight, 

And  useless  in  the  modern  fight; 

Like  veteran  relic  of  tlie  wars. 

Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

V. 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came. 
And  bade  them  light  the  evening  flame; 
Said,  all  for  parting  was  prepared. 
And  taiTied  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 
But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold 
His  father's  avarice  of  gold. 
He  hinted,  that,  lest  jealous  eye 
Should  on  their  precious  burtlic;:  pry, 


214 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


He  judged  it  best  the  castle-gate 
To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late; 
And  therefore  he  had  left  command 
With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band, 
That  they  should  be  at  Rokeby  met, 
What  time  the  midnight  watch  was  set. 
Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 
Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 
All  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 
The  mansion  for  its  mournful  change. 
Witli  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  pleased, 
His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized, 
And  pressed  it  till  his  kindl)'  strain 
The  gentle  youth  returned  again. 
Seemed  as  between  them  this  was  said, 
"  Awhile  let  jealousy  be  dead; 
And  let  our  contest  be,  whose  care 
Shall  best  assist  this  helpless  fair." 

VI. 

There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind, 
It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind; 
A  generous  thought  at  once  imprest 
On  either  rival's  generous  breast. 
Matilda  well  the  secret  took. 
From  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look, 
And — for  not  small  liad  been  her  fear 
Of  jealous  ire  and  dang,er  near — 
Felt,  e'en  in  her  dejected  state, 
A  jo)'  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 
They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze, 
And  talked  and  hoped  for  happier  days. 
And  lent  their  spirits'  rising  glow- 
Awhile  to  gild  impending  wo; — 
High  privilege  df  youthful  time, 
Worth  all  the  pleasures  of  our  prime! 
The  bickering  faggot  sparkled  bright, 
And  gave  the  scene  of  love  to  sight, 
Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  lively  glow, 
Played  on  Matilda's  neck  of  snow, 
Her  nut-brown  curls  and  forehead  high, 
And  laughed  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 
Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate. 
Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate; 
The  maid  her  lovers  sate  between, 
With  open  brow  and  equal  mien: — 
It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied. 
Thanks  to  man's  wrath  and  woman's  pride. 

VU. 

While  thus  in  peaceful   guise  they  sate, 
A  knock  alarmed  the  outer  gate, 
And,  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirred. 
The  tinkling  of  a  harp  was  heard. 
A  maul)'  voice,  of  mellow  swell, 
Bore  burthen  to  the  music  well. 

SONCf. 

"Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past. 
Summer  dew  is  falling  fast; 
I  have  wandered  all  the  day. 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray! 
Gentle  hearts,  of  gentle  kin. 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in!" — 

But  the  stern  porter  answer  gave. 

With  "  Get  thee  hence,  thou  strolling  knave! 

The  king  wants  soldiers;  war,  1  trow, 

Were  meeter  trade  for  such  as  thou." — 

At  this  unkind  reproof,  again 

Answered  the  ready  minstrel's  strain. 

SOXG  RF.SCMED 

"  Bid  not  me,  in  battle  field, 
Buckler  lift,  or  broadsword  wield! 


All  my  strength  and  all  my  art 
Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart, 
With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
From  the  peaceful  minstrel  string." 
The  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied, 
"  Depart  in  peace,  with  heaven  to  guide: 
If  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell. 
Trust  me,  thou  shalt  not  part  so  well." 

VHI. 

With  somewhat  of  appealing  look, 
The  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took; 
"  These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  thrill, 
They  show  no  vulgar  minstrel's  skill; 
Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 
More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come; 
And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage — 
Your  Harpool's  blood  is  soured  by  age; 
His  gate,  once  readily  displayed. 
To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid, 
Now  e'en  to  me,  though  known  of  old, 
Did  but  reluctantly  unfold." 
"  O  blame  not,  as  poor  Harpool's  crime, 
An  evil  of  this  evil  time. 
He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 
The  safety  of  his  patron's  heir. 
Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 
To  guest  unknown  at  parting  hour. 
Urging  his  duty  to  excess 
Of  rough  and  stubborn  faithfulness. 
For  this  poor  harper  I  woulil  fain 
He  may  relax;  hark  to  his  strain!" 
IX. 

SONG  RESUMED. 

"  I  have  song  of  war  for  knight, 
Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright, 
Faii-y  tale  to  lull  the  heir, 
Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare; 
Dark  the  night,  and  long  till  day, 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  sti-ay ! 

"  Rokeby 's  lords  of  martial  fame, 
I  can  count  them  name  by  name;2 
Legends  of  their  line  there  be. 
Known  to  few,  but  known  to  me; 
If  you  honour  Rokeby 's  kin. 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in! 
"  Rokeby's  lords  had  fair  regard 
For  the  harp,  and  for  the  bard : 
Baron's  race  throve  never  well, 
Where  the  curse  of  minstrel  fell. 
If  you  love  that  noble  kin. 
Take  the  weary  harper  in!" 
"  Hark!  Harpool  parleys — there  is  hope," 
Said  Redmond,  ""that  the  gate  will  ope." 
"  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast,  I  trow, 
Nought  know'st  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow, "3 
Quoth  Harpool,  "  nor  how  Greta-side 
She  roamed,  and  Rokeby  forest  wide; 
Nor  how  Ralph  Rokeby  gave  the  beast 
To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 
Of  Gilbert  Griffinson  the  tale 
Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale, 
That  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain, 
And  of  the  valiant  son  of  Spain, 
Friar  Middleton,  and  blilh  sir  Ralph; 
They  were  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh! 
If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed 
Thou'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed." 

X. 
Matilda  smiled;  "  Cold  hope,"  said  she, 
"  From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy ! 


ROKEBY. 


215 


But  for  this  haq)er,  may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  his  couch  and  fare'" 
"  O  ask  not  me!  at  minstrel  strino; 
My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring; 
Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain. 
But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again, 
When  placed  by  Owen  Lysagh's  knee, 
(The  filea  of  O'Xeale  was  he,'* 
A  blind  and  bearded  man,  whose  eld 
Was  sacred  as  a  prophet's  held,) 
I've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne 
With  aspect  shaggy,  wild,  and  stern, 
Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay. 
Linger  around  the  live-long  day, 
Shift  from  wild  rage  to  wilder  glee, 
To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstasy, 
And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 
Obedient  to  the  bard's  control. 
Ah,  Clandeboy !  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  raore;^ 
Nor  Owen's  harp,  beside  the  blaze, 
Tell  maiden's  love,  or  hero's  praise! 
The  mantling  brambles  hide  thy  hearth. 
Centre  of  hospitable  miith; 
All  undistinguislied  in  the  glade, 
AIj'  sires'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid. 
Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far, 
Serve  foreign  lords  in  distant  war. 
And  now  the  stranger's  sons  enjoy 
The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy !" 
He  spoke,  and  proudly  turned  aside. 
The  starting  teai-  to  dry  and  hide. 

XL 

Matilda's  dark  and  softened  eye 

Was  glistening  ere  O'Xeale's  was  dry. 

Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid, — 

"  It  is  the  will  of  heaven,"  she  said. 

"  And  think'st  thou,  Redmond,  I  can  part 

From  this  loved  home  with  lightsome  heart, 

Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 

E'en  from  my  infancy  was  dear? 

For  in  this  calm  domestic  bound 

Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  found. 

That  hearth,  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace, 

Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place; 

This  hall,  in  which  a  child  I  played. 

Like  thine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid. 

The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid; 

Or,  passed  for  aye  from  me  and  mine, 

It  ne'er  may  shelter  Kokeby's  line. 

Yet  is  this  consolation  given. 

My  Redmond,  'lis  the  will  of  heaven." 

Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  phrase. 

Were  kindly  as  in  early  days; 

For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power. 

In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 

Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice; 

But  rather,  had  it  been  his  choice. 

To  share  that  melancholy  hour. 

Than,  armed  with  all  a  chieftain's  power, 

In  full  possession  to  enjoy 

Slieve-Donard  wide,  and  Clandeboy. 

XII. 

The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  cheek; 
Matilda  sees,  and  hastes  to  speak. 
"  Happy  in  friendship's  ready  aid. 
Let  all  mj'  murmurs  here  be  staid  I 
And  Rokeby's  maiden  will  not  part 
From  Rokeby's  hall  with  moody  heart. 
This  night  at  least,  for  Rokeby's  fame, 
The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame, 
16 


And,  ere  its  native  heir  retire, 

Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fire. 

While  this  poor  harper,  by  the  blaze. 

Recounts  the  tale  of  other  days. 

Bid  Harpool  ope  the  door  with  speed. 

Admit  him,  and  relieve  each  need. 

Meantime,  kind  Wycliffe,  wilt  thou  try 

Thy  minstrel  skill'  nay,  no  reply — 

And  look  not  sad!  I  guess  thy  thought; 

Thy  verse  with  laurels  would  be  bought, 

And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now. 

Has  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 

True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  glades, 

Nor  wander  more  in  Greta's  shades; 

But  sure,  no  rigid  jailor,  thou 

Wilt  a  short  prison  walk  allow. 

Where  summer  flow  ers  grow  wild  at  will. 

On  Mi'.rwood  chase  and  Toller-hill;6 

Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 

Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay." 

The  mournful  youth,  a  space  aside. 

To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied; 

And  tlien  a  low  sad  descant  rung, 

As  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

XIll. 

THE  CYPRESS  WREATH. 

O  lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree! 
Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light. 
The  varnished  holly's  all  too  bright. 
The  May-flower  and  the  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  sad  than  mine: 
But,  lad)-,  weave  no  wreath  for  me. 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress  tree! 

Let  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twine 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine: 
The  manly  oak,  the  pensive  yew. 
To  patriot  and  to  sage  be  due; 
The  mj-rtle  bough  bids  lovers  liye. 
But  that  ?.Iatilda  will  not  give; 
Then,  laity,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree! 

Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 

Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear; 

Let  Albyn  bind  her  bonnet  blue 

With  heath  and  hare-bell  dipped  in  dew: 

On  favoured  Erin's  crest  be  seen 

The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green — 

But,  lady,  twine  no  wreatii  for  me. 

Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp,  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel  leaves 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  his  triumph  tell; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing  bell. 
Then,  lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me. 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

Yes!  twine  for  rae  the  cypress  bough; 
But,  O  Matilda,  twine  not  now! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past. 
And  I  have  looked  and  loved  my  last  I 
\Vhen  villagers  ray  shroud  bestrew 
With  pansies,  rosemary,  and  rue, — 
Then,  lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me. 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress  tree. 

XIV. 

O'Neale  observed  the  starting  tear. 

And  spoke  with  kind  and  blithsome  cheer — 


215 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS, 


"No,  noble  Wilfrid!  ere  tlie  day 
When  mourus  the  land  thy  silent  lay, 
Shall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 
By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 
1  would  not  wish  that  rigid  Fate 
Had  doomed  thee  to  a  captive's  state, 
Whose  hanils  are  bound  by  honour's  law. 
Who  wears  a  sword  he  must  not  draw; 
But  were  it  so,  in  minstrel  pride 
The  land  togetlier  would  we  ride. 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  hai-pers  old, 
Bound  for  the  halls  of  barons  bold. 
Kach  lover  of  the  lyre  we'd  seek. 
From  Michael's  mount  to  Skiddaw's  peak, 
Survey  wild  Albyn's  mountain  strand, 
And  roam  green  Erin's  lovely  land, 
While  lliou  the  gentler  souls  should  move, 
With  lay  of  pity  and  of  love. 
And  I,  thy  mate,  in  rougher  strain, 
AVould  sing  of  war  and  warriors  slain. 
Old  England's  bards  were  vanquished  then, 
And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hawthornden,'' 
And,  silenced  on  lernian  shore, 
M'Gurtin's  harp*^  should  charm  no  more!" 
In  lively  mood  he  spoke,  to  wile 
From  Wilfrid's  wo-worn  cheek  a  smile. 

XV. 

"  But,"  said  Matilda,  "  ere  thy  name, 

Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame, 

Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  deign  to  call 

Thy  brother  minstrel  to  the  hall? 

Bid  all  the  household,  too,  attend. 

Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend; 

I  know  their  faithful  hearts  will  grieve. 

When  their  poor  mistress  takes  her  leave, 

So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 

To  mitigate  their  parting  wo. " 

The  harper  came:  in  youth's  first  prime 

Himself;  in  mode  of  olden  time 

His  garb  M'as  fashioned,  to  express 

The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress,9 

A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green, 

With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen; 

His   harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung. 

And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 

It  seemed  some  masker's  quaint  array, 

For  revel  or  for  holiday. 

XVI. 

He  made  obeisance,  with  a  free 

Yet  studied  air  of  courtesy. 

Each  look  and  accent,  framed  to  please. 

Seemed  to  affect  a  playful  ease; 

His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kind. 

That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind; 

Yet  harsh  it  seemed  to  deem  amiss 

Of  brow  so  young  and  smooth  as  this. 

His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly. 

That,  spying  all,  seems  nought  to  spy; 

Round  all  the  group  his  glances  stole, 

Unmarked  themselves,  to  mark  the  whole. 

Yet  sunk  beneath  Matilda's  look. 

Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook. 

To  the  suspicious,  or  the  old. 

Subtle  and  dangerous  and  bold 

Had  seemed  this  self-invited  guest; 

But  young  our  lovers, — and  the  rest. 

Wrapped  in  their  sorrow  and  their  fear 

At  parting  of  their  mistress  dear, 

Tear-blinded  to  the  castle  hall 

Came,  as  to  bear  her  funeral  pall. 


xvu. 

All  that  expression  base  was  ^one, 
When  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  tone; 
It  fled  at  inspiration's  call. 
As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul. 
More  noble  glance  he  cast  around, 
More  free-drawn  breath  inspired  the  sound, 
His  pulse  beat  bolder  and  more  high, 
In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy ! 
Alas !  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er. 
Sunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar! 
His  soul  resumed,  with  habit's  chain. 
Its  vices  wild  and  follies  vain. 
And  gave  the  talent,  with  him  born. 
To  be  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 
Such  was  the  youth  whom  Rokeby's  maid, 
With  condescending  kindness,  prayed 
Here  to  renew  the  strain  she  loved. 
At  distance  heard  and  well  approved. 
XVIII. 

SONG. THE  HARP. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 

Mj'  childhood  scorned  each  childish  toy; 

Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy. 

To  musing  prone, 
I  wooed  my  solitaiy  joy, 

My  harp  alone. 
My  youth,  with  bold  ambition's  mood. 
Despised  the  humble  stream  and  wood 
Where  my  poor  fatlier's  collage  stood. 

To  fame  unknown; 
A\Tiat  should  my  soaring  views  make  good? 

My  harp  alone. 
Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire. 
And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire; 
The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre, 

And  praised  the  tone; 
What  could  presumptuous  hope  inspire? 

My  harp  alone. 

At  manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst, 
And  manhood's  pride  the  vision  cursed. 
And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

Love's  sway  to  own; 
Yet  spared  the  spell  that  lulled  me  first, 

My  harp  alone. 

Wo  came  with  war,  and  want  with  wo; 
And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 
Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe: 

Can  aught  atone 
My  fields  made  waste,  ray  col  laid  low' 

My  harp  alone! 
Ambition's  dreams  I've  seen  depart, 
Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart. 
Have  felt  of  love  the  venomed  dart 

When  hope  was  flown; 
Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart. 
My  harp  alone ! 
Then,  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill, 
My  faithful  harp.  I'll  bear  thee  still; 
And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 
[  Is  well  nigh  gone, 

]     Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill, 

My  harp  alone ! 
I  XIX. 

i  "  A  pleasing  lay!"  Matilda  said. 
But  Harpool  shook  his  old  gray  head. 
And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch, 
To  seek  his  guard-room  in  the  porch. 
Edmund  observed — with  sudden  change. 
Among  the  stiings  his  fingers  range. 


ROKEBY. 


217 


Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 

Of  military  melodj'; 

Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound, 

And  looked  with  well  feigned  fear  around: 

"  None  to  this  noble  house  belong," 

He  said,  "  that  would  a  minstrel  wrong, 

"Whose  fate  has  been,  thi'ough  good  and  ill, 

To  love  his  royal  master  still. 

And,  with  your  honoured  leave,  would  fain 

Rejoice  you  with  a  loyal  strain." 

Then,  as  assured  by  sign  and  look. 

The  warlike  tone  again  he  took; 

And  Harpool  stopped,  and  turned  to  hear 

A  ditty  of  the  cavalier. 

XX. 

SOXG. — THE  CATALIEH. 

While  the  dawn  on  the  mountain  was  misty  and 

gray, 
My  true  love  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away. 
Over  hill,  over  valley,  o'er  dale  and  o'er  down; 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  gallant  tliat  lights  for  the 

crown ! 


He  has  doffed  tlie  silk  doublet  the  breast-plate  to 
bear, 

He  has  placed  tlie  steel-cap  o'er  his  long  flowing- 
hair. 

From  his  belt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword  hangs 
down. — 

Heaven  shield  the  brave  gallant  that  fights  for  the 
crown ! 

For  the  rights  of  fair  England  that  broadsword  he 

draws. 
Her  king  is  his  leader,  her  church  is  his  cause; 
His  watch-word  is  honour,  his  pay  is  renown, — 
God  strike  with  the  gallant  that  strikes  for  the 

crown ! 

They  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  tlieir  Waller,  and 

all 
The  roundheaded  rebels  of  Westminster-hall; 
But  tell  these  bold  traitors  of  London's  proud  town, 
That  the  spears  of  the  nortli  have  encircled  the 

crown. 

There's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  tlieir  foes; 
There's    Erin's    high   Orraoad,    and    Scotland's 

Montrose ! 
Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massy, 

and  Brown, 
With  the  barons  of  England  that  figlit  for  the 

crown? 
Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  cavalier? 
Be  his  banner  unconquered,  resistless  his  spear, 
Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  his  toils   he   may 

drown, 
In  a  pledge  to  fair  England,  her  church,  and  her 

crown! 

XXI. 

"  Alas!"  Matilda  said,  "  that  strain. 
Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain  I 
The  time  has  been,  at  such  a  sound, 
When  Rokeby's  vassals  gathered  round. 
An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound; 
But  now,  the  stirring  verse  we  hear, 
Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear! 
Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own. 
The  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 
Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause 
Be  he  that  sings  the  rightful  cause, 
E'en  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 
To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 


While  Rokeby's  heir  such  power  retains, 
Let  this  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains: 
And  lend  thy  harp;  I  fain  would  try, 
If  my  poor  skill  can  aught  supply, 
Ere  yet  I  leave  my  father's  hall; 
To  mourn  the  cause  in  which  we  fall. " 

xxn. 

The  harper,  with  a  downcast  look. 
And  trembling  hand,  her  bounty  took. 
As  yet,  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steeled  him  in  his  treacherous  part; 
A  powerful  si)ring,  offeree  unguessed. 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppressed, 
And  reigned  in  many  a  human  breast. 
From  his  that  plans  the  red  campaign. 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  falling  wing,  the  bloodsfiot  eye, 
The  sportsman  marks  wiiii  apathy. 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drowned  in  his  own  successful  skill. 
The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar, 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art. 
And  traces  on  the  pencilled  chart 
Some  stern  invader's  destined  way. 
Through  blood  and  ruin,  to  his  prey; 
Patriots  to  death,  and  towns  to  flame, 
He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name. 
And  shares  the  guilt,  though  not  the  fame. 
What  pays  him  for  his  span  of  time 
Spent  in  premeditated  crime' 
\\  hat  against  pity  arms  his  heart? 
It  is  tlie  conscious  pride  of  art. 

XXIII. 

But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 
Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 
His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost: 
Nor  vice  nor  virtue  iiad  the  Y)ower 
Beyond  tlie  impression  of  the  hour; 
And  O!  when  passion  rules,  how  rare 
The  hours  tliat  fall  to  virtue's  share! 
Yet  now  she  roused  her — for  the  pride, 
The  lack  of  sterner  guilt  supplied. 
Could  scarce  support  him  when  arose 
The  lay  that  mourned  Matilda's  woes. 

SOXG. TUE  FAREWELL. 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear, 

They  mingle  with  the  song; 
Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 

I  must  not  hear  them  long. 
From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 

The  native  heir  must  stray. 
And,  like  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt. 

Must  part  hel'ore  the  day. 

Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  reared. 

Their  scutcheons  may  descend, 
A  line  so  long  beloved  and  feared 

May  soon  obscurely  end. 
No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Shall  bid  these  echoes  swell, 
Yet  shall  they  hear  lier  proudly  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  fell. 

The  lady  paused,  and  tiien  again 
Resumed  tlie  lay  in  loftier  strain. 
XXIV. 
Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 
Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 
Lands  and  manors  pass  away. 
We  but  share  our  monarch's  lot. 


21 » 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


If  no  more  our  annals  show 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken, 

Still  in  death,  defeat,  ami  wo. 
Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken! 

Constant  still  in  danger's  hour, 

Princes  owned  our  fathers'  aid; 
Lands  and  honours,  wealth  and  power, 

Well  their  loyalty  repaid. 
Perish  wealth,  and  power,  and  pride! 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given; 
But  let  constancy  abide: 

Constancy's  the  gift  of  heaven. 

XXV. 

While  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard, 

A  thousand  thoughts  in  Edmiuid  stirred. 

In  peasant  life  he  might  have  known 

As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone; 

But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 

That  rich  and  varieil  melody. 

And  ne'er  in  cottage  maid  was  seen 

The  easy  dignity  of  mien, 

Claiming  respect,  yet  waving  state. 

That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 

Yet  not,  perchance,  had  these  alone 

His  scheme  of  pur|)0sed  guilt  o'erthrown; 

But  while  her  energy  of  mind 

Supei-ior  rose  to  griefs  combined, 

Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye. 

Giving  her  form  new  majesty. 

To  Edmund's  thought  Matilda  seemed 

The  very  object  he  had  dreamed. 

When,  long  ere  guilt  his  soul  had  known. 

In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 

Taxing  his  fancy  to  combine 

The  face,  the  air,  the  voice  divine. 

Of  some  fair  princess  of  romance. 

Who  claims  the  aid  of  hero's  lance. 

XXYI. 

"  Such  was  my  vision!"  Edmund  thought; 

"  And  have  I,  then,  the  ruin  wrought 

Of  such  a  maid,  that  fency  ne'er 

In  fairest  vision  formed  her  peer? 

Was  it  my  hand,  that  could  unclose 

The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes ! 

Foes,  lost  to  honour,  law,  and  faith. 

Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death! 

Have  I  done  this'  1,  who  have  swore, 

That  if  the  globe  such  angel  bore, 

1  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad, 

To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trod; 

And  now — O!  would  that  earth  would  rive. 

And  close  upon  me  while  alive ! 

Is  there  no  hope'  is  all  then  lost? 

Bertram's  already  on  his  post! 

E'en  now,  beside  the  hall's  arched  door, 

I  saw  his  shadow  cross  the  floor! 

He  was  to  wait  my  signal  strain — 

A  little  respite  thus  we  gain: 

By  what  I  heard  the  menials  sav. 

Young  Wyclifte's  troop  are  on  their  way — 

Alarm  precipitates  the  crime! 

My  harp  must  wear  away  the  time." 

And  then,  in  accents  faint  and  low. 

He  faltered  forth  a  tale  of  wo. 

xxvn. 

BALLAP. 

"  And  whither  would  you  lead  jne,  then?' 
Quoth  the  friar  of  orders  gray; 

And  the  ruffians  twain  I'eplied  again, 
"  By  a  dying  woman  to  pray," 


"I  see,"  he  said,  "  a  lovely  sight, 

A  sight  bodes  little  harm, 
A  lady  as  a  lily  bright. 

With  an  infant  on  her  arm." 
"  Then  do  thine  office,  friar  gray, 

And  see  thou  shrive  her  free; 
Else  shall  the  sprite,  that  parts  to-night, 

Fling  all  its  guilt  on  thee. 
"  Let  mass  be  said,  and  trentals  read, 

When  thou'rt  to  convent  gone, 
And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  Benedict 

Toll  out  its  deepest  tone." 

The  shrift  is  done,  the  friar  is  gone. 

Blindfolded  as  he  came — 
Next  morning  all  in  Littlecot-hall'" 

Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

Wild  Darrell  is  an  altered  man, 

The  village  crones  can  tell; 
He  looks  pale  as  clay,  and  strives  to  pray, 

If  he  hears  the  convent  bell. 

If  prince  or  peer  cross  Darrell's  way. 

He'll  beard  hiin  in  his  pride — 
If  he  meet  a  friar  of  orders  graj', 
He  droops  and  turns  aside. 
XXVUI. 
"  Harper!  methinks  thy  magic  lays," 
Matilda  said,  "can  goblins  raise! 
Well  nigh  my  fancy  can  discern. 
Near  the  dark  porch,  a  vijage  stern; 
E'en  now,  in  yonder  sliadowy  nook 
I  see  it!  Redmond,  Wilfrid,  look! 
A  human  form  distinct  and  clear — 
God,  for  thy  mercy! — it  draws  near!" 
She  saw  too  true. — Stride  after  stride, 
The  centre  of  the  chamber  wide 
Fierce  Bertram  gained;  then  made  a  stand. 
And,  provully  waving  with  his  hand, 
Thundered — "  Be  still,  upon  your  lives! 
He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strives." 
Behind  their  chief,  the  robber  crew 
Forth  from  the  darkened  portal  drew, 
In  silence — save  that  echo  dread 
Returned  their  heavy  measured  tread. 
The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 
Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave; 
File  after  file  in  order  pass. 
Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 
Then,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign. 
At  once  they  formed  and  curved  their  line. 
Hemming  within  its  crescent  drear 
Their  victims,  like  a  herd  of  deer. 
Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 
Levelled  at  once  their  muskets  came. 
As  waiting  but  their  chieftain's  word. 
To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 

XXIX. 
Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew, 
Yet,  e'en  in  mortal  terror,  true. 
Their  pale  and  startled  group  oppose 
Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 
"O  haste  thee,  Wilfrid!"  Redmond  cried; 
"  Undo  that  wicket  by  thy  side! 
Bear  hence  Matilda — gain  the  wood — 
The  pass  may  be  awhile  made  good —  ' 
Thy  hand,  ere  this,  must  sure  be  nigh — 
O  speak  not — dally  not — but  fly!" 
While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide. 
Through  the  low  Avicket  door  they  glide, 

I  Through  vaulted  passages  they  wind, 

I  In  Gothic  intricacy  twined; 


ROKEBY. 


219 


"Wilfrid  half  led,  and  half  he  bore, 

Matilda  to  the  postern  door, 

And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree 

The  lady  stands  at  liberty. 

The  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 

Renewed  suspended  consciousness: 

"  Where's  Redmond"'  eagerly  she  cries; 

•'Thou  answer's!  not — he  dies!  he  dies! 

And  thou  hast  left  him  all  bereft 

Of  mortal  aid — with  murderers  left! 

I  know  it  well — he  would  not  yield 

His  sword  to  man — his  doom  is  sealed! 

For  my  scorned  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 

At  price  of  his,  I  thank  thee  not. " 

XXX. 
The  unjust  reproach,  the  angry  look. 
The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 
"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  my  band  so  near. 
In  safety  thou  mayest  rest  thee  here. 
For  Reclmond's  death  thou  shalt  not  mourn, 
If  mine  can  buy  his  safe  return." 
He  turned  away — his  heart  throbbed  high, 
The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye. 
The  sense  of  her  injustice  pressed 
Upon  the  maid's  distracted  breast: 
"Stay,  Wilfrid,  stay!  all  aid  is  vain!" 
He  heard,  but  turned  him  not  again; 
He  reaches  now  the  postern  door, 
Now  enters — and  is  seen  no  more. 

xxxr. 

With  all  the  agony  that  e'er 

Was  gendered  'twixt  suspense  and  fear. 

She  watched  the  line  of  windows  tall 

Whose  Gothic  lattice  lights  the  hall. 

Distinguished  by  the  paly  red 

Tiie  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed, 

While  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 

Each  grated  casement  glimmered  white. 

No  sight  of  harm,  no  so'.aid  of  ill, 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 

Who  looked  upon  the  scene  had  guessed 

All  in  the  castle  were  at  rest: 

When  sudden  on  the  windows  shone 

A  lightning  flash,  just  seen  and  gone! 

A  shot  is  iieard — again  the  flame 

Flashed  tliick  and  fast — a  volley  came! 

Then  echoed  wildly,  from  within, 

Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din. 

And  weapon-clash,  and  maddening  cry 

Of  those  who  kill,  and  those  wlio  die! 

As  filled  tlie  hall  with  sulphurous  smoke, 

More  red,  more  dark,  the  death- flash  broke. 

And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast 

That  struck,  or  struggled,  as  they  past. 

XXXll. 

What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 
Approach  so  rapidly  behind?    . 
It  is,  it  is,  the  tramp  of  steeds! 
Matilda  hears  the  sound,  she  speeds. 
Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein — 
"  O  haste  to  aid,  ere  aid  be  vain! 
Fly  to  the  postern — gain  the  hall!" 
From  saddle  spring  tlie  troopers  all; 
Their  gallant  steeds,  at  liberty, 
Run  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 
But  ere  they  burst  upon  the  scene, 
P'ull  stubborn  had  the  conflict  been. 
When  Bertram  marked  Matilda's  flight, 
It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight; 
And  Rokeby's  veterans,  seamed  with  scars 
Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erin's  wars, 


Their  momentary  panic  o'er. 
Stood  to  the  arms  whicli  then  they  bore; 
(For  they  were  weaponed,  and  prepared 
Their  mistress  on  her  way  to  guard.) 
Then  cheered  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 
Then  pealed  the  shot,  and  clashed  the  steel; 
The  war-smoke  soon  with  sable  breath 
Darkened  the  scene  of  blood  and  death, 
While  on  tlie  few  defenders  close. 
The  bandits  with  redoubled  blows, 
And,  twice  driven  back,  yet  fierce  and  fell, 
Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yell. 

XXXUl. 
Wilfrid  has  fallen — but  o'er  him  stood 
Young  Redmond,  soiled  with  smoke  and  blood, 
Cheering  his  mates,  with  heart  and  hand 
Still  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand. 
"  Up,  comrades,  up!  in  Rokeby  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  said  our  courage  falls. 
What!  faint  ye  for  their  savage  cr)'. 
Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt  your  eye! 
These  rafters  have  returned  a  shout 
As  loud  at  Rokeby's  wassail  rout. 
As  thick  a  smoke  these  heartlis  have  given 
At  Hallowtide  or  Christmas  even.i' 
Stand  to  it  yet!  renew  the  fight, 
For  Rokeby's  and  Matilda's  right! 
These  slaves!  they  dare  not,  hand  to  hand, 
Bide  buffet  from  a  true  man's  brand." 
Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young. 
Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 
Wo  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 
His  brandished  falchion's  sheer  descent! 
Backward  they  scattered  as  he  came. 
Like  wolves  before  the  levin  flame. 
When,  'mid  their  hov.ling  conclave  driven, 
Hath  glanced  the  thunderbolt  of  heaven. 
Bertram  rushed  on— but  Harpool  clasped 
His  knees,  although  in  deatli  he  gasped; 
His  falling  corpse  before  him  flung. 
And  round  the  trammelled  ruffian  clung. 
Just  then  the  soldiers  filled  the  dome. 
And,  shouting,  charged  the  felons  home 
So  fiercely,  that,  in  panic  dread, 
They  broke,  they  yielded,  fell,  or  fled. 
Bertram's  stern  voice  thej-  heed  no  more. 
Though  heard  above  the  battle's  roar. 
While,  trampling  down  the  dying  man. 
He  strove,  with  vollied  threat  and  ban, 
In  scorn  of  odds,  in  fate's  despite. 
To  rally  up  the  desperate  fight. 

XXXIV. 
Soon  murkier  clouds  the  hall  enfold, 
Than  ere  from  battle-thunders  rolled; 
So  dense,  the  combatants  scarce  know 
To  aim  or  to  avoid  the  blow. 
Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fight — 
But  soon  shall  dawn  a  dismal  light! 
'Mid  cries,  and  clashing  arms,  there  came 
The  hollow  sound  of  rushing  flame; 
New  horrors  on  the  tumult  dire 
Arise — the  castle  is  on  fire! 
Doubtful  if  chance  had  cast  tlie  brand, 
Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand. 
Matikia  saw — for  frequent  broke 
From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke. 
Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined, 
On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined. 
That,  pencilled  on  its  azure  pure. 
The  eye  could  count  each  embrazure. 
Now,  swathed  within  the  sweeping  cloud, 
Seems  giant-spectre  in  his  shroud; 


220 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Till  from  cacli  loop-hole  flashinj;-  light, 
A  spout  of  fire  sliiiies  ruddy  bright, 
AikI,  gatheriiip;  to  united  sjlarc, 
Stremns  liigli  into  ihe  midni;j;ht  air, 
A  dismal  btao.ou,  far  and  vide 
That  wakened  (jreta's  slumbering  side. 
Soon  all  beneath,  througii  gallery  long. 
And  pendant  arch,  the  fire  Haslied  strong. 
Snatching  whatever  could  maintain, 
liaise,  or  extend,  its  furious  reign, 
Startling,  with  closer  cause  of  dread. 
The  females  who  the  conflict  fled. 
And  now  rushed  forth  upon  the  plain, 
Filling  the  air  with  clamours  vain. 

XXXV. 
But  ceased  not  yet,  the  hall  within, 
The  shriek,  the  shout,  the  carnage-din, 
Till  bursting  lattices  give  proof 
The  flames  had  caught  the  raftered  roof. 
What!  wait  thej'  till  its  beams  amain 
Crash  on  the  slayers  and  the  slain? 
The  alarm  is  caught— the  drawbridge  falls, 
The  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 
But,  by  the  conflagration's  light, 
Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 
Each  straggling  felon  down  was  hewed. 
Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood; 
But  forth  the  afl'righted  harper  sprung, 
And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 
Her  shriek,  entreaty,  and  command. 
Stopped  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand. 
Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en; 
The  rest,  save  Bertram,  all  are  slain. 

xxxvi. 

And  where  is  Bertram' — Soaring  high, 
The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky; 
In  gathered  group  the  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze, 
W  hen,  like  infernal  demon,  sent 
Red  from  his  penal  element, 
To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  air,— 
His  face  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair. 
Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 
The  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke ! 
His  brandished  sword  on  high  he  rears. 
Then  plunged  among  opposing  spears; 
Round  his  left  arm  his  mantle  trussed, 
Received  and  foiled  three  lances'  thrust; 
Nor  these  his  headlong  course  withstood. 
Like  reeds  he  snapped  the  tough  ash-wood. 
In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung; 
With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 
Their  boldest, — as  the  bull,  at  bay. 
Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  his  -way. 
Through  forty  foes  his  path  he  made, 
And  safely  gained  the  forest  glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'er. 

When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 

Wilfrid,  who,  as  of  life  bereft, 

Had  in  the  fatal  hall  been  left. 

Deserted  there  by  all  his  train; 

But  Redmond  saw,  and  turned  again. 

Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down. 

That  in  the  blaze  gleamed  ruddy  brown. 

And  then  his  mantle's  clasp  undid; 

Matilda  held  his  drooping  head. 

Till  given  to  brealiie  the  freer  air. 

Returning  life  repaid  their  care. 

He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh, — 

*'  J  could  have  wished  e'en  thus  to  «Jie!" 


No  more  he  said — for  now  with  speed 
Each  trooper  had  regained  his  steed; 
The  ready  i)alfreys  stood  arrayed. 
For  Rechiiond  and  for  Rokeby's  maid; 
Two  Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain. 
One  leads  his  charger  by  the  reign. 
But  oft  Matilda  looked  behind. 
As  up  the  vale  of  Tees  they  wind, 
Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 
Beaconed  the  dale  with  midnight  fires. 
In  gloom)-  arch  above  them  spread, 
The  clouded  heaven  lowered  bloody  red; 
Beneath,  in  sombre  light,  the  flood 
Appeared  to  roll  in  waves  of  blood. 
Then,  one  by  one,  was  heard  to  fall 
The  lower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 
Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound, 
A  space  the  conflagration  drowned; 
Till,  gathering  strength,  again  it  rose, 
Announced  its  triumph  in  its  close, 
Shook  wide  its  light  the  landscape  o'er. 
Then  sunk — and  Rokeby  was  no  more ! 

CANTO  VI. 

I. 

The  summer  sun,  whose  early  power 
Was  wont  to  gild  Matilda's  bower, 
And  rouse  her  witli  his  matin  ray 
Her  duteous  orisons  to  pa}-. 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  seen 
The  flowers  unfold  on  Rokeby  green. 
But  sees  no  more  the  slumbers  fly 
From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye; 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  broke 
On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak. 
But,  rising  from  their  sylvan  screen, 
Marks  no  gray  turret's  glance  between. 
A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower. 
That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower. 
Can  but  with  smouldering  vapour  pay 
The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 
The  peasant,  to  his  labour  bound. 
Pauses  to  view  the  blackened  mound. 
Striving,  amid  the  ruined  space, 
Each  well-remembered  spot  to  trace. 
That  length  of  frail  and  fire-schorched  wall 
Once  screened  the  hospitable  hall; 
.When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 
'Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole; 
And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod, 
The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. 
So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span ! 
Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man, 
Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date, 
Beyond  the  power  of  time  and  fate. 
The  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom; 
Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb: 
But  better  boon  benignant  heaven 
To  faith  and  charity  has  given. 
And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 
Transcend  the  bounds  of  fate  and  time. 

II. 
Now  the  third  night  of  summer  came, 
Since  that  which  witnessed  Rokeby's  flame. 
On  Brignal  cliffs  and  Scargill  brake 
The  owlet's  homilies  awake. 
The  bittern  screamed  from  rush  and  flag. 
The  raven  slumbered  on  his  crag. 
Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew. 
Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew. 
As  between  reed  and  sedge  he  peers. 
With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpened  ears. 


ROKEBY. 


221 


Or,  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool, 

Watches  the  stream,  or  swims  the  pool; — 

Perched  on  his  wonted  eyrie  high. 

Sleep  sealed  the  tercelet's  wearied  eye, 

That  all  the  day  had  watched  so  well 

The  cushat  dart  across  the  dell. 

In  dubious  beam  reflected  shone 

That  lofty  cliff"  of  pale  gray  stone. 

Beside  whose  base  the  secret  cave 

To  rapine  late  a  refuge  gave. 

The  crag's  wild  crest  of  copse  and  yew 

On  Greta's  breast  dark  shadows  threw; 

Shadows  that  met  or  shunned  the  sight. 

With  every  change  of  fitful  light; 

As  hope  and  fear  alternate  chase 

Our  course  through  life's  uncertain  race. 

III. 
Gliding  by  crag  and  copsewood  green, 
A  solitary  form  was  seen 
To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold, 
Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold, 
And  pauses  oft,  and  cowers  dismayed. 
At  every  breath  that  stirs  the  shade. 
He  passes  now  the  i^y  bush. 
The  owl  has  seen  him  and  is  hush; 
He  passes  now  the  doddered  oak, 
Ye  heard  the  startled  ra^-en  croak; 
Lower  and  lower  he  descends. 
Rustle  the  leaves,  the  brushwood  bends; 
The  otter  hears  hira  tread  the  shore. 
And  dives,  and  is  beheld  no  more; 
And  by  the  cliff"  of  pale  gray  stone 
The  midnight  wanderer  stands  alone. 
Methinks,  that  by  the  moon  we  trace 
A  well-remembered  form  and  face ! 
That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale. 
Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tale, 
Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force. 
Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse ! 
1'is  Edmund's  eye  at  every  sound 
That  flings  that  guilty  glance  around; 
'Tis  Edmund's  trembling  haste  divides 
The  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides. 
And,  when  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare, 
Tis  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 

IV. 
His  flint  and  steel  have  sparkled  bright, 
A  lamp  hath  lent  the  cavern  light. 
Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 
Each  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 
Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode. 
It  seemed  as  none  its  floor  had  trode; 
Untouched  appeared  the  various  spoil,' 
The  purchase  of  his  comrades'  toil; 
Masks  and  disguises  grimed  with  mud. 
Arms  broken  and  detiled  with  blood. 
And  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 
Night-felons  in  their  lawless  trade. 
Upon  the  gloomy  walls  were  hung. 
Or  lay  in  nooks  obscurely  flung. 
Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 
The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer; 
Flagons  and  emptied  flasks  were  there. 
And  bench  o'erthrown,  and  shattered  chair; 
And  all  around  the  semblance  showed. 
As  when  the  final  revel  glowed, 
When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast. 
And  parting  pledge  Guy  Denzil  past. 
To  Rokeby  treasure-vaults!    They  quaffed, 
And  shouted  loud  and  wildly  lauglied, 
Pourefl  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 
And  parted — to  return  no  morel 


They  found  in  Rokeby  vaults  their  doom, — 
A  bloody  death,  a  burning  tomb. 

V. 

There  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies. 

Doffed  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise. 

And  shuddering  thought  upon  his  glee, 

When  pranked  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 

"  O  be  the  fatal  art  accursed," 

He  cried,  "  that  moved  my  folly  first. 

Till  bribed  by  bandit's  base  applause, 

I  burst  through  God's  and  Nature's  laws! 

Three  summer  days  are  scantly  past 

Since  I  have  trode  this  cavern  last, 

A  thoughtless  wretch,  and  prompt  to  err — 

But  O,  as  yet  no  murderer! 

E'en  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 

That  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear, 

Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steeled  my  heart, 

As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part — 

And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 

The  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream ! 

But  fatal  memory  notes  too  well 

The  horrors  of  the  dying  yell, 

From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke, 

When  flashed  the  fire  and  rolled  the  smoke. 

When  the  avengers  shouting  came. 

And  hemmed  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame ! 

;My  frantic  flight — the  lifted  brand — 

That  angel's  interposing  hand! — 

If  for  my  life  from  slaughter  freed, 

I  yet  could  pay  some  grateful  meed! — 

Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 

May  aid "  he  tm-ned,  nor  spoke  the  rest. 

YI. 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth. 

With  paces  five  he  metes  the  earth. 

Then  toiled  with  mattock  to  explore 

The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor. 

Nor  paused  till,  deep  beneath  the  ground. 

His  search  a  small  steel  casket  found. 

Just  as  he  stooped  to  loose  its  hasp, 

His  shoulder  felt  a  giant  grasp: 

He  started,  and  looked  up  aghast, 

Then  shrieked — 'twas  Bertram  held  him  fast 

"  Fear  not!"  he  said;  but  who  could  hear 

That  deep  stern  voice,  and  cease  to  fear? 

"  Fear  not! — by  heaven  he  shakes  as  much 

As  partridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch!" 

He  raised  liim,  and  unloosed  his  hold. 

While  from  the  opening  casket  rolled 

A  chain  and  reliquaire  of  gold. 

Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise, 

Gazed  on  its  fashion  and  device, 

Tlien,  cheering  Edmund  as  he  could, 

Somewhat  he  smoothed  his  rugged  mood; 

For  still  the  youth's  half-lifted  eye 

Quivered  with  terror's  agony, 

And  sidelong  glanced,  as  to  explore, 

In  meditated  flight,  the  door. 

"  Sit,"  Bertram  said,  "  from  danger  free; 

Tiiou  canst  not,  and  thou  shalt  not,  flee. 

Chance  brings  me  hither;  hill  aiwl  plain 

I've  sought  tor  refuge-place  in  vain. 

And  tell  me  now,  tliou  aguish  boy. 

What  mak'st  thou  here?  what  means  this  toy' 

Denzil  and  thou,  I  marked,  were  ta'en; 

Wliat  luckv  chance  unbound  your  chain? 

1  deemed,  long  since  on  Baliol's  tower, 

Your  lieads  were  warped  witli  sun  and  shower. 

Tell  me  the  whole — and  mark  !  nought  e'er 

Chafes  me  like  falsehood,  or  like  fear. " — 


222 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gatherin<;  liis  courage  to  his  aid, 
But  treniblinp;  still,  the  youth  obeyed. 

VII. 

"  Den7.ii  and  1  two  nights  passed  o'er, 
In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 
A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought; 
Our  hold  dark  Oswald  ^^'yelifte  sought, 
And  eyed  mv  comrade  long-  askance, 
With  "fixed  and  penetrating  glance. 
'  Guy  Uenzil  art  thou  called""—'  The  same. 
*  At  court  who  served  wild  Buckinghame; 
Thence  banished,  won  a  keeper's  place. 
So  Villicrs  willed,  in  Marwood  chase; 
That  lost — I  need  not  tell  thee  why — 
Thou  madest  thy  wit  thy  wants  supply, 
Then  fought  forRokeby: — have  I  guessed 
My  prisoner  right" — '  At  thy  behest.' — 
He  paused  awhile,  and  then  went  on 
With  low  and  confidential  tone; 
Me,  as  1  judge,  not  then  he  saw. 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw. — 
'  List  to  me,  Guy.   Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate; 
Hence,  in  their  favour  oft  we  see 
Unscrupled,  useful  men,  like  thee. 
Were  1  disposed  to  bid  thee  live. 
What  pledge  of  faith  hast  thou  to  givei" 

YUL 

"  The  ready  fiend,  who  never  yet 

Hath  failed  to  sharpen  Denzil's  wit. 

Prompted  his  lie — '  His  only  child 

Should  rest  his  pledge.' — The  baron  smiled. 

And  turned  to  me — '  Thou  art  his  son" 

I  bowed — our  fetters  were  undone, 

And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 

A  dreadful  lesson  of  his  art. 

Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  son. 

Had  fair  Matilda's  favour  won; 

And  long  since  had  their  union  been, 

But  for  iier  father's  bigot  spleen. 

Whose  brute  and  blindfold  party  rage 

Would,  force  per  force,  her  hand  engage 

To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth. 

Unknown  his  lineage  and  his  birth. 

Save  that  a  dying  ruffian  bore 

The  infant  brat  to  Rokeby  door. 

Gentle  restraint,  he  said,  would  lead 

Old  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed; 

But  fair  occasion  he  must  find 

For  such  restraint  well-meant  and  kind, 

The  knight  being  rendered  to  his  charge 

But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX. 

"  He  schooled  us  in  a  well-forged  tale. 
Of  scheme  the  castle  walls  to  scale. 
To  which  was  leagued  each  cavalier. 
That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear; 
That  Rokeby,  his  parole  forgot. 
Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  the  plot. 
Such  was  the  charge,  which  Denzil's  zeal 
Of  hate  to  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 
Proffered,  as  witness,  to  make  good, 
E'en  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 
1  scrupled,  until  o'er  and  o'er 
His  prisoner's  safety  Wycliffe  swore. 
And  tVien — alas!  what  needs  there  more' 
I  knew  1  should  not  live  to  say 
The  proffer  I  refused  that  day; 
Ashamed  to  live,  yet  loth  to  die, 
I  soiled  me  with  their  infamy!" — 


"  Poor  youth,"  said  Bertram,  *'  wavering  still 

Unfit  alike  for  good  or  ill ! 

But  what  fell  next?" — "  Soon  as  at  large 

Was  scrolled  and  signed  our  fatal  charge, 

There  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 

Was  seen  so  well  a  painted  rage 

As  Oswald  showed !  with  loud  alarm 

He  called  his  garrison  to  arm; 

Prom  tower  to  tower,  from  post  to  post. 

He  hurried  as  if  all  were  lost; 

Consigned  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 

The  good  old  knight  and  all  his  train. 

Warned  each  suspected  cavalier. 

Within  liis  limits,  to  appear 

To-moi'row,  at  the  hour  of  noon, 

In  the  high  church  of  Eglistone.' 

X. 

"  Of  Eglistone!    E'en  now  I  passed," 

Said  Bertram,  "as  the  night  closed  fast; 

Torches  and  cressets  gleamed  around, 

I  heard  the  saw  and  hammer  sound. 

And  I  could  mark  they  toiled  to  raise 

A  scaffold,  hung  with  sable  baize. 

Which  the  grim  headsman's  scene  displayed, 

Block,  axe,  and  saw-dust,  ready  laid. 

Some  evil  deed  will  there  be  done, 

Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son; — 

She  loves  him  not — 'tis  shrewdlv  guessed 

That  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 

This  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill; 

But  I  may  meet,  and  foil  him  still! — 

How  earnest  thou  to  thy  freedom?" — "  There 

Lies  mysterv  more  dark  and  rare. 

In  midst  of  Wycliffe's  well-feigned  rage, 

A  scroll  was  offered  by  a  page. 

Who  told,  a  muifled  horseman  late 

Had  left  it  at  the  castle  gate. 

He  broke  the  seal — liis  cheek  showed  change, 

Sudden,  portentous,  wild,  and  strange; 

The  mimic  passion  of  his  eye 

Was  turned  to  actual  agony, 

His  hand  like  siimmer  sapling  shook. 

Terror  and  guilt  were  in  his  look. 

Denzil  he  judged,  in  time  of  need, 

Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed. 

And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke. 

While  witli  a  ghastly  smile  he  spoke. 

XI. 
"  'As,  in  the  pageants  of  the  stage, 
The  dead  awake  in  this  wild  age, 
Mortham — whom  all  men  deemed  decreed 
In  his  own  deadly  snare  to  bleed. 
Slain  by  a  bravo,  whom,  o'er  sea. 
He  trained  to  aid  in  murthering  me, — 
Mortham  has  's-aped;  the  coward  shot 
The  steed,  but  harmed  the  rider  nought.'" 
Here,  with  an  execration  fell, 
Bertram  leaped  vip,  and  paced  the  cell; 
"  Thine  own  gray  head,  or  bosom  dark," 
He  muttered,  "  may  be  surer  mark!" 
Then  sate,  and  signed  to  Edmund,  pale 
With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 
"  Wycliffe  went  on:  '  Mark  with  what  flights 
Of  wildered  reverie  he  writes. 

THE  LETTER. 

"  '  Ruler  of  Mortliam's  destiny! 
Though  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee. 
Once  had  he  all  {hat  binds  to  life, 
A  lovely  child,  and  lovelier  wife; 
Wealth,  fame,  and  friendship,  were  his  own — 
■  Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  they  are  flown. 


ROKEBY. 


223 


Mark  how  he  pays  thee:  to  thy  hand 
He  yields  his  honours  and  his  land, 
One  boon  premised;  restore  his  child ! 
And,  from  his  native  land  exiled, 
Mortham  no  more  returns,  to  claim 
His  lands,  his  honours,  or  his  name; 
Refuse  him  this,  and  from  the  slain 
Thou  shalt  see  Mortham  rise  again. ' 

XU. 
"  This  billet  while  the  baron  read, 
His  faltering  accents  showed  his  dread; 
He  pressed  his  forehead  with  )iis  palm. 
Then  took  a  scornful  tone  and  calm; 
'  Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild! 
What  wot  1  of  his  spouse  or  child? 
Hither  he  brought  a  joyous  dame. 
Unknown  her  lineage  or  her  name; 
Her,  in  some  frantic  fit,  he  slew; 
The  nurse  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 
Heaven  be  my  witness,  wist  1  where 
To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heir, 
Unguerdoned,  I  would  give  with  joy 
The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy, 
And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 
To  the  just  heir  of  Mortham's  line.' 
Thou  knowest  that  scarcely  e'en  his  fear 
Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneer; 
'  Then  happy  is  thy  vassal's  part,' 
He  said,  '  to  ease  his  patron's  hear* ' 
In  thine  own  jailor's  watchful  care 
Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir; 
Thy  generous  wish  is  fully  won, 
Redmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son.' 

Xlll. 
"  Up  starting  with  a  frenzied  look. 
His  clenched  hand  the  baron  shook: 
'  Is  hell  at  work?  or  dost  thou  rave, 
Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave  ? 
Perchance  thou  wot'st  not,  Barnard's  towers 
Have  racks,  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers.' 
Denzil,  who  well  his  safety  knew, 
Firmly  rejoined,  '  [  tell  thee  true. 
Thy  racks  could  give  thee  but  to  know 
The  proofs,  which  I,  untortured,  show. 
It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night. 
When  early  snow  made  Stanmore  white, 
That  verj-  night,  when  first  of  all 
Redmond  O'Neale  saw  Rokeby  hall, 
It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gain 
A  reliquary  and  a  chain. 
Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 
Demand  not  how  the  prize  1  hold ! 
It  was  not  given,  nor  lent,  nor  sold. 
Gilt  tablets  to  tlie  chain  were  hung. 
With  letters  in  the  Irish  tongue. 
1  hid  my  spoil,  for  there  was  need 
That  I  should  leave  the  land  with  speed; 
Nor  then  I  deemed  it  safe  to  bear 
On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 
Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took, 
But  since  have  spelled  them  by  the  book. 
When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 
Of  their  wild  speech  had  given  command. 
But  darkling  was  the  sense;  the  phrase 
And  language  those  of  other  days, 
Involved  of  purpose,  as  to  foil 
An  interloper's  prjing  toil. 
The  words,  but  not  the  sense,  I  knew. 
Till  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clue. 

XiV. 
"  '  Three  days  since,  was  that  clue  revealed. 
In  Thorsgill  as  I  lay  concealed, 


And  heard  at  fidl  when  Rokeby 's  maid 
Her  uncle's  histor)'  displayed; 
And  now  I  can  interpret  well; 
Each  syllable  the  tablets  tell. 
Mark  then:  fair  Edith  was  the  joy 
Of  old  O'Xeale  of  Clandeboy, 
But  from  her  sire  and  country  fled. 
In  secret  Mortham's  lord  to  wed. 
D'Neale,  his  first  resentment  o'er, 
Despatched  his  son  to  Greta's  shore, 
Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known 
(Until  his  farther  will  were  shown) 
To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 
What  of  their  ill-starred  meeting  fell, 
Lord  Wvcliife  knows,  and  none  so  well. 

XV. 
"  '  O'Neale  it  was,  who,  in  despair, 
Robbed  Mortham  of  his  infant  heir; 
He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild, 
And  called  him  murdered  Connal's  child. 
Soon  died  the  nurse;  the  clan  believed 
What  from  their  chieftain  they  received. 
His  purpose  was,  that  ne'er  again 
The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main. 
But,  like  his  mountain  sires,  enjoy 
The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 
Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came. 
And  stronger  chieftains  urged  a  claim, 
And  wrested  from  the  old  man's  hands 
His  native  towers,  his  father's  lands. 
Unable  then,  amid  the  strife. 
To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life, 
Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 
The  infant  to  his  native  shores. 
With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored. 
With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word. 
To  Mortham  and  to  Rokeby's  lord. 
Nought  knew  the  clod  of  Irish  earth. 
Who  was  the  guide,  of  Redmond's  birth; 
But  deemed  his  chief's  commands  were  laid 
On  both,  by  both  to  be  obeyed. 
How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way, 
I  need  not,  and  I  list  not  sav.' 

XVI. 
"  '  A  wond'rous  tale!  and  grant  it  true. 
What,'  Wycliffe  answered,  '  might  I  do? 
Heaven  knows,  as  willingly  as  now 
I  raise  the  bonnet  from  my  brow. 
Would  1  my  kinsman's  manors  fair 
Restore  to  Mortham  or  his  heir: 
But  >Iortham  is  distraught — O'Neale 
Has  drawn  for  tyranny  his  steel, 
Malignant  to  our  rightful  cause. 
And  trained  in  Rome's  delusive  laws. 
Hark  thee  apart!'  They  whispered  long. 
Till  Denzil's  voice  grew  bold  and  strong: 
*  My  proofs!  I  never  will,'  he  said, 
'  Show  mortal  man  where  they  are  laid. 
Nor  hope  discoveiT  to  foreclose, 
By  giving  me  to  feed  the  crows; 
For  I  have  mates  at  large,  who  know 
Whei-e  I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 
Free  me  from  peril  and  from  band, 
These  tablets  are  at  thy  command; 
Nor  were  it  hard  to  form  some  train, 
To  wile  old  Mortham  o'er  the  main. 
Then,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  hand 
Should  rest  from  thine  tlie  goodly  land.' 
'  I  like  thy  wit,'  said  Wycliffe,  '  well; 
But  here  in  hostage  shalt  thou  dwell. 
Thy  son,  unless  my  puri)ose  err. 
May  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 


1 


224 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


A  scroll  to  Mortliam  shall  he  bear 
From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 
Gold  shall  itiou  have,  and  that  good  store, 
And  frt'CMlom,  his  commission  o'er; 
Hut  if  his  failh  should  chance  to  fail, 
The  gibbet  frees  thee  from  the  jail.' 

XVII. 

"Meshed  in  the  net  hiniself  had  twined, 

What  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find? 

He  told  me,  villi  reluctant  sigh. 

That  hidden  here  the  tokens  lie; 

Conjured  my  swift  return  and  aid, 

By  all  he  scoffed  and  disobeyed; 

And  looked  as  if  the  noose  were  tied, 

And  I  the  priest  who  left  his  side. 

This  scroll  for  Morlham,  Wycliffe  gave. 

Whom  1  must  seek  bj'  Greta's  wave. 

Or  in  the  hut  where  chief  he  hides. 

Where  Thorsgill's  forester  resides, 

(Thence  chanced  it,  wandering  in  the  glaJe, 

That  he  descried  our  ambuscade. ) 

I  was  dismissed  as  evening  fell. 

And  reached  but  now  this  rocky  cell." 

"  Give  Oswald's  letter." — Bertram  read. 

And  tore  it  fiercely,  shred  by  shred: 

"  All  lies  and  villany!  to  blind 

His  noble  kinsman's  generous  mind, 

And  train  him  on  from  day  to  day, 

nil  he  can  take  his  life  away. 

And  now,  declare  th)'  purpose,  3'outh, 

Nor  dare  to  answer,  save  the  truth; 

tf  aught  1  mark  of  Denzil's  art, 

I'll  tear  the  secret  from  thy  heart!" 

X  V  III. 
"  It  needs  not.    I  renounce,"  he  said, 
"  M}'  tutor  and  his  deadly  trade. 
Fixed  was  my  imrpose  to  declare 
To  Mortham,  lledmond  is  his  heir; 
To  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands, 
And  yield  these  tokens  to  his  bunds. 
Fixed  was  my  purpose  to  atone, 
Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done, 
And  fixed  it  i-ests — if  I  survive 
This  night,  and  leave  this  cave  alive." 
"  And  Denzil?"    "  Let  them  ply  the  rack, 
E'en  till  his  joints  and  sinews  crack! 
If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 
What  ruth  can  Denzil  claim  from  him, 
AVhose  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray. 
And  damned  to  this  imballowed  way? 
He  schooled  me,  faith  and  vows  were  vain, 
Now  let  my  master  reap  his  gain." 
"  True,"  answered  Bertram,  "  'tis  his  meed; 
There's  retribution  in  the  deed. 
But  thou — thou  art  not  for  our  course. 
Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse; 
And  he  with  us  the  gale  who  braves. 
Must  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves. 
Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore. 
While  barks  unburthened  reach  the  shore.  " 

XIX. 
He  paused,  and,  stretching  him  at  lengtn, 
Seemed  to  repose  his  bulky  strength. 
Communing  with  his  secret  mind. 
As  half  he  sate,  and  half  reclined. 
One  ample  hand  his  forehead  pressed, 
And  one  was  dropped  across  his  breast. 
The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 
Above  his  ej'es  of  swarthy  flame; 
Mis  lip  of  pride  awhile  forebore 
Tiie  iiaughly  curve  till  tiien  it  wore; 


The  unaltered  fierceness  of  his  look 
A  shade  of  drirkened  sadness  took. 
For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  pressed 
Kesistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast. 
And  when  be  spoke,  his  wonted  tone. 
So  tierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 
His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep. 
Like  distant  waves  when  l)reezes  sleep; 
And  sorrow  mixed  with  F^dmund's  fear, 
lis  low  unbroken  depth  to  hear. 

XX. 

"  Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 
The  wo  that  warped  my  patron's  mind; 
'T  would  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 
In  other  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 
Mortham  must  never  see  the  tool. 
That  sold  himself  base  Wycliffe's  tool! 
Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain. 
Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 
Say,  Bertram  rues  his  fault;  a  word. 
Till  now,  from  Bertram  never  heard. 
Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  lord  he  prays 
To  think  but  on  their  former  days. 
On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock. 
On  Cayo's  bursting  battle-shock. 
On  Darien's  sands  and  deadly  dew. 
And  on  the  dart  Tlatzeca  threw; 
Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 
More  that  may  grace  his  comrade's  bier. 
My  soul  hath  fell  a  secret  weight, 
A  warning  of  approaching  fate; 
A  priest  had  said,  Return,  repent! 
As  well  to  bid  that  rock  be  rent. 
Firm  as  that  flint,  I  face  mine  end; 
My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend. 

XXI. 
"  The  dawning  of  ray  youth,  with  awe 
And  prophecy,  the  dalesmen  saw; 
For  over  Redesdale  it  came. 
As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 
Edmund,  thy  years  were  scarcely  mine, 
When,  challenging  tlie  clans  of  Tyne, 
To  bring  their  best  my  brand  to  prove. 
O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  giove;' 
But  Tynedale,  nor  in  tower  nor  town. 
Held  champion  meet  to  take  it  down. 
My  noontide  India  may  declare; 
Like  her  fierce  sun  I  fired  the  air! 
Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  fly 
Her  natives,  from  mine  angry  eye. 
Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 
When  Risingham  inspires  the  tale; 
Chili's  dark  matrons  long  shall  tame 
The  froward  child  with  Bertram's  name. 
And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run, 
Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun! 
No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray. 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay; 
With  disk  like  battle-target  red", 
He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed. 
Dies  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light. 
Then  sinks  at  once — and  all  is  night. 

xxn. 

"  Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.   Flj', 
Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  him  liie 
To  Richmond,  where  his  troops  are  laid. 
And  lead  his  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 
Say,  till  he  reaches  Eglistone, 
A  friend  will  w.atch  to  guard  his  son. 
Now,  fare  thee  well;  for  night  draws  on, 
And  I  would  rest  me  here  alone." 


ROKEBY. 


225 


Despite  his  ill-dissembled  fear, 

There  swam  in  Edmund's  e3'e  a  tear; 

A  tribute  to  the  courage  high. 

Which  stooped  not  in  extremity. 

But  strove,  irregularl)-  great. 

To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate! 

Bertram  beheld  the  dew-drop  start, 

It  almost  touched  his  iron  heart: 

"  1  did  not  think  there  lived,"  he  said, 

"  One  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed." 

He  loosened  then  his  baldric's  hold, 

A  buckle  broad  of  massive  gold; 

"  Of  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains. 

But  this  with  Risingham  remains. 

And  tliis,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take. 

And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 

Once  more — to  Mortham  speed  amain; 

Farewell!  and  turn  thee  not  again." 

XXIII. 
The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn, 
And  far  the  hours  of  prime  are  worn. 
Oswald,  who,  since  the  dawn  of  day, 
Had  cursed  his  messenger's  delay. 
Impatient  questioned  now  his  train, 
"  Was  Denzil's  son  returned  again'" 
It  chanced  there  answered  of  the  crew, 
A  menial,  who  young  Edmund  knew: 
"  No  son  of  Denzil  this,"  he  said; 
"  A  peasant  boy  from  Winston  glade. 
For  song  and  minstrelsy  renowned. 
And  knavish  pranks,  the  hamlets  round." — 
— "  Not  Uenzil's  son! — from  Winston  vale! 
Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale; 
Or,  worse — he  hath  despatclied  the  youth 
To  show  to  Mortham 's  lord  its  truth. 
Fool  tliat  I  was! — But  'tis  too  late; — 
This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate! 
The  tale,  or  true  or  false,  relies 
On  Denzil's  evidence: — He  dies! — 
— Ho!  provost-martial!  instantly 
Lead  Denzil  to  the  gallows  tree ! 
Allow  him  not  a  parting  word: 
Short  be  the  shrift,  and  sure  the  cord  ! 
Then  let  liis  gory  head  appal 
Marauders  from  the  castle  wall. 
Lead  forth  thy  guard,  th.it  duty  done. 
With  best  despatch  to  Eglistone. — 
— Basil,  tell  Wilfrid  he  must  straight 
Attend  me  at  the  castle-gate." 

XXIV. 
"  Alas!"  the  old  domestic  said. 
And  shook  his  venerable  head, 
"Alas!  my  lord!  full  ill  to-day 
May  my  young  master  brook  the  way! 
The  leech  has  spoke  with  grave  alarm, 
Of  unseen  hurt,  of  secret  harm. 
Of  sorrow  lurking  at  the  heart. 
That  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art." 
— "  Tush,  tell  not  me! — Romantic  bo3's 
Pine  themselves  sick  for  airy  toys. 
I  will  find  cure  for  Wilfrid  soon; 
Bid  him  for  Eglistone  to  boune. 
And  quick — I  hear  the  dull  death-drum 
Tell  Denzil's  hour  of  fate  is  come." 
He  paused  with  scox-nful  smile,  and  then 
Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agen. 
"  Now  comes  my  fortune's  crisis  near! 
Entreaty  boots  not — instant  fear, 
Nought  else,  can  bend  Matilda's  pride, 
Or  win  her  to  be  Wilfrid's  bride. 
But  when  she  sees  the  scaffold  placed, 
With  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced; 


And  when  she  deems,  that  to  deny 

Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die. 

She  must  give  way. — Then,  were  the  line 

Of  Rokeby  once  combined  with  mine, 

I  gain  the  weather-gage  of  fate!  . 

If  Mortham  come,  he  comes  too  late. 

While  I,  allied  thus  and  prepared. 

Bid  him  defiance  to  his  beard. 

— If  she  prove  stubborn,  shall  I  dare 

To  drop  the  axe? — soft!  pause  we  there. 

Mortliam  still  lives — yon  youth  may  tell 

His  tale — and  Fairfax  loves  him  well; 

Else,  wherefore  should  1  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  Redmond  from  my  way' 

But  she  to  piety  perforce 

Must  yield. — VVithout  there!  Sound  to  horse." 

xxv. 

'Twas  bustle  in  the  court  below, — 

"  Mount,  and  march  forward!" — forth  they  go; 

Steeds  neigh  and  trample  all  around, 

Steel  rings,  spears  glimmer,  trumpets  sound. 

Just  then  was  sunghis  parting  hymn; 

And  Denzil  turned  his  eyeballs  dim. 

And  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees. 

Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees, 

And  scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears. 

The  trumpets  tingle  in  his  ears. 

O'er  the  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 

The  van  i's  hid  by  green- wood  bough; 

But  ere  the  rearward  had  passed  o'er, 

Guy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more! 

One  stroke,  upon  the  castle  bell. 

To  Oswald  rung  his  dying  knell. 

XXVI. 

O  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 

Of  chivalry's  emblazoned  hues. 

That  traced,  of  old,  in  Woodstock  bower. 

The  pageant  of  the  leaf  and  flower. 

And  bodied  forth  tlie  tourney  high, 

Held  for  the  hand  of  Emily ! 

Then  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad, 

That  to  the  crowded  abbey  flowed. 

And  poured,  as  with  an  ocean's  sound, 

Into  the  church's  ample  bound! 

Then  might  1  show  each  varying  mien. 

Exulting,  woful,  or  serene; 

Indifference  with  his  idiot  stare. 

And  Sympathy  with  anxious  air; 

Paint  the  dejected  cavalier. 

Doubtful,  disarmed,  and  sad  of  cheer; 

And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 

Claimed  conquest  now  and  masteiy; 
And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 
Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel. 
And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  lie 
Exalted  worth,  and  station  high. 
Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail? 
'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale. 
Hurrying,  as  best  I  can,  along, 
The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song; 
Like  traveller  when  approaching  home. 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay, 
Or  choose  the  fair,  but  winding  way; 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend. 
Where  o'er  his  liead  the  wildings  bend. 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  liis  brow. 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XXVIL 
The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 
Profaned,  dishonoured,  and  defaced. 


226 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Througli  storied  lattices  no  more 

In  sot'icned  lisht  tlie  sunbeams  pour, 

Gildin;:;  the  (iotliic  sculpture  ricli 

Ofsliriuc,  anil  monument,  and  niche. 

The  civil  fury  of  tlie  time 

Made  sport  of  sacrilegious  crime; 

For  dark  Fanaticism  rent 

Altar,  and  screen,  and  ornament. 

And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  o'erthrew 

Of  Howes,  of  Rokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh. 

And  now  was  seen  unwonted  sight. 

In  holy  walls  a  scaffold  dightl 

Where  once  the  priest,  of  grace  dirine, 

Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign, 

There  stood  the  block  displayed,  and  there 

The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare; 

And  for  the  word  of  Hope  and  Faith, 

Resnundt'd  loud  a  doom  of  death. 

Thrice  the  fierce  trumpet's  breath  was  heard. 

And  echoed  thrice  the  herald's  word, 

Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws. 

And  treason  to  the  commons'  cause, 

The  kniglit  of  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 

To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 

The  trumpets  flourished  high  and  shrill. 

Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  still; 

And  silent  prayers  to  heaven  were  cast, 

And  stifling  sobs  were  bursting  fast, 

Till  from  the  crowd  begun  to  rise  ■ 

Murmui's  of  sorrow  or  surprise. 

And  from  the  distant  aisles  there  came 

Deep-muttered  threats,  with  Wyclifft's  name. 

XXVIII. 
But  Oswald,  guarded  by  his  band, 
Powerful  in  evil,  waved  his  hand. 
And  bade  sedition's  voice  be  dead, 
Ou  peril  of  the  murmurer's  head. 
Then  first  his  glance  sought  Rokeby's  knight; 
Who  gazed  on  tiie  tremendous  sight. 
As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 
To  kindred  baron's  feudal  feast, 
As  calm  as  if  that  trumpet-call 
Were  summons  to  the  bannered  hall; 
Firm  in  his  loyally  he  stood, 
And  prompt  to  seal  it  with  his  blood. 
With  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh, — 
He  durst  not  coiie  witli  Rokeby's  eye! 
And  said,  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 
"  Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  life  and  death." 
The  knight  then  tin-ned,  and  sternly  smiled; 
"  The  maiden  is  mine  only  child. 
Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head, 
If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed." 
Then  Redmond  spoke:  "The  life  of  one 
Might  thy  malignity  atone. 
On  me  be  flung  a  double  guilt! 
Spare  Rokeby's  blood,  let  mine'be  spilt!" 
Wyclitte  had  listened  to  his  suit. 
But  dread  prevailed,  and  he  was  mute. 

XXIX. 
And  now  he  pours  his  choice  of  fear 
In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear; 
"An  union  formed  with  me  and  mine 
Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokeby's  line. 
Consent,  and  all  this  dread  arr.ay 
Like  morning  dream  shall  pass  away; 
Refuse,  and,  by  my  duly  pressed, 
I  give  the  word — thou' know'st  the  rest." 
Matilda,  still  and  motionless. 
With  terror  heard  the  dread  address. 
Pale  as  the  sheeted  maid  who  dies 
To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice; 


Then  wrung  her  hands  in  agony. 
And  round  her  cast  bewildered  eye, 
Now  on  the  scaflbld  glanced,  and  now 
On  Wycliifc's  unrelenting  brow. 
Slie  veiled  her  tUce,  and,  with  a  voice 
Scarce  audible, — "  I  make  my  choice! 
Spare  but  their  lives! — for  aught  beside, 
l-.et  Wilfrid's  doom  my  fate  decide. 
He  once  was  generous!" — as  she  spoke. 
Dark  Wyclifie's  joy  in  triumph  broke: — 
"  Wilfrid,  where  loitered  ye  so  late? — 
Why  upon  Basil  rest  thy  weight? — 
Art  spell-bound  by  enclianter's  wand? — ■ 
Kneel,  kneel,  and  take  her  yielded  hand; 
I'hank  her  with  raptures,  simple  boy! 
Should  tears  and  trembling  speak  thy  joy?" 
"  O  hush,  my  sire!  to  prayer  and  tear 
Of  miti'j  thou  hast  refused  thine  ear: 
But  now  tlie  awful  hour  draws  on, 
Wlien  truth  must  speak  in  loftier  tone." 

XXX. 
He  took  ^latilda's  hand: — "  Dear  maid! 
Couldst  thou  so  injure  me,"  he  said, 
"  Of  thy  poor  friend  so  basely  deem. 
As  blend  him  with  this  barbarous  scheme? 
Alas  my  eftorts,  made  in  vain. 
Might  well  have  saved  this  added  pain. 
But  now,  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, 
That  ne'er  was  hope  to  mortal  given, 
So  twisted  with  the  strings  of  life, 
As  this — to  call  Matilda  wife! 
1  bid  it  now  for  ever  part, 
And  with  the  effort  bursts  my  heart." 
His  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 
With  wounds,  with  watching,  and  with  wo, 
That  nature  could  no  more  sustain 
The  agony  of  mental  pain. 
He  kneeled — his  lip  her  hand  had  pressed, 
Just  then  he  felt  tlie  stern  arrest; 
Lower  and  lower  sunk  his  head,^ 
They  raised  him, — but  the  life  was  fled! 
Then  first  alarmed,  his  sire  and  train 
Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  in  vain. 
The  soul,  too  soft  its  ills  to  be.ir. 
Had  left  our  mortal  hemisphere, 
And  sought  in  better  world,  the  meed 
To  blameless  life  by  heaven  decreed. 

XXXI. 
The  wretched  sire  beheld  aghast. 
With  Wilfrid  all  his  projects  past. 
All  turned  and  centered  on  his  son. 
On  Wilfrid  all — and  he  was  gone, 
"  And  am  1  childless  now,"  he  said, 
"  Childless,  through  that  relentless  maid! 
A  lifetime's  arts,  in  vain  essayed. 
Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head! — 
Here  lies  my  Wilfrid  dead — and  there 
Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heir. 
Eager  to  knit  in  happy  band 
With  Rokeby's  heiress  Redmond's  hand. 
And  shall  tlieir  triumph  soar  o'er  all 
The  schemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall? 
No! — deeds  which  prudence  might  not  dare. 
Appal  not  vengeance  and  despair. 
The  murderess  weeps  upon  his  bier — 
I'll  change  to  real  that  feigned  tear! 
They  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock! — 
Ho!  lead  the  captives  to  the  block!" 
But  ill  his  provost  could  divine 
His  feelings,  and  forebore  the  sign. 
"  Slave!  to  the  block! — or  I,  or  they, 
Shall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day!" 


ROKEBY. 


227 


XXXII. 

The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound, 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  hardened  ground; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near, — 
The  very  deaths-men  paused  to  hear. 
'Tis  in  the  church-j'ard  now — the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead! 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  wearied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gate-way  hung. 
When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 
A  horseman  armed,  at  headlong  speed^ — 
Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed. 
Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurned. 
The  vaults  unwonted  clang  returned ! 
One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddle-bow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look! 
His  charger  with  the  spurs  he  strook — 
All  scattered  backward  as  he  came. 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham! 
Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave; 
The  first  has  reached  the  central  nave, 
The  second  cleared  the  chancel  wide. 
The  third, — he  was  at  Wyclifte's  side. 
Full  levelled  at  the  baron's  head. 
Rung  tlie  report — the  bullet  sped — 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last. 
Without  a  groan  dark  Oswald  past ! 
All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

XXXIIl. 
While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels; 
But  floundered  on  the  pavement  floor 
The  steed,  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'Twas  while  he  toiled  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed. 
That  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halbert,  musket  butt,  their  blows 
Hailed  upon  bertrara  as  he  rose: 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound. 
Bore  down  and  pinned  him  to  the  ground; 
But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears, 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears; 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free. 
Once  gained  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 
By  tenfold  odds  oppressed  at  length. 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  slrengthj 
He  took  a  hundred  mortal  w  ounds. 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangling  hounds; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  morak  of  laughter  than  of  moan! 
— They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies. 
And  hunters  scarcelv  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain. 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again ! 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renewed. 
And  from  the  trunk  the  head  had  hewed, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade; 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid: — 
"  Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind. 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind: 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding  sheet." — 

XXXIV. 

Xo  more  of  death  and  dying  pang. 
No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  clang, 


Though  through  the  sounding  -woods  there  come 

Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 

Armed  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 

■Voung  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need. 

And  backed  with  such  a  band  of  horse 

As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce; 

Possessed  of  every  proof  and  sign 

That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  line. 

And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 

An  image  of  his  Edith's  charms, — 

Morthara  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 

Of  this  strange  morn  the  history. 

What  saw  he? — not  the  church's  floor. 

Cumbered  with  dead  and  stained  with  gore; 

What  heard  he' — not  the  clamorous  crowd, 

That  shout  their  gratulations  loud: 

Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 

Clasped  him,  and  sobbed,  "  My  son,  my  son!" 

XXXY. 

This  chanced  upon  a  summer  morn. 

When  yellow  waved  the  heavy  corn; 

But  when  brown  August  o'er  the  land 

Called  forth  the  reaper's  busy  band, 

A  gladsome  sight  the  sylvan  road 

From  Eglistone  to  Morthara  showed. 

Awhile  the  hardy  rustic  leaves 

The  task  to  bind  and  pile  the  sheaves. 

And  maids  their  sickles  fling  aside. 

To  gaze  on  bridegroom  and  on  bride. 

And  childhood's  wondering  group  draws  near, 

And  from  the  gleaner's  hand  the  ear 

Drops,  while  she  folds  them  for  a  prayer 

And  blessing  on  the  lovely  pair. 

'Twas  then  the  maid  of  Rokeby  gave 

Her  plighted  troth  to  Redmond  brave; 

And  Teesdale  can  remember  yet. 

How  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  her  debt, 

And,  for  their  troubles,  bade  them  prove 

A  lengthened  life  of  peace  and  love. 

Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway. 
Yielding,  like  an  April  day. 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow. 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow  ! 

XOTES  TO  CASTO  I. 
1.  On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees's  stream,  &c.— P.  190. 
"  Barnard  castle,"  saith  old  Leland,  "  standeth 
stately  upon  Tees."  It  is  founded  upon  a  very  high 
bank,  and  its  ruins  impend  over  the  river,  includ- 
ing within  the  area  a  circuit  of  six  acres  and  up- 
wards. This  once  magnificent  fortress  derives  its 
name  from  its  founder,  Barnard  Baliol,  the  ances- 
tor of  tlie  short  and  unfortunate  dynasty  of  that 
name,  -which  succeeded  to  the  Scottish  throne  un- 
der the  patronage  of  Edward  I  and  Edward  III. 
Baliol's  tower,  afterwards  mentioned  in  the  poem, 
is  a  round  tower  of  great  size,  situated  at  tlie  west- 
ern extremity  of  the  building.  It  bears  marks  of 
great  antiquity,  and  was  remarkable  for  tlie  curi- 
ous construction  of  its  vaulted  roof,  which  has  been 
lately  greatly  injured  by  the  operations  of  some 
persons  to  whom  the  tower  has  been  leased  for  the 
pui-pose  of  making  patent  shot !  The  prospect  from 
the  top  of  Baliol's  tower  commands  a  rich  and  mag- 
nificent view  of  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Tees. 

Barnard  castle  often  changed  masters  durin"- 
the  middle  ages.  Upon  tlie  forfeiture  of  the  unfor- 
tunate John  Baliol,  the  first  king  of  Scotland  of 
that  family,  Edward  I  seized  this  fortress  among 
the  other  English  esutes  of  his  refractory  vassal. 


228 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


It  was  afterwards  vested  in  the  Beauchamps  of 
Warwick,  and  in  the  Stiiftbrds  of  Buckingham, 
and  was  also  sometimes  in  the  possession  of  the 
bishops  of  Duriiani,  and  sometimes  in  that  of  the 
crown,  liichard  111  is  said  to  have  enkrged  and 
strengllicned  its  fortifications,  and  to  have  made 
it  for  sometime  his  principal  residence,  for  the 
purpose  of  bridling  and  suppressing  the  Lancas- 
trian faction  in  the  northern  counties.  From  the 
Staffords,  Barnard  castle  passed,  probably  by 
marriage,  into  the  possession  of  the  powerful  Ne- 
villes, carls  of  Westmoreland,  and  belonged  to  the 
last  representative  of  that  family  when  he  engaged 
with  the  earl  of  Northumberland  in  the  ill-con- 
certed insurrection  of  the  twelfth  of  queen  Eliza- 
beth. Upon  this  occasion,  however,  sir  George 
Bowes  of  Sheatlam,  who  held  great  possessions  in 
the  neighbourhood,  anticipated  the  two  insurgent 
earls,  by  seizing  upon  and  garrisoning  Barnard 
castle,  which  he  held  out  for  ten  days  against  all 
their  forces,  and  then  surrendered  it  upon  honour- 
able terms.  See  Sadler's  State  Papers,  vol.  ii,  p. 
330.  in  a  ballad,  contained  iu  Percy's  Reliques  of 
Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i,  the  siege  is  thus  comme- 
morated:— 

Then  Sir  George  Bowes  he  straightway  rose, 

After  them  some  spoyle  to  make; 
These  noble  erles  turned  back  againe. 

And  aye  they  vowed  that  knight  to  take. 

That  baron  he  to  his  castle  fled. 

To  Barnard  castle  then  fled  he; 
The  uttei-most  walles  were  eathe  to  won, 

The  erles  have  woniie  them  presentUe. 

The  uttermost  walles  were  lime  and  bricke; 

But  though  they  won  them  soon  anone, 
Long  ere  they  won  the  innermost  walles, 

For  they  were  cut  in  rock  and  stone. 

By  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the  con- 
sequent forfeiture  of  the  e!Arl  of  Westmoreland, 
Barnard  castle  reverted  to  the  crown,  and  was 
sold  or  leased  out  to  Car,  earl  of  Somerset,  the 
guilty  and  unhappy  favourite  of  James  I.  It  was  af- 
terwards granteil  to  sir  Henry  Vane  the  elder,  and 
was  therefore,  in  all  probability,  occujjied  for  the 
parliament,  whose  interest  during  the  civil  war  was 
so  keenly  espoused  by  the  Vanes.  It  is  now,  with 
the  other  estates  of  that  family,  the  property  of  the 
right  honourable  earl  of  Darlington. 

2. no  human  ear, 

Unsliarpened  by  revenge  and  fear, 

Could  e"er  distinguish  horse's  clank.— P.  191. 

I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life,  the 
effect  of  keen  and  fervent  anxiety  in  giving  acute- 
ness  to  the  organs  of  sense.  My  gifted  friend.  Miss 
Joanna  Baillie,  whose  dramatic  works  display 
such  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  operations  of 
human  passion,  has  not  omilted  this  remarkable 
circumstance: 

"  De  Moiilfort  Coff"  his  guard.)  'Tis  Rezenvelt;  I  heard 
Ills  well-known  foot! 
From  tlie  first  stair-case  mounting  step  by  step. 

Fre//.  How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant  sound! 
I  heard  him  not. 

IDe  Montfort  looks  embarrassed,  and  is  silent." 
3.  The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 
And  the  buff  coat,  in  ample  fold. 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould.— P.  191. 
The  use  of  complete  suits  of  armour  was  fallen 
into  disuse  during  the  civil  war,  thougii  they  were 
still  worn  by  leaders  of  rank  and  importance. — 
"  In  the  reign  of  king  James  1,"  says  our  military- 
antiquary,  "  no   great  alterations  were  made  in 
the  article  of  defensive  armour,  except  that  the 
buff  coat,  or  jei'kin,  which  was  originally  worn  un- 


der the  cuirass,  now  became  frequently  a  substi- 
tute for  it,  it  having  been  found  that  a  good  buff 
leather  wouldof  itself  resist  the  stroke  ol  a  sword; 
this,  however,  only  occasionally  took  place  among 
the  light-armed  cavalry  and  infantry,  complete 
suits  of  armour  being  still  used  among  the  heavj- 
horse.  Buff  coats  continued  to  be  worn  by  the 
city  traine<l-bands  till  within  the  memory  of  per- 
sons now  living,  so  that  defensive  armour  may  in 
some  measure  be  said  to  have  terminated  in  the 
same  materials  with  wliich  it  began,  that  is,  the 
skins  of  animals  or  leather." — (iuosE'.s  JMililary 
Antiquities,  Lond.  1801,  4to.  vol.  ii,  p.  323. 

Of  the  buff  coats  which  were  worn  over  the 
corslet,  several  are  yet  preserved,  and  captain 
Grose  has  given  an  engraving  of  one  which  was 
used  in  the  time  of  Charles  I,  bj' sir  Francis  Rhodes, 
bart.  of  Balbrough-hall,  Derby  sliire.  They  were 
usually  lined  with  silk  or  linen,  secured  before  by 
buttons,  or  by  a  lace,  and  often  richly  decorated 
with  gold  or  silver  embroider)\  From  the  follow- 
ing curious  account  of  a  dispute  respecting  a  buff 
coat,  between  an  old  roundhead  captain  and  a  jus- 
tice of  peace,  by  whom  his  arms  were  seized  after 
the  restoration,  we  learn  that  the  value  and  impor- 
tance of  this  defensive  garment  were  considerable. 
"  A  party  of  horse  came  to  m)'  house  commanded 
by  Mr.  Peebles;  and  he  told  me  he  was  come  for 
my  arms,  and  that  I  must  deliver  them.  I  asked 
him  for  his  order.  He  told  me  had  a  better  order 
than  Oliver  used  to  give;  and,  clapping  his  hand 
upon  his  sword  hilt,  he  said  that  was  his  order.  I 
told  him,  if  he  had  none  but  that  it  was  not  suffi- 
cient to  take  my  arms;  and  then  he  pulled  out  his 
warrant,  and  I  read  it.  It  was  signed  by  \Ventworth 
Armitage,  a  general  warrant  to  search  all  persons 
they  suspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  sol- 
diers at  their  pleasure.  They  came  to  us  at  Coal- 
ley-hall,  about  sun-setting;  and  I  caused  a  candle 
to  be  lighted,  and  conveyed  Peebles  into  the  room 
where  my  arms  were.  My  arras  were  near  the 
kitchen  fire;  and  there  they  took  away  fowling- 
pieces,  pistols,  muskets,  carabines,  and  such  like, 
belter  than  20/.  Tlien  Mr.  Peebles  asked  me  for  my 
buff  coat;  and  I  told  him  they  liad  no  order  to  take 
away  mj'  apparel.  He  tohi  me  I  was  not  to  dispute 
their  orders:  but  if  I  would  not  deliver  it,  he  would 
carry  me  away  prisoner,  and  had  me  out  of  doors. 
Yet  he  let  me  alone  unto  the  next  morning,  that  I 
must  waitupon  sir  John,  at  Halifax;  and  coming  be- 
fore him,  he  threatened  me,  and  said  it  I  did  not  send 
tlie  coat,  for  it  was  too  good  for  me  to  keep.  I  told 
him  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  demand  my  apparel; 
and  he,  growing  into  a  fit,  called  me  rebel  and 
traitor,  and  said  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat  with  all 
speed,  he  woidd  send  me  where  1  did  not  like  well 
I  told  him  I  was  no  rebel,  and  he  did  not  well  to 
call  me  so  before  these  soldiers  and  gentlemen,  to 
make  me  the  mark  for  every  one  to  shoot  at.  1  de- 
parted the  room,  yet,  notwithstanding  all  the 
threatenings,  did  not  send  the  coat.  But  the  next 
day  he  sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Lyster,  of  Shipden-hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a  letter 
verbatim  thus:  '  Mr.  Hodgson,  I  admire  you  will 
play  the  cliild  so  with  me  as  yoi\  have  done,  in  writ- 
ing such  an  inconsiderate  letter.  Let  me  have  the 
buff  coat  sent  forthwith,  otherwise  you  shall  so  hear 
from  me  as  will  not  very  well  please  you.  I  was  not 
at  home  when  this  messenger  came;  but  I  had  order- 
ed my  wife  not  to  deliver  it,  but  if  they  would  take 
it,  let  them  look  to  it:  and  he  took  it  away;  and  one 
of  sir  John's  brethren  wore  it  many  years  after. 


ROKEBY, 


229 


They  sent  captain  Batt  to  compound  with  my  wife 
about  it;  but  I  sent  word  I  would  have  my  own 
again:  but  he  advised  me  to  take  a  price  for  it,  and 
make  no  more  ado.  I  said  it  was  hard  to  take  my 
arms  and  apparel  too;  I  had  laid  out  a  great  deal  of 
money  for  them;  1  hoped  they  did  not  mean  to  de- 
stroy me,  by  taking  my  goods  illegally  from  me. 
He  said  he  would  make  up  the  matter,  if  I  pleased, 
betwixt  us;  and,  it  seems,  had  brought  sir  John  to 
a  price  for  my  coat.  1  would  not  have  taken  10?. 
for  it:  he  would  have  given  about  4Z. ;  but  wanting 
my  receipt  for  the  money,  he  kept  both  sides,  and 
I  had  never  satisfaction." — JMemoirs  of  Captain 
Hodgsm,  Edin.  1806,  p.  178. 

4.  On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 

And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time,  8cc.— P.  191. 

In  this  character  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  one 
of  those  West  Indian  adventurers,  who,  during  the 
course  of  the  seventeenth  century,  were  popularly 
known  by  the  name  of  Buccaneers.  The  successes 
of  the  English  in  the  predatorj"  incursions  upon 
Spanish  America,  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
had  never  been  forgotten;  and  from  that  period 
downward,  the  exploits  of  Drake  and  Raleigh  were 
imitated  upon  a  smaller  scale  indeed,  but  with 
equally  desperate  valour,  by  small  bands  of  pirates, 
gathered  from  all  nations,  "but  chiefly  French  and 
English.  The  engrossing  policy  of  the  Spaniards 
tended  greatly  to  increase  the  number  of  these 
free-booters,  from  whom  their  commerce  and  co- 
lonies suffered,  in  the  issue,  dreadful  calamity. 
The  Windward  Islands,  which  the  Spaniards  did 
not  deem  worthy  of  their  own  occupation,  had  been 
gi'adually  settled  by  adventurers  of  the  French  and 
English  nations.  But  Frederic  of  Toledo,  who 
was  despatched  in  1630,  with  a  powerful  fleet 
against  the  Dutch,  had  orders  from  the  court  of 
Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies,  whose  vicinity 
at  once  offended  the  pride,  and  excited  the  jealous 


for  the  cause  of  Charles,  commenced  under  very 
different  auspices.  Prince  Rupert  had  marched 
with  an  army  of  "20,000  men  for  the  relief  of  York, 
then  besieged  by  sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  at  the  head 
of  the  parliamentary  army,  and  the  earlof  Leven, 
with  the  Scottish  auxiliary  forces.  In  this  he  so 
completely  succeeded,  that  he  compelled  the  be- 
siegers to  retreat  to  Marston  moor,  a  large  open 
plain,  about  eight  miles  distant  from  the  city. 
Thither  they  were  followed  by  the  prince,  who 
had  now  united  to  his  army  the  garrison  of  York, 
probably  not  less  than  ten  thousand  men  strong, 
under  the  gallant  marquis  (then  earl)  of  Xewcastle. 
Whitelocke  has  recorded,  with  much  impartiality, 
the  following  particulars  of  this  eventful  day:^ 
"  The  right  wing  of  the  parliament  was  command- 
ed by  sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  all  his 
horse,  and  three  regiments  of  the  Scots  horse;  the 
left  wigg  was  commanded  by  the  earl  of  Manches- 
ter and  colonel  Cromwell.  One  body  of  their  foot 
was  commanded  by  lord  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of 
his  foot,  and  two  brigades  of  the  Scots  foot  for  a 
reserve;  and  the  main  body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot 
was  commanded  by  general  Leven. 

"  The  right  wing  of  the  prince's  army  was  com- 
manded by  the  earl  of  Newcastle,  the  left  wing  by 
the  prince  himself,  and  the  main  body  by  general 
Goring,  sir  Charles  Lucas,  and  major-generid  Por- 
ter: thus  were  both  sides  drawn  up  into  battalia. 

"July  3d,  1644.  In  this  posture  both  armies 
faced  each  other,  and  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning  the  fight  began  between  them.  The  prince, 
with  his  left  wing,  fell  on  the  parliament's  right 
wing,  routed  them,  and  pursued  them  a  great  way; 
the  like  did  general  Goring,  Lucas,  and  Porter, 
upon  the  parliament's  main  body.  The  three  ge- 
nerals, giving  all  for  lost,  hasted  out  of  the  field, 
and  many  of  their  soldiers  fled,  and  threw  down 
their  arms;  the  king's  forces,  too  eagerly  following 


suspicions  of  their  Spanish  neighbours.  This  or-  them,  the  victory,  now  almost  achieved  by  them, 
der  the  Spanish  admiral  executed  with  sufficient  was  again  snatched  out  of  their  hands.  For  colonel 
rigour;  but  the  only  consequence  was,  that  the  Cromwell,  with  the  brave  regiment  of  his  coun- 
planters,  being  rendered  desperate  by  persecution,  trymen,  and  sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  having  rallied 
began,  under  the  well-known  name  of  buccaneers,  some  of  his  horse,  fell  upon  the  prince's  right  wing, 
to  commence  a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage  that  where  the  earl  of  Newcastle  was,  and  routed  them; 
the  perusal  makes  the  reader  shudder.  When  they  and  the  rest  of  their  companions  rallying,  they  fell 
carried  on  their  depredations  at  sea,  they  boarded,  all  together  upon  the  divided  bodies  of  Rupert  and 
without  respect  to  disparity  of  number,  every  Span-  Goring,  and  totally  dispersed  them,  and  obtained 
ish  vessel  that  came  in  their  way;  and,  demeaning  a  complete  victory  after  three  hours  fight, 
themselves,  both  in  the  battle  and  after  the  con-  "  From  this  battle  and  the  pursuit  some  reckon 
quest,  more  like  demons  than  human  beings,  they  were  buried  7000  Englishmen;  all  agree  that  above 
succeeded  in  impressing  their  enemies  with  a  3000  of  the  prince's  men  were  slain  in  the  battle, 
sort  of  superstitious  terror,  which  rendered  them  besides  those  in  the  chase,  and  3000  prisoners  ta- 
incapable  of  offering  effectual  resistance.  From  pi-  ken,  many  of  their  chief  officers,  iS  pieces  of  ord- 
racy  at  sea  they  advanced  to  making  predator}"  de-  nance,  47  colours,  10,000  arras,  two  wagons  of 
scents  on  the  Spanish  territories,  in  which  they  carabines  and  pistols,  130  barrels  of  powder,  and 
displayed  the  same  furious  and  irresistible  valour,  all  their  bag  and  baggage." — JV/dtehcke's  ^Me- 
the  same  thirst  of  spoil,  and  the  same  brutal  inhu-  moirs,  Lond.  1682,  fol.  p.  89. 
manity  to  their  captives.  The  large  treasures  which  Lord  Clarendon  informs  us  that  the  king,  pre- 
they  acquired  in  their  adventures,  they  dissipated  vious  to  receiving  the  true  account  of  the  battle, 
by  the  most  unbounded  licentiousness  in  gaming, ,  had  been  informed,  by  an  express  from  Oxford, 
women,  wine,  and  debauchery  of  every  species.  "  that  prince  Rupert  had  not  only  relieved  York, 
When  their  spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they  entered  but  totally  defeated  the  Scots,  ^lith  many  particu- 
into  some  new  association,  and  undertook  new  ad-  lars  to  confirm  it,  all  which  was  so  much  believed 
ventures.   For  further  particulars  concerning  these  there,  that  they  had  made  public  fires  ol  joy  for 


extraordinary  banditti,  the  reader  may  consult 
Raynal,  or  the  common  and  popular  book  caUed 
the  History  of  the  Buccaneers. 

5.         ■         On  Marston  heath 

Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death.— P.  192. 

The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of  Long- 
Marston  moor,  which  terminated  so  uidbrtunately 


the  victory." 
6.  Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news. 

How  troops  of  roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast. 

Spurring  liis  palfity  northward,  past. 

Cursing  tlie  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed.— P.  193. 

Monckton  and  Mitton  are  villages  near  the  river 


230 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ouse,  and  not  very  distant  from  the  field  of  battle. 
The  particulars  of  tlie  action  were  violently  dis- 
puted at  the  time;  but  tlic  following  extract,  from 
the  manuscript  history  of  tlie  baronial  house  of 
Somerville,  is  decisive  as  to  the  tli.a;ht  of  tlie  Scot- 
tish general,  the  earl  of  l.even.  The  particulars 
are  .e;i%-en  by  the  author  of  the  history  on  the  au- 
thority of  his  father,  then  the  representative  of  the 
family.  This  curious  manuscript  has  been  pub- 
lisiied  by  consent  of  my  noble  friend,  the  present 
lord  Somerville. 

"The  order  of  this  great  battell,.'wlierin  both 
armies  was  neerof  ane  equall  number,  consisting, 
to  the  best  calculatione,  neer  to  three  score  thou- 
sand men  upon  both  sydcs,  1  shall  not  take  upon 
me  to  descryve;  albeit,  from  tiie  ih-auglits  then  ta- 
ken upon  the  place,  and  information  I  receaved 
from  this  gentleman,  who  being  then  a  volunteer, 
as  having  no  command,  had  opiiortunitie  anjl  liber- 
tie  to  ryde  from  one  wing  of  the  armie  to  the 
other,  to  view  all  tlier  severall  squadrons  of  horse 
and  battaUions  of  foot  how  formed,  atid  in  what 


liaraent's  horse,  which  he  had  beaten  and  follow- 
ed too  farre,  to  the  losse  of  the  battel!,  which  cer- 
tanely,  in  all  men's  opinions,  he  might  have  caiy- 
ed,  if  he  had  not  been  too  violent  upon  the  persuite: 
M'hich  gave  his  enemies  upon  the  left-liand  oppor- 
tunitie  to  disperse  and  cut  doune  hisinfantrie,  who 
haveing  cleared  the  field  of  all  the  standing  bodies 
of  foot,  wer  now,  with  many 

of  ther  oune,  standing  ready  toreceave  the  charge 
of  his  allmost  spent  horses,  if  he  should  attempt  it, 
which  the  prince  observing,  and  seeing  all  lost,  he 
retreated  to  Yorke  with  two  thousand  horse.  Not- 
withstanding of  this,  ther  was  that  night  such  a 
consternatione  in  the  parliament  armies,  that  it's 
believed  by  most  of  those  tiiat  wer  there  present, 
that  if  the  prince,  haveing  so  great  a  body  of  horse 
inteire,  had  made  ane  on  fall  that  niglit,  or  tlie 
ensueing  morning  be  tyme,  he  had  carryed  the  vic- 
torie  out  of  ther  hands;  for  it's  cerlane,  by  the 
morning's  light,  he  had  rallyed  a  body  ot  tenthou- 
sand  men,  whereof  ther  was  neer  three  thousand 
gallant  horse.    These,  with  the  assistance  of  the 


manner  drawn  up,  with  every  other  circumstance  toune  and  garrisoune  of  Yorke,  might  Iiave  done 
relating  to  the  figiit,  and  that  both  as  to  the  king's  much  to  have  recovered  the  victory,  for  the  losse 
armiesandthat  of  the  parliament's,  amongst  whom,  of  this  battell  in  effect  lost  the   king  and  his  in 


until!  the  engadgment,  he  went  from  statione  to 
statione  to  observe  ther  order  and  form;  but  that 
the  descriptione  of  this  battell,  with  the  various 
success  on  both  sides  at  the  beginning,  with  the 
losse  of  the  royal  armie,  and  the  sad  effects  that 
followed  that  miefortune  as  to  his  majestie's  inte- 
rest, hes  been  so  often  done  alreadj-  by  English 
authors,  little  to  our  commendatione,  how  justl}' 
I  shall  not  dispute,  seeing  the  truth  is,  as  our 
principal!  general!  fled  that  night  neer  fourtie 
mylles  from  the  place  of  the  fight,  that  part  of  the 
armie  where  he  commanded  being  totallie  routed: 
but  it  is  as  true,  tliat  much  of  the  victorie  is  at- 
tributed to  the  good  conduct  of  David  Lesselie, 
lievetennent-generall  of  our  horse.  Cromwell, 
himself,  that  minione  of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of 
God's  wrath,  to  punish  eftirward  three  rebellious 
nations,  disdained  not  to  take  orders  from  him, 
albeit  then  in  the  same  qualitie  of  command  for 
the  parliament,  as  being  lievetennent-generall  to 
the  earl  of  Manchester's  horse,  whom,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  Scots  horse,  liaveing  routed  the 
prince's  right  wing,  as  he  had  done  that  of  tlie 
parliament's.  These  two  commanders  of  the  horse 
upon  that  wing  wisely  restrained  the  great  bodies 
of  ther  horse  from  persuing  these  brocken  troups, 
but,  wheeling  to  the  left-hand,  falls  in  upon  the 
naked  flanks  of  the  prince's  main  battalion  of  foot, 
carrying  them  doune  with  great  violence;  nether 
mett  they  with  any  great  resistance  untill  they 
came  to  the  marques  of  Newcastle  his  battallione 
of  white  coats,  who,  first  peppering  them  soundly 
with  ther  sbott,  when  they  came  to  charge,  stoutly 
boor  them  up  with  their  picks  that  they  could  not 
enter  to  break  them.  Here  tlie  parliament's  horse 
of  that  wing  receaved  ther  greatest  losse,  and  a 
stop  for  sometyme  putt  to  ther  hoped-for  victorie; 
and  that  only  by  the  stout  resistance  of  this  gallant 
battallione,  which  consisted  neer  of  four  thousand 
foot,  untill  at  length  a  Scots  regiment  of  dragouns, 
commanded  by  coUonell  Frizeall,  with  other  two, 
was  brought  to  open  them  upon  some  hand,  which 
at  length  they  did,  when  all  the  ammunitione  was 
spent.  Having  refused  (luarters,  every  man  fell  in 
the  same  order  and  ranke  wherein  he  had  foughten. 
"Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  prince  return- 
ed from  the  persuite  of  the  right  wing  of  the  par- 


terest  in  the  three  kingdomes,  his  majestie  never 
being  able  eftir  this  to  make  head  in  the  north, 
but  lost  his  garrisons  every  (]ay. 

"  As  for  general!  Lesselie,  in  the  beginning  of 
this  flight  haveing  that  part  of  the  army  quite 
brocken,  where  he  had  placed  himself,  by  the  va- 
lour of  the  prince,  he  imagined,  and  was  conferm- 
ed  by  the  opinione  of  others  then  upon  the  place 
with  him,  that  the  battell  was  irrecoverably  lost, 
seeing  they  wer  fleeing  upon  all  hands;  theirfore 
they  humblie  intreated  his  excellence  to  reteir  and 
wait  his  better  fortune;  which,  without  farder  ad- 
vyseing,  he  did;  and  never  drew  bridle  until  he 
came  the  lenth  of  Leads,  having  ridden  all  that 
night  with  a  cloak  of  clrap  de  berrie  about  him, 
belonging  to  this  gentleman  of  whom  1  write,  then 
in  his  retinue,  with  many  other  officers  of  good 
qualitie.  It  was  neer  twelve  the  next  day  before 
they  had  the  certanety  who  was  master  of  the  field, 
when  at  length  there  arrjves  ane  express,  sent  by 
David  Lessdiie,  to  acquaint  the  general  they  had 
obtained  a  most  glorious  victory,  and  that  the 
prince,  with  his  brocken  troops,  was  fled  from 
Yorke.  This  intelligence  was  somewhat  amazeing 
to  these  gentlemen  that  had  been  eye  witnesses  to 
the  disorder  of  the  armie  before  ther  retearing, 
and  had  then  accompanied  the  general  in  his  flight, 
who,  being  much  wearyed  that  evening  of  the  bat- 
tel! with  ordering  his  armie,  and  now  quite 
spent  with  his  long  journey  in  the  night,  had  cas- 
ten  himselfe  doune  upon  a  bed  to  rest,  when  this 
gentleman  comeing  quyetly  into  his  chamber,  he 
awoke,  and  hastily  cries  out,  '  Lievetennent-col- 
lonell,  what  newes" — 'All  is  safe,  may  it  please 
your  excellence,  the  parliament's  armie  hes  ob- 
tained a  great  victory;'  and  then  delyvers  the  let- 
ter. The  generall,  upon  the  hearing  of  this,  knock- 
ed upon  his  breast  and  sayes,  '  1  would  to  God  I 
had  dyed  upon  the  place,'  and  then  opens  the  let- 
ter, which,  in  a  few  lines,  gave  ane  account  of  the 
victory,  and  in  the  close  pressed  his  speedy  re- 
tnrne  to  the  armie,  which  he  did  the  next  day, 
being  accompanyed  some  mylles  back  by  this  gen- 
tleman, who  then  takes  his  leave  of  him,  and  re- 
ceaved at  pai'ting  many  expressions  of  kyndenesse, 
with  promises  that  he  would  never  be  unmyndful 
of  his  care  and  respect  towards  him;  and  in  the 


ROKEBY. 


231 


end  he  intreats  him  to  present  his  service  to  all 
his  friends  and  acquaintances  in  Scotland.  Ther- 
eftir  the  generall  sets  forward  in  his  journey  for  the 
armie,  as  this  gentleman  did  for  , 

in  order  tohis  transportatione  for  Scotland,  where 
he  arryved  sex  dayes  eflir  the  figlit  of  Mestoune 
Muir,  and  gave  tli'e  first  true  account  and  descrip- 
tione  of  that  great  battell,  wherein  the  covenanters 
then  gloryed  soe  much,  that  they  impiously  boast- 
ed the  Lord  had  now  signally  appeared  for  his 
cause  and  people,  it  being  ordinar)-  for  iliem,  dure- 
ing  tlie  wholl  time  of  this  warre,  to  attribute  the 
greatness  of  their  success  to  the  goodness  and  jus- 
tice oftheir  cause,  until  Divine  Justice  try  sted  tliem 
v/iili  some  cross  dispensatione,  and  then  you  might 
have  heard  this  language  from  them,  '  That  it 
pleases  the  Lord  to  give  his  ounc  tlie  iieavyest  end 
of  the  tree  to  bear,  that  the  saints  and  the  people  of 
God  must  still  be  sufferers  while  tliey  are  here 
awa}',  that  the  malignant  party  was  God's  rod  to 
punish  them  for  ther  unthankfulnesse,  wliich  in  the 
end  he  will  cast  into  the  fire;'  with  a  thousand 
other  expressions  and  scripture  citations,  profanely 
and  blasphemously  uttered  by  them  to  palliate 
their  villanie  and  rebellion.'- — JVlemoire  of  the 
Somervilles,  Edinb.  1815. 

7.  With  his  barbed  horse,  fresh  tidings  say 

Stout  Cromwell  has  redeemed  the  day.— P.  193. 

Cromwell,  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers,  had 
a  principal  share  in  turning  the  fate  of  the  day  at 
Marston-moor,  which  was  equally  matter  of  tri- 
umph to  the  independents,  and  of  grief  and  heart- 
burning to  the  presbyterians  and  to  the  Scotlisli. 
Principal  fiaillie  expresses  his  dissatisfaction  as 
follows: — 

"  The  independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to  as- 
sure that  all  the  glory  of  that  night  was  theirs; 
and  they  and  their  major-general  Cromwell  had 
done  it  all  there  alone:  but  captain  Stuart  after- 
ward showed  the  vanity  and  falsehood  oftheir  dis- 
graceful relation.  God  gave  us  that  victory  won- 
derfully. There  were  three  generals  on  each  side, 
Lesley,  Fairfax,  and  Manchester;  Rupert,  New- 
castle, and  King.  Within  half  an  hour  and  less,  all 
six  took  them  to  their  heels;  this  to  you  alone. 
The  (hsadvantage  of  the  ground,  and  violence  of 
the  flower  of  prince  Rupert's  horse,  carried  all  our 
right-wing  down;  only  Eglinton  kept  ground,  to 
his  great  loss;  iiis  lieutenant-crowner,  a  brave  man, 
1  I'ear  shall  die,  and  his  son  Robert  be  mutilated 
til  an  arm.  Lindsay  had  the  greatest  hazard  of  anv; 
liut  the  beginning  of  the  victory  was  from'  ]3avid 
Lesley,  who  before  was  much  suspected  of  evil  de- 
signs: he,  with  the  Scots  and  Cromwell's  horse, 
having  the  advantage  of  the  ground,  did  dissipate 
all  before  them." — Baillie's  Letters  and-Jotirnals, 
Edinb.  1785,  8vo.  ii,  36. 

8.  Do  not  ray  native  dales  prolong 
Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 
Trained  forward  to  his  bloody  fall. 
By  Girsonticld,  that  treacherous  Hall?— P.  193. 

In  a  poem,  entitled  "  The  Lay  of  the  Rcedwater 
Minstrel,"  Newcastle,  1809,  this  tale,  with  many 
others  peculiar  to  the  valley  of  the  Reed,  is  com- 
memorated:— "The  particulars  of  the  traditional 
stor)'  of  Percy  Reed  of  Troughend,  and  the  Halls 
of  Girsonfield,  the  author  had  from  a  descendant 
of  the  family  of  Reed.  From  this  account  it  ap 
pears  that  Percival  Reed,  esquire,  a  keeper  of 
Reedsdale,  was  betrayed  by  the  Halls  (hence  de- 
nominated the  false-hearted  Ha's)  to  a  band  of 

17 


moss-troopers  of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who  slew 
him  at  Balinghnpe,  near  the  source  of  the  Reed. 

'  The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Percy 
Reed,  held  in  such  universal  abhorrence  and  con- 
tempt bv  the  inhabitants  of  Reedsdale,  for  their 
cowardlv  and  treacherous  behaviour,  that  they 
were  obliged  to  leave  the  country."  In  another 
passage  we  are  informed  that  the  ghost  of  the  in- 
juredborderer  is  supposed  to  haunt  the  banks  of 
a  brook  called  the  Pringle.  These  Reeds  of  Trough- 
end  were  a  very  ancient  family,  as  may  be  con- 
jectured from  their  deriving  their  surname  from 
the  river  on  which  they  had  their  mansion.  An 
epitaph  on  one  of  their  tombs  affirms,  that  the 
family  held  their  lands  of  Troughend,  which  are 
situated  on  the  Reed,  nearly  opposite  to  Otterburn, 
for  tlie  incredible  space  of  nine  hundred  years. 

9.  And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  Risiiighara, 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Wocdburn's  cottages  and  trees. 
Some  ancient  sculptors  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone. — P.  19-1. 

Risingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the  beau- 
tiful hamlet  of  Woodburn,  is  an  ancient  Roman 
station,  formerly  called  Habitancum.  Camden 
says,  that  in  his  time  the  popular  account  bore 
that  it  had  been  the  abode  of  a  deity  or  giant,  called 
Magon;  and  appeals,  in  support  of  this  tradition, 
as  well  as  to  the  etymology  of  Risingham,  or  Rei- 
senham,  which  signifies,  in  German,  the  habita- 
tion of  the  giants,  to  two  Roman  altars  taken  out 
of  the  river,  inscribed,  Deo  JMogonti  Cadenorum. 
About  lialf  a  mile  distant  from  Risingham,  upon 
an  eminence  covered  with  scattered  birch-trees 
and  fragments  of  rock,  there  is  cut  upon  a  large 
rock,  in  a'to  relievo,  a  remarkable  figure,  called 
Robin  of  Risingham,  or  Robin  of  Redesdale.  It 
presents  a  hunter,  with  his  bow  raised  in  one  hand, 
and  in  the  other  what  seems  to  be  a  hare.  There 
is  a  quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is 
dressed  in  a  long  coat,  or  kirtle,  coming  down  to 
the  knees,  ami  meeting  close,  with  a  girdle  bound 
round  him.  Dr.  Horsley,  who  saw  all  monuments 
of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes,  inclines  to  think 
this  figure  a  Roman  archer:  and  certainly  the  bow 
is  rather  of  the  ancient  size  than  of  that  which  was 
so  formidable  in  the  hand  of  the  English  archers 
of  tlie  middle  ages.  But  the  rudeness  of  the  whole 
figure  prevents  our  founding  strongly  upon  mere 
inaccuracy  of  proportion.  The  popular  tradition 
is  that  it  represents  a  giant,  v  hose  brother  re- 
sided at  Woodburn,  and  he  himself  at  Risingham. 
It  adds,  that  they  subsisted  by  hunting,  and  that 
one  of  them,  finding  the  game  become  too  scarce 
to  support  them,  poisoned  his  companion,  in 
whose  memory  the  monument  was  engraven. 
VVhi'.t  strange  and  tragic  circumstance  may  be 
concealed  under  this  legend,  or  whether  it  is  ut- 
terly apocryphal,  it  is  now  impossible  to  discover. 

The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale  was  given  to 
one  of  the  Umfravilles,  lords  of  Prudhow,  and  af- 
terwards lo  one  Hilliard,  a  friend  and  follower  of 
the  king-making  earl  of  Warwick.  This  person 
commanded  an  army  of  Northamj)tonsliire  and 
northern  men,  who  seized  on  and  beheLided  the 
eail  of  Rivers,  fatlier  to  Edward  tlie  fourth's  queen, 
and  his  son,  sir  John  Woodville. — See  UoUirished, 
ad  annum,  1469. 


•  Do  thou  revere 


The  statutes  of  the  buccaneer.— P.  194. 
The  "  statutes  of  the  buccaneers"  were  in  reality 
more  equitable  than  could  have  been  expected 


232 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


from  the  state  of  society  under  which  they  had 
been  formed.  Thcv  chief! v  reh.ted,  as  may  readily 
be  conjeclMivd,  to  llie  distribution  and  the  inherit- 
«nce  of  tlieir  plunder.  ,        i     i       r      i 

When  the  expedition  was  completed,  the  tund 
of  prize-money  aciuired  was  tlirowu  together, 
-ach  party  taking  his  oath  ihnt  he  ha.i  retained  or 
concealed  no  part  of  the  common  slock.  It  any 
one  transgressed  in  this  important  particular,  the 
punishment  was  his  being  set  asliore  on  some  (  e- 
sert  kev  or  island,  to  shift  for  himselt  as  he  could. 
The  owners  of  the  vessel  had  then  their  share  as- 
signed for  the  expenses  of  the  outfit.  These  were 
ge'nerally  old  pirates,  settled  at  Tobago,  Jamaica, 
St.  Domingo,  or  some  other  French  and  English 
settlement.  The  surgeon's  and  carpenter's  sala- 
ries with  the  price  of  provisions  and  ammunition, 
were  also  defrayed.  Then  followed  the  compen- 
sation due  to  the  maimed  and  wounded,  rated  ac- 
cording to  the  damage  they  had  sustained;  as  six 
hundred  pieces  of  eight,  or  six  slaves,  for  the  loss 
of  an  arm  or  leg,  and  so  in  proportion. 

"  After  this  act  of  justice  and  humanity,  the  re- 
mainder of  the  booty  was  divided  into  as  many 
shares  as  there  were  buccaneers.  The  commander 
could  only  lay  claim  to  a  single  share,  as  the  rest: 
but  they  complimented  him  with  two  or  three,  in 
proportion  as  he  had  acquitted  himself  to  then- 
satisfaction.  When  the  vessel  was  not  the  property 
of  the  whole  company,  the  person  who  had  fitted 
it  out,  and  furnished  'it  with  necessary  arms  and 
ammunition,  was  entitled  to  a  third  of  all  the 
prizes.  Favour  had  never  any  influence  in  the  di- 
vision of  the  booty;  for  eveiy  share  was  determined 
by  lot.  Instances  of  such  rigid  justice  as  this  are 
not  easily  met  with,  and  they  extended  even  to 
the  dead.  Their  share  was  given  to  the  man  who 
■was  known  to  be  their  companion  when  alive,  and 
therefore  their  heir.  If  the  person  who  had  been 
killed  had  no  intimate,  his  part  was  sent  to  his 
relations,  when  they  were  known.  If  there  were 
no  friends  nor  relations,  it  was  distributed  in  cha- 
rity to  the  poor  and  to  churches,  which  were  to 
pray  for  the  person  in  whose  name  these  benefac- 
tions were  given,  the  fruits  of  inhuman  but  neces- 
sary piratical  plunders." — RaijnaVis  History  of  Eu- 
ropean Settlements  in  the  East  and  fVest  Indies, 
by  Justamond,  Load.  1776,  8vo.  iii,  p.  41. 

•    NOTES  TO  CANTO  II. 

1    . the  course  of  Tecs.— P.  195. 


The  view  from  Barnard  castle  commands  the 
rich  and  magnificent  valley  of  Tees.  Immediately 
adjacent  to  the  river,  the  banks  are  very  thickly 
wooded;  at  a  little  distance  they  are  more  open 
and  cultivated;  but  being  interspersed  with  hedge- 
rows, and  with  isolated  trees  of  great  size  and  age, 
they  still  retain  the  richness  of  woodland  scenery. 
The  river  itself  flows  in  a  deep  trench  of  solid 
rock,  chiefly  limestone  and  marble.  The  finest 
view  of  its  romantic  course  is  from  a  handsome 
modern  bridge  built  over  the  Tees,  by  the  late 
Mr.  Morritt  of  Rokeby.  In  Leland's  time  the  mar- 
ble quarries  seem  to  have  been  of  some  value. 
"  Hard  under  the  clift'  by  Egleston,  is  found  on 
eche  side  of  Tese  very  fair  marble,  wont  to  be 
taken  up  booth  by  marbelers  of  Barnaides  castelle 
and  of  Egleston,  and  partly  to  have  been  wrought 
by  them,  and  partly  sold  unwrought  to  others." — 
Itinerary,  Oxford,  17G8,  8vo.  p.  88. 

2.  — EgU3tone"9  jjray  ruins.— P.  195. 

The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory,  for  Turner 


calls  it  the  former  and  Iceland  the  latter,  are  beau- 
tifully situated  upon  the  angle,  formed  by  a  little 
dell  called  Thorsgill,  at  its  junction  with  the  Tees. 
A  good  part  of  the  religious  house  is  still  in  some 
degree  habitable,  but  the  church  is  in  ruins.  Eg- 
listone  was  dedicated  to  St.  Mary  and  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been  founded 
by  Ralph  de  Multon  about  the  end  of  Henrj-  the 
second's  reign.  There  were  formerly  the  tombs  of 
the  families  of  Rokebys,  Bowes,  and  Fitzhughs. 

3. ■  thi'  mound 

Kaisfd  by  that  It-pion  lung;  renowned^ 
Whose  votive  shrine  asseits  their  clann. 
Of  pious,  faithful,  counuering  fame.— P.  197. 
Close  behind  the  Geqrge  inn  at  Greta-bridge, 
there   is   a  well-preserved   Roman  encampment, 
surrounded  witli  a  triple  ditch,  lying  between  the 
river  Greta  and  a  brook   called  the  Tulta.     The 
four  entrances  are  easily  to  be  discerned.    Very 
many   Roman  altars  and   monuments  have    been 
found  in  the  vicinity,  most  of  which  are  preserved 
at  Kokeby  by   my  friend   Mr.   Morritt.     Among 
others  is  a  small  votive  altar,  with  tlie  inscription 
LEG.  VI.  VIC.  p.  r.  V.  which  has  been  rendered  Le- 
gio.  Sexta.  Victrix.  Fiii.  Fortis.  Fidclis. 

4.  Rokeby's  turrets  high.— P.  197. 

This  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a  family 
by  whom  it  is  said  to  have  been  possessed  from 
the  conquest  downward,  and  who  are  at  difterent 
times  distinguished  in  history.  It  was  the  baron 
of  Kokebvvvho  finally  defeated  the  insurrection  of 
the  earl  of  Northumberland,  tempore  Hen.  IV,  of 
which  HoUinshed  gives  tlie  following  account: 

"The  king,  advertised  hereof,  caused  a  great 
armie  to  be  assembled,  and  came  forward  with  the 
same  towards  his  enemies;  but  yer  the  king  came 
to  Nottingham,  sir  Thomas  (or,  as  other  copies 
haue)  sir  Rate  Rokesbie,  shiritf  of  Yorkeshire, 
assembled  tlie  forces  of  the  countrie  to  resist  the 
earlc  and  his  power;  comming  to  Grimbauthbngs, 
beside  Knaresborough,  there  to  stop  them  the  pas- 
sage; but  they  returning  aside  got  to  Weatherbie, 
and  so  to  Tadcaster,  and  finally  came  forward  unto 
Bramham  moor,  near  to  Haiz'elwood,  where  they 
cliose  their  ground  meet  to  fight  upon.  The  shi- 
rifte  was  as  readie  to  giue  battell  as  the  erle  to 
receiue  it;  and  so  with  a  standard  of  St.  George 
spread,  set  fiercelie  vpon  the  earle,  who,  vnder  a 
standard  of  his  owne  armes,  encountered  liis  ad- 
nersaries  w  lib  great  manhood.  There  was  a  sore 
incounter  and  cruell  conflict  betwixt  the  parties; 
but  in  the  end  the  victorie  fell  to  the  shiriff'e.  The 
lord  Bardolfe  was  taken,  but  sore  wounded,  so 
that  he  shortlie  after  died  of  the  hurts.  As  for  tlie 
earle  of  Northumberland,  he  was  slain  outright; 
so  tliat  now  the  prophecy  was  fulfiled,  which  gaue 
an  inkling  of  this  his  heauy  hap  long  before,  name- 

'  Stirps  Persitina  peiiet  confusa  ruina. 
For  this  earle  w  as  the  stocke  and  maine  root  of 
all  that  were  left  aliue,  called  by  the  name  of  I'er- 
sie;  and  of  manie  more  by  diuers  slaughters  dis- 
patched. For  whose  misfortune  the  people  were 
not  a  little  sorrie,  making  report  of  the  genllernan's 
valiantnesse,  renowne,  and  honour,  and  applieing 
vnto  him  certeiue  lamentable  verses  out  ol  Lu- 
caine,  saieing 


'  Sed  iios  ntc  sanguis,  nee  tautum  vulnera  nostri 
AftV-c^re  seiiis,  quantum  gestata  per  urbem 
Ora  duels,  qua;  traiisfixo  dtlbrmia  pilo 
Vidimus.' 
For  his  head,  fuUof  siluer  horie  haires,  being  put 
upon  a  stake,  wasopenlie  carried  through  London, 


ROKEBY. 


233 


and  set  vpon  the  bridge  of  the  same  citie:  in  like 
manner  was  the  lord  Bardolfe's." — Holllnshed's 
Chronicles,  Lond.  1808,  4to.  iii,  45. 

The  Rokebj',  or  Rokesby,  family  continued  to 
be  distinguished  until  the  great  civil  war,  when, 
having  embraced  the  cause  of  Charles  I,  they  suf- 
fered severely  b}"  fines  and  confiscations.  The  es- 
tate then  passed  from  its  ancient  possessors 'to  the 
family  of  the  Robinsons,  from  whom  it  was  pur- 
chased by  the  father  of  my  valued  friend,  the  pre- 
sent proprietor. 

5.  A  stem  and  lone,  yet  lovely  road, 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  minstrel  trode!— P.  197. 

^A'hat  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the  ro- 
mantic glen,  or  rather  ravine,  through  which  the 
Greta  finds  a  passage  between  Rokeby  and  Mor- 
thara,  the  former  situated  upon  the  left  bank  of 
Greta,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank,  about  half  a 
mile  nearer  to  its  junction  with  the  Tees.    The 


of  gentilisme,  to  sell  winds  to  merctiants  that  were 
stopped  on  their  coasts  by  contrary  weather;  and 
when  they  had  their  price,  they  knit  three  magi- 
cal knots,  not,  like  to  the  laws  of  Cassius,  bound  up 
with  a  thong,  and  they  gave  them  vnto  the  mer- 
chants; observing  that  rule,  that  when  they  un- 
loosed the  first  tliey  should  have  a  good  gale  of 
wind,  when  the  second  a  stronger  wind,  but  when 
they  untied  the  third  they  should  have  such  cruel 
tempests  that  they  should  not  be  able  to  look  out 
of  the  forecastle  to  avoid  the  rocks,  nor  move  a  foot 
to  pull  down  the  sails,  nor  stand  at  the  helm  to 
govern  the  ship;  and  thcj'  made  an  unhappy  trial 
of  the  truth  of  it,  who  denied  that  there  was  any 
such  powerin  those  knots." — OlaiM  J^lag-nus^s  his- 
torti  of  the  Goths,  Swedes,  and  Vandals,  Lond. 
1658, Yol.  p.  47. 

7.  How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar. — P.  193. 
That  this  is  a  general  superstition  is  well  known 
river  runs  with  very  great  rapidity  over  a  bed  ofj  to  »•!  '^^''o  have  been  on  ship-board,  or  who  have 


solid  rock,  broken  by  many  shelving  descents, 
down  which  the  stream  dashes  with  great  noise 
and  impetuosity,  vindicating  its  etymology,  which 
ha«  been  derived  from  the  Gothic,  Gridan,  to  cla- 
mour. The  banks  partake  of  the  same  wild  and 
romantic  character,  being  chiefly  lofty  cliffs  of 
limestone  rock,  whose  gray  colour  contrasts  ad- 
mirably with  the  various  trees  and  shrubs  which 
find  root  among  tlieir  crevices,  as  well  as  with  the 
hue  of  the  ivv",  which  clings  around  them  in  pro- 
fusion, and  hangs  down  from  their  projections  in 
long  sweeping  tendrils.  At  other  points  the  rocks 
give  place  to  precipitous  banks  of  earth,  bearing 
large  trees  intermixed  with  copse-wood.  In  one 
spot  the  dell,  which  is  elsewhere  very  narrow, 
widens  for  a  space  to  leave  room  for  a  dark  grove 
of  yew-trees,  intermixed  here  and  there  with  aged 
pines  of  uncommon  size.  Directly  opposite  to  this 
sombre  thicket,  the  cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Greta  are  tall,  white,  and  fringed  with  all  kinds  of 
deciduous  shrubs.  The  whole  scenery  of  this  spot 
is  so  much  adapted  to  the  ideas  of  sui)erstition, 
that  it  has  acquired  the  name  of  Blockula,  fram 
the  place  where  the  Swedish  witches  were  supposed 
to  hold  their  sabbath.  The  dell,  however,  has 
superstitions  of  its  own  growth,  for  it  is  supposed 
to  be  haunted  by  a  female  spectre,  called  the  do- 
bie  of  Mortham.  The  cause  assigned  for  her  ap- 
pearance is  alad3''s  having  been  whilom  murdered 
in  the  wood,  in  evidence  of  whicli  her  blood  is 
shown  upon  the  stairs  of  the  old  tower  of  Mortham 


conversed  with  seamen.  The  most  foimidable 
whistler  that  I  remember  to  have  met  with  was 
the  apparition  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Leaky,  who,  about 
1636,  resided,  we  are  told,  at  ^Nlynehead,  in  So- 
merset, where  her  only  son  drove  a  considerable 
trade  between  that  port  and  Waterford,  and  was 
owner  of  sevei-al  vessels.  This  old  gentlewoman 
Avas  of  a  social  disposition,  and  so  acceptable  to 
her  friends,  that  they  used  to  say  to  her  and  to 
each  other,  it  were  pity  such  an  excellent  good- 
natured  old  lad_v  should  die;  to  which  she  was  wont 
to  reply,  that  whatever  pleasure  they  might  find 
in  her  company  just  now,  they  would  not  greatlv 
like  to  see  or  converse  with  her  after  death,  which 
nevertheless  she  was  apt  to  think  might  happen. 
Accordingly,  after  her  death  and  funeral,  she  be- 
gan to  appear  to  various  persons  by  night  and  by 
noonday,  in  her  own  house,  in  the  town  and 
fields,  at  sea  and  upon  shore.  So  i-xc  had  she  de- 
parted from  her  former  urbanity,  that  she  is  re- 
corded to  have  kicked  a  doctor  of  medicine  for 
his  impolite  negligence  in  omitting  to  hand  her 
over  a  style.  It  was  also  her  humour  to  appear 
upon  the  quay,  and  call  for  a  boat.  But  especially 
so  soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached  the 
harbour,  "this  ghost  would  appear  in  the  same 
garb  and  likeness  as  when  she  was  alive,  and,  stand- 
ing at  the  mainmast,  would  blow  with  a  whistle, 
and  though  it  were  never  so  great  a  calm,  vet  im- 
mediately there  would  arise  a  most  dreadful  storm, 
that  would   break,    wreck,   and   drown   ship  and 


But  whe"ther  she  was  slain  by  a  jealous  husband,  goods."  When  she  had  thus  proceeded  until  her 
or  bv  savage  banditti,  or  by  an  uncle  who  coveted  so"  had  neither  credit  to  freight  a  vessel,  nor  could 
her  estate,  or  bv  a  rejected  lover,  are  points  upon   ''=i^'e  procured  men  to  sail  it,-  she  began  to  attack 


which  the  traditions  of  Rokeby  do  not  enable  us 
to  decide. 

6.  AVhat  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore.— P.  193. 

"  Also  1  shall  show  very  briefly  what  force  con- 
jurers and  witches  have  in  constraining  the  ele- 
ments enchanted  by  them  or  others,  that  they  may 
exceed  or  fall  short  of  their  natural  order:  premis- 
ing this,  that  the  extream  land  of  North  Finland 
and  Lapland  was  so  taught  witchcraft  formerly  in 
heathenish  limes,  as  if  they  had  learned  this  curs- 
ed art  from  Zoroastrcs  the  Persian;  though  other 
inhabitants  by  the  sca-eoasts  are  reported  to  be 
bewitched  with  the  same  madness:  for  they  exer- 
cise this  devilish  art,  of  all  the  arts  of  the  world, 
to  admiration;  and  in  this,  or  other  such  like 
mischief,  they  commonly  agree.  The  Finlanders 
were  wont  formerly,  amongst  their  other  errors 


the  persons  of  his  family,  and  actually  strangled 
their  only  child  in  the  cradle.  The  rest  of  the  story, 
showing  how  the  spectre  looked  over  the  shoulder 
of  her  daughter-in-law  while  dressing  her  hair  at 
a  looking-glass;  and  how  Mrs.  Leaky  the  younger 
took  courage  to  address  her;  and  how  the  beldam 
despatclied  her  to  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for  his 
crimes  and  misfortunes,  to  exliort  him  to  repent- 
ance, and  to  apprize  him  that  otherwise  he  would 
be  hanged:  and  how  the  bishop  was  satisfied  with 
replying,  th.at  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  he 
should  not  be  drowned: — all  these,  with  many 
more  particulars,  may  be  found  .at  the  end  of  one 
of  John  Dunton's  publications,  called  Athcnianism, 
London,  1710,  where  the  tale  is  engrossed  under 
the  title  of  the  Apparition  Evidence. 

8.  Of  Brick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light.— P.  19& 
"  Thi.s  Ericus,  king  of  Sweden,  in  his  time  was 


234 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


held  second  to  none  in  the  magical  art:  and  he 
was  so  familiar  with  the  evil  spirits,  whicii  he  ex- 
ceedingly adored, that  which  way  soever  he  turned 
his  c:H),  the  wind  would  j)resciitly  blow  that  way. 
From  this  occasion  he  was  called  Windy  Cap; 
and  many  men  believed  that  Kegnerus,  king  ol" 
Denmark,  by  the  conduct  olihis  Ericus,  who  was 
his  nephew,  did  hapi)ily  extend  his  piracy  into 
the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and  conquered 
many  countries  and  fenced  cities  by  his  cunning, 
and  at  last  was  his  coadjutor;  that  by  the  consent 
of  the  nobles,  he  should  be  chosen  king  of  Sweden, 
which  continued  a  long  time  with  him  very  hap- 
pily, until  he  died  of  old  age." — Olaus,  ut  siipra, 
p.  45. 

9. The  demon-fi-igate.— p.  198. 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical  su- 
perstition concerning  a  fantastic  vessel,  called  by 
sailors  the  Flying  Ouiciiman,  and  supposed  to 
be  seen  about  the  latitude  of  the  Cape  of  (iood 
Hope.  She  is  distinguished  from  earthly  vessels 
by  bearing  a  press  of  sail  when  all  others  are  una- 
ble, from  stress  of  weather,  to  show  an  inch  of 
canvass.  The  cause  of  her  wandering  is  not  alto- 
gether certain;  but  the  general  account  is,  that  she 
was  originally  a  vessel  loaded  with  great  wealth, 
on  board  of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder  and 
piracy  had  been  committed;  that  the  plague  broke 
out  among  the  wicked  crew  who  had  perpetrated 
the  crime,  and  that  they  sailed  in  vain  from  port 
to  port,  offering,  as  the  price  of  shelter,  the  whole 
of  their  ill-gotten  wealth;  that  they  were  excluded 
from  every  harbour,  for  fear  of  the  contagion  which 
was  devouring  them,  and  that,  as  a  punishment  of 
their  crimes, the  apparition  ofthe  ship  still  continues 
to  haunt  those  seas  in  which  the  catastrophe  took 
place,  and  is  considered  by  the  mariners  as  the 
worst  of  all  possible  omens. 

My  late  lamented  friend.  Dr.  John  Leyden,  has 
introduced  this  phenomemon  into  his  Scenes  of 
Infancy,  imputing,  with  poetical  ingenuity,  the 
dreadful  judgment  to  the  first  ship  which  com- 
menced the  slave  trade: 

"  Stout  was  the  ship,  from  Benin's  palmy  shore 
That  first  the  freight  of  bartered  captives  bore; 
Bediramed  with  blood,  the  sun  with  shrinking  beams 
Beheld  her  bounding  o'er  tlie  ocean  streams; 
Butj  ere  the  moon  her  silver  horns  had  reared, 
Amid  the  crew  the  speckled  plague  appeared. 
Faint  and  despairing  on  their  watery  bier, 
To  every  friendly  shore  the  sailors  steer; 
Repelled  from  port  to  port,  they  sue  in  vain, 
And  track  with  slow  unsteady  sail  the  main. 
Where  ne'er  the  bright  and  buoyant  wave  is  seen 
To  streak  with  wandering  foam'the  sea-weeds  green. 
Towers  the  tall  mast  a  lone  and  leafless  ti'ee, 
Still  self-impelled  amid  the  waveless  sea. 
Where  summer  breezes  ne'er  were  heard  to  sing. 
Nor  hovering  snow-birds  spread  the  downy  wing. 
Fixed  as  a  rock  amid  the  boundless  plain. 
The  yellow  stream  pollutes  the  stagnant  main. 
Till  far  through  niglil  the  funeral  rlamirs  aspire. 
As  the  red  lightning  smites  the  ghastly  pyre. 

Still  doomed  by  fate  on  weltering  billows  rolled, 
Along  tlie  deep  their  restless  course  to  hold. 
Scenting  the  storm,  the  shadowy  sailors  guide 
The  prow  with  sails  opposed  to  wind  and  tide, 
The  spectre  ship,  in  livid  glimpsing  lig!it. 
Glares  baleful  on  the  shuddering  watch  at  night, 
Unblest  of  God  and  maul— Till  lime  shall  end. 
Its  view  strange  horror  to  the  storm  shall  lend." 

10. by  some  desert  isle  or  key.— P.  198. 

What  contributed  much  to  the  sectn-ity  of  the 
buccaneers,  about  the  Windward  Islands,  was  the 
great  number  of  little  islets,  called  in  that  country 
Keys.  These  are  small  sandy  patches,  appearing 
just  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  covered  only 


with  a  few  bushes  and  weeds,  but  sometimes  af- 
fording springs  of  water,  and  in  general  much  fre- 
quented by  turtle.  Such  little  uninhabited  spots 
afford  the  pirates  good  harbours,  eillier  tor  refit- 
ting or  for  the  purpose  of  ambush;  they  were  oc- 
casionally the  hiding-place  of  their  treasure,  and 
often  ijfforded  a  shelter  to  themselves.  As  many  of 
the  atrocities  which  they  practised  on  their  prison- 
ers were  committed  in  sucli  spots,  there  are  some 
of  these  keys  which  even  now  have  an  imlifferent 
reputation  among  seamen,  and  where  they  are  with 
difficulty  prevailed  on  to  remain  ashore  at  night, 
on  account  of  the  visionary  terrors  incident  to 
places  which  have  been  thus  contaminated. 
11.  Ikfore  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.— P.  199. 

The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  Leland  terms 
"  Mr.  Rokesby's  place,  in  ripacUer,  scant  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  from  Greta  bri<lge,  and  not  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,"  is  a  picturesque 
tower,  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different  ages, 
now  converted  into  a  farm-house  and  offices.  The 
battlements  of  the  tower  itself  are  singularly  ele- 
gant, the  architect  having  broken  them  at  regular 
intervals  into  different  heights;  while  those  at  the 
corners  ofthe  tower  project  into  octangular  tur- 
rets. 1  hey  are  also  trom  space  to  space  covered 
with  stones  laid  across  them,  as  in  modern  embra- 
sures, the  whole  forming  an  uncommon  and  beau- 
tiful effect.  The  surrounding  buildings  are  of  a 
less  happy  form,  being  pointed  into  high  and  steep 
roofs.  A  wall,  with  embrasures,  incloses  the 
southern  front,  where  a  low  portal  arch  affords  an 
entry  to  what  was  the  castle  court.  At  some  dis- 
tance is  most  happily  place<l,  between  the  stems 
of  two  magnificent  elms,  the  monument  alluded  to 
in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have  been  brought  from 
the  ruins  of  Eglistone  priory,  and,  from  the  ar- 
moury with  which  it  is  richly  carved,  appears  to 
have  been  a  tomb  ofthe  Fitz-Hughs. 

The  situation  of  Mortham  is  eminently  beauti- 
ful, occupying  a  high  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  which 
the  Greta  winds  out  of  the  dark,  narrow,  and' ro- 
mantic dell,  which  the  text  has  attempted  to  de- 
scribe, and  flows  onward  through  a  more  open 
valley  to  meet  the  Tees,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  castle.  Mortham  is  surrounded  by  old 
trees,  happily  and  widely  grouped  with  Mr.  Mor- 
ritt's  new  plantations. 

12.  There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap, 

And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep. — P.  199. 

If  time  did  not  perinit  tlie  buccaneers  to  larish 
away  their  plunder  in  their  usual  debaucheries, 
they  were  wont  to  hide  it,  with  many  superstitious 
solemnities,  in  the  desert  islands  and  keys  which 
they  frequented,  and  where  much  treasure,  whose 
lawless  owners  perished  without  reclaiming  it,  is 
still  supposed  to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of 
mankind  are  often  the  most  superstitious,  and 
these  pirates  are  said  to  have  had  recourse  to  a 
horrid  ritual  in  order  to  secure  an  unearthly  guar- 
dian to  their  treasures.  They  killed  a  negro  or 
Spaniard, and  buried  him  with  the  treasure,  believ- 
ing that  his  spirit  would  haunt  the  spot,  and  terrify 
away  all  intruders.  I  cannot  produce  any  other 
authority  on  which  this  custom  is  ascribed  to  them 
than  that  of  maritime  tradition,  which  is,  however, 
amply  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  poetry. 

13.  The  power 

That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise.— P.  199. 

All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administration 
of  criminal  justice  must  remember  many  occa- 


ROKEBY. 


235 


sions  in  which  malefactors  appear  to  have  conduct- 
ed themselves  with  a  species  of  infatuation,  either 
by  making  unnecessary  confidences  respecting 
their  guilt,  or  by  sudden  and  involuntary  allusions 
to  circumstances  by  which  it  could  not  fail  to  be 
exposed.  A  remarkable  instance  occurred  in  the 
celebrated  case  of  Eugene  Aram.  A  skeleton  be- 
ing found  near  Knaresborough,  was  supposed,  by 
the  persons  who  gathered  around  the  spot,  to  be 
the  remains  of  one  Clarke,  who. had  disappeared 
some  years  before,  under  circumstances  leading 
to  a  suspicion  of  liis  having  been  murdered.  One 
Houseman,  who  had  mingled  in  the  crowd,  sud- 
denly said,  while  looking  at  the  skeleton,  and  hear- 
ing the  opinion  which  was  buzzed  around,  "That 
is  no  more  Dan  Clarke's  hone  than  it  is  mine!"^ 
a  sentiment  expressed  so  positively,  and  with  such 
peculiarity  of  manner,  as  to  lead  all  who  heard 
him  to  infer  that  he  must  necessarily  know  where 
the  real  body  had  been  inteiTed.  Accordingly, 
being  apprehended,  he  confessed  having  assisted 
Eugene  Aram  to  murder  Clarke,  and  to  hide  his 
bod}'  in -saint  Robert's  cave.  It  happened  to  the 
author  himself,  while  conversing  with  a  person 
accused  of  an  atrocious  crime,  for  the  purpose  of 
rendering  him  professional  assistance  upon  his 
trial,  to  liear  the  prisoner,  after  the  most  solemn 
and  reiterated  protestations  that  he  was  guiltless, 
suddenly,  and,  as  it  were,  involuntarily,  in  the 
course  of  his  communications,  make  such  an  ad- 
mission as  was  altogether  incompatible  with  inno- 
cence. 

14. Brackenbury's  dismal  tower.— P.  201. 

This  tower  has  been  already  mentioned:  it  is 
situated  near  the  north-eastern  extremity  of  the 
wall  which  incloses  Barnard  castle,  and  is  tradi- 
tionally said  to  have  been  the  prison.  By  an  odd 
coincidence  it  bears  a  name  which  we  naturall}- 
connect  with  imprisonment,  from  its  being  that  of 
sir  Robert  Brackenbury,  lieutenant  of  the  tower 
of  London,  under  Edward  IV  and  Richard  III. 

15.  Xobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 


Right  heav)-  shall  his  ransom  be. 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee;— P.  201. 
After  the  battle  of  Marston  moor,  the  earl  of 
Newcastle  retired  beyond  sea  in  disgust,  and  many 
of  his  followers  laid  down-  their  arras,  and  made 
the  best  composition  they  could  with  the  commit- 
tees of  parliament.  Fines  were  imposed  upon  them 
in  proportion  to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  de- 
linquency, and  these  fines  were  often  bestowed 
upon  such  persons  as  had  deserved  weil  of  the 
commons.  In  some  circumstances  it  happened  that 
the  oppressed  cavaliers  were  fain  to  form  family 
alliances  with  some  powerful  person  among  the 
triumphant  party.  Tlie  whole  of  sir  Robert  How- 
ard's excellent  comedy  of  the  Committee  turns 
upon  the  plot  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Day  to  enrich  their 
family,  by  compelling  Arabella,  whose  estate  was 
under  sequestration,  to  marry  their  son  Abel,  as 
tlie  price  by  which  she  was  to  compound  with  par- 
liament for  delinquency;  tiiat  is,  for  attachment  to 
the  roval  cause. 


XOTES  TO  CANTO  III. 
1.  The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey. 

Who  heai-s  the  settlers  track  his  way. — P.  201. 
The  patience,  abstinence,  and  ingenuity  exerted 
bv  the  North  American  Indians,  when  in  pursuit 
-3f  plunder  or  vengeance,  is  the  most  distinguished 


feature  in  their  character;  and  the  activity  and  ad- 
dress which  they  tlisplay  in  their  retreat  is  equal- 
ly surprising.  Adair,  whose  absurd  hypothesis 
and  turgid  style  do  not  afl'ect  the  genersJ  authen- 
ticity of  his  anecdotes,  has  recorded  an  instance 
which  seems  inci-edible. 

"  When  the  Chickasah  nation  was  engaged  in  a 
former  war  with  the  Muskohge,  one  of  their  young 
warriors  set  off  against  them  to  revenge  the  blood 
ot  a  near  relation. — He  went  through  the  most  un- 
frequented and  thick  parts  of  the  woods,  as  such 
a  dangerous  enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived 
opposite  to  the  great  and  old  beloved  town  of  re- 
fuge, lvoos:ih,  which  stands  high  on  the  eastern 
side  of  a  bold  river,  about  250  yards  broad,  that 
runs  by  the  late  dangerous  Alebahma-fort,  down 
to  the  black  poisoning  Mohille,  and  so  into  the 
gulf  of  Mexico.  There  he  concealed  himself  under 
cover  of  the  top  of  a  fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  ot 
the  ford  of  the  old  trading  path,  where  the  enemy 
now  and  then  pass  the  river  in  their  light  poplar 
canoes.  All  his  war  store  of  provisions  consisted 
in  three  stands  of  barbicued  venison,  till  he  had 
an  opportunity  to  revenge  blood,  and  return  home. 
He  waited  with  watchfulness  and  patience  almost 
three  days,  when  a  young  man,  a  woman,  and  a 
girl,  passed  a  little  wide  of  him  about  an  hour  be- 
fore sunset.  The  former  he  shot  down,  tomahawk- 
ed the  other  two,  and  scalped  each  of  them  in  a 
trice,  in  full  view  of  the  town.  By  way  of  bravado, 
he  shaked  the  scalps  before  them,  sounded  the 
awful  death-whoop,  and  set  off  along  the  trading 
path,  trusting  to  his  heels,  while  a  great  many  of 
the  enemy  ran  to  their  arms,  and  gave  chase.  Se- 
ven miles  from  thence  he  entei-ed  the  great  blue 
ridge  of  the  Apalahche  mountains.  About  an  hour 
before  day  he  had  run  over  seventy  miles  of  that 
mountainous  tract;  then,  after  sleeping  two  hours 
in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning  his  back  against  a  tree, 
lie  set  off  again  with  fresh  speed.  As  he  threw 
away  the  venison  MJien  he  found  himself  pursued 
by  the  enemy,  he  was  obliged  to  support  nature 
with  such  herbs,  roots,  and  nuts,  as  his  sharp  eyes, 
with  a  running  glance,  directed  him  to  snatch  up 
in  his  course.  Though  I  often  have  rode  that  war- 
path alone,  when  delay  might  have  proved  dan- 
gerous, and  with  as  fine  and  strong  horses  as  any 
in  America,  it  took  me  five  days  to  ride  from  the 
aforesaid  Koosaii  to  this  sprightly  wari'ior's  place 
in  the  Chickasah  country,  the  distance  of  300  com- 
puted miles;  yet  he  ran  it,  anrl  got  home  safe  and 
well  at  about  eleven  o'clock  of  the  third  day,  which 
was  only  one  day  and  a  half  and  two  nights."— 
.icAwr's  History  of  the  Ammcan  Indians,  Lend. 
\775,  4to.  p.  395. 

2.  In  Redesda'e  his  yonth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared. — P.  201. 
"  What  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are  that 
inhabit  these  valleys  in  the  marches  of  both  king- 
doms, John  Lesley,  a  Scotchman  himself,  and 
bishop  of  Ross,  will  inform  you.  They  sally  out 
of  their  own  borders  in  the  night,  in  troops,  through 
unfrequented  by-ways  and  many  intricate  wind- 
ings; all  the  day-time  they  refresh  themselves  and 
their  horses  in  lurking  holes  they  had  pitched  upon 
before,  till  they  arrive  in  the  dark  in  those  places 
they  have  a  design  upon.  As  .soon  as  they  have 
seized  upon  the  "booty,  they  in  like  manner  return 
home  in  the  night,  through  blind  ways,  and  fetch- 
ing many  a  compass.  The  more  skilful  any  cap- 
tain is  to  pass  through  those  wild  deserts,  crooked 
turnings,  and  deep  precipices  in  the  thickest  mists 


236 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


his  reputation  is  the  tjrenter,  and  he  is  lookeil  upon 
ns  a  man  of  an  i-xcelleiit  head.  And  they  are  so 
very  cunninp;  that  they  seldom  have  their  hooty 
taken  IVoni  them,  unless  sometimes  wlien,  by  the 
help  nfhlciod-hounds  follow  iii|;-  them  exactly  upon 
the  track,  they  may  chance  to  fall  into  the  hands 
of  their  adversaries;  -w  hen,  being  taken,  they  have 
so  much  persuasive  elotiuence,  and  so  many  smooth 
insinuating  words  at  command,  that  if  they  do  not 
move  their  judges,  nay,  and  even  their  adversa- 
ries,(notwithsta'ndingthe  severity  of  their  natures,) 
to  have  mercy,  yet  they  incite  tliem  to  admiration 
and  comiiassion." — Camden's  Britannia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  vallies  of  lyne  and  Heed 
were,  in  ancient  times,  so  inor<linatcly  addicte<l 
to  tiiese  depredations,  tliat  in  1564  the  incorporated 
merchant-adventurers  of  Newcastle  made  a  law 
that  none  born  in  tliese  districts  should  be  admit- 
ted apprentice.  The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be 
so  generally  addicted  to  ra])ine,  that  no  faith  should 
be  reposed  in  those  prnceeding  from  "  such  lewde 
and  wicked  progenitors."  This  regulation  con- 
tinued to  stand  unrepeale<l  until  17"!.  A  beggar, 
in  an  old  play,  describes  himself  as  "  born  in 
Redesdale,  in'  XorthumberlaTid,  and  come  of  a 
wight-riding  surname,  called  the  Uobsons,  good 
honest  men  and  true,  save  a  little  shifting  for 
their  living,  God  help  thivn;"—:i  description  which 
would  have  apiilied  to  most  borderers  on  both  sides. 

Reidswair,  famed  for  a  skirmish  to  wliich  it  gives 
name,  is  on  the  very  edge  of  the  Carter-fell,  which 
divides  England  from  Scotland.  The  Uooken  is  a 
place  upon  Reedwater.  Bertram,  being  described 
as  a  native  of  tliese  dales,  where  tlie  habits  of  hos- 
tile depredation  long  survived  the  union  of  the 
crowns,  may  have  been,  in  some  degree,  pre])ared 
by  education  for  the  exercise  of  a  similar  trade  in 
the  wars  of  the  buccaneers. 

3.  Hidinff  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 

Tlie  sjiarkle  of  liis  swarthy  eye.— P.  202. 

After  one  of  the  recent  battles,  in  which  the 
Irish  rebels  were  defeated,  one  of  the  most  active 
leaders  was  foimd  in  a  bog,  in  which  he  was  im- 
mersed up  to  the  shoulders,  while  his  head  was 
concealed  by  an  impending  ledge  of  turf-  Being 
detected  and  seized,  notwithstanding  his  precau- 
tion, he  became  solicitous  to  know  how  his  retreat 
had  been  discovered.  "I  caught,"  answered  the 
Sutherland  higlilander,  by  whom  he  was  taken, 
"  the  sparkle  of  your  eye."  Those  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  mark  hares  tipon  their  form,  usually  dis- 
cover them  by  the  same  circiunstance. 

4.  And  throatwoi-t  with  its  azure  bell.— P.  202. 
The  CAMPANULA  LATiFOLiA,  gmiul  thvoutxvort, 

or  Canterbury  be'ls,  grows  in  profusion  upon  the 
beautiful  banks  of  the  river  Greta,  where  it  divides 
the  manors  of  Brignal  and  Scargill,  about  three 
miles  above  Greta-bridge. 

5.  Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge! — P.  202. 

It  is  agreed  by  all  the  writers  upon  magic  and 
witchcraft,  that  revenge  was  the  most  common 
motive  for  the  pretended  compact  between  Satan 
and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity  of  Reginald  Scot, 
has  very  happily  stated  how  such  an  opinion  came 
to  root  itself,  not  only  in  the  miiul  of  the  public 
and  of  the  judges,  but  even  in  that  of  the  poor 
wretches  themselves  who  were  accused  of  sorcery, 
and  were  often  firm  believers  in  theif  own  power 
and  their  own  guilt. 

"  One  sort  of  such  as  are  said  to  be  witches,  are 


women  which  be  commonly  old,  lame,  blear-eyed, 
pale,  foul,  and  full  of  wrinkles;  poor,  sullen,  su- 
perstitious, or  papists,  or  such  as  know  no  religion; 
in  whose  drowsie  minds  the  devil  hath  gotten  a 
fine  seat;  so  as  what  mischief,  mischance,  calamity, 
or  slaughter  is  brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily 
perswaded  the  same  is  done  by  themselves,  im- 
printing in  their  minds  an  earnest  and  constant 

imagination  thereof These  go  from  house 

to  house,  and  from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  ot  milk, 
yest,  drink,  pottage,  or  some  such  relief,  without 
the  which  tliey  could  hardly  live;  neither  obtain- 
ing for  their  services  or  pains,  nor  yet  by  their 
art,  nor  yet  at  the  devil's  hands  (with  whom  they 
are  said  to  make  a  perfect  and  visible  bargain,) 
either  beauty,  money,  promotion,  wealth,  pleasun;, 
honour,  knowledge,  learning,  or  any  other  benefit 
whatsoever. 

"  It  falleth  out  many  time,  that  neither  their 
necessities  nor  their  expectation  is  answered  or 
served  in  those  places  where  they  beg  or  borrow, 
but  rather  their  lewdness  is  by  their  neighbours 
reproved.  And  farther,  in  tract  of  time,  the  witch 
waxetli  odious  and  tedious  to  her  neighbours,  and 
they  again  are  despised  and  despited  of  her;  so  as 
sometimes  she  curseth  one,  and  sometimes  an- 
other, and  that  from  the  master  of  the  house,  his 
wife,  children,  cattle,  &c.,  to  the  little  pig  that 
lieth  in  the  stie.  Thus,  in  process  of  time,  they 
have  all  displeased  her,  and  she  hath  wished  evil 
luck  unto  them  all;  i)erhaps  with  curses  and  im- 
precations made  in  form.  Doubtless  (at  length) 
some  of  her  neigiibours  die  or  fall  sick,  or  some 
of  their  children  are  visited  with  diseases  that  vex 
them  strangely,  as  apoplexies,  epilepsies,  convul- 
sions, hot  fevers,  worms,  kc.  wiiich,  by  ignorant 
parents,  are  supposed  to  be  the  vengeance  of 
witches. 

"The  witch,  on  the  other  side,  expecting  hei' 
neigiibours'  mischances,  and  seeing  things  some- 
times come  to  pass  according  to  her  wishv^s,  curses, 
and  incantations,  (for  Bodiu  liimself  confesses, that 
notiibovetwoinahundredoflheiuwitchingsorw.ish- 
ings  take  effect, )  being  called  before  a  justice,  by  due 
examination  of  the  circumstances,  is  driven  to  see 
her  imprecations  and  desires,  and  her  neighbours' 
harms  and  losses  to  concur,  and,  as  it  were,  to  take 
effect;  and  so  confesseth  that  she  (as  a  goddess)  hath 
l)rought  such  things  to  pass.  Wherein  not  only 
she,  but  the  accuser,  and  also  the  justice,  are  foul- 
ly deceived  and  abused,  as  being,  through  her  con- 
fession, and  otiier  circumstances,  perswaded  (to 
the  injury  of  God's  glory)  that  she  hath  done,  or 
can  do, -that  which  is  proper  only  to  God  himself." 
—  ScoVs  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  London,  1655, 
fol.  pp.  4,  5. 

6.  Of  my  mnraiuUng'  on  the  olowiis 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.— P.  203. 

The  troops  of  the  king,  when  they  first  took  the 
field,  were  as  well  disciplined  as  could  be  expected 
from  circumstances.  But  as  the  circumstances  of 
ChaHes  became  less  favourable,  and  his  funds  for 
regularly  paying  his  forces  decreased,  habits  of 
military  license  prevailed  upon  them  in  greater 
excess.  Lacy  the  player,  who  served  his  master 
during  the  civil  war,  brought  out,  after  the  Resto- 
ration, a  piece  called  the  Old  Troop,  in  which  he 
seems  to  liave  commemorated  some  real  incidents 
which  occurred  in  his  military  career.  The  names 
of  the  officers  of  the  troop,  sufficiently  express 
their  habits.  We  have  Flea-flint,  Plunder-master- 
general,  captain  Ferret-farm,  and  quarter-piaster 


ROKEBY. 


237 


Burn-drop.  The  officers  of  the  troop  are  in  league 
with  these  worthies,  and  connive  at  th«ir  plunder- 
ing the  countr}'  for  a  suitable  share  in  the  plunder. 
All  this  was  undoubtedly  drawn  from  the  life, 
which  Lacy  had  an  opportunity  to  study.  The 
moral  of  the  whole  is  comprehended  in  a  rebuke 
given  to  the  lieutenant,  whose  disorders  in  the 
country  are  said  to  prejudice  the  king's  cause 
more  than  his  courage  in  the  field  could  recom- 
pense. The  piece  is  by  no  means  void  of  farcical 
humour. 


-Brignal's  woods,  and  Scargill's,  wave 


E'en  now  o'er  many  a  sister  cave. — P.  204. 
The  banks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford- 
bridge,  abound  in  seams  of  a  grayish  slate,  which 
are  wrought  in  some  places  to  a  very  great  depth 
under  ground,  thus  forming  artificial  caverns, 
which,  when  the  seam  has  been  exhausted,  are 
gradually  hidden  by  the  underwood  which  grows 
in  profusion  upon  the  romantic  banks  of  the  river. 
In  times  of  public  confusion,  they  might  be  well 
adapted  to  the  purposes  of  banditti. 

8.  When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.— P.  205. 

There  was  a  short  war  with  Spain  in  1625-6, 
■which  will  be  found  to  agree  pretty  well  with  the 
chronology  of  the  poem.  But  probably  Bertram 
held  an  opinion  veiy  common  among  the  maritime 
heroes  of  the  age,  that  "  there  was  no  peace  be- 
yond the  Line."  The  Spanish _g^<a7'(/a  castas  were 
constantly  employed  in  aggressions  upon  the  trade 
and  settlements  of  the  English  and  French,  and 
by  their  owu  severities  gave  room  for  the  system 
of  buccaneering,  at  first  adopted  in  self-defence  and 
retaliation,  and  afterwards  persevered  in  from  habit 
and  a  thirst  of  plunder. 

9.  our  cotarades'  sti-ife. — P.  205.  ■ 

The  laws  of  the  buccaneers,  and  their  successors 
the  pirates,  however  severe  and  equitable,  were, 
like  other  laws,  often  set  aside  by  the  stronger 
party.  Their  quarrels  about  the  division  of  the 
spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they  as  frequently  arose 
out  of  mere  frolic,  or  the  tyrannical  humour  of  their 
chiefs.  An  anecdote  of  Teach  (called  Blackbeard) 
shows  that  their  habitual  indifference  for  human 
life  extended  to  their  companions  as  well  as  their 
enemies  and  caj)tives. 

"  One  night  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands, 
the  pilot,  and  another  man,  Blackbeard,  without 
any  provocation,  privately  draws  out  a  small  pair 
of  "pistols,  and  cocks  them  under  the  table,  which 
being  perceived  by  the  man,  he  withdrew  upon 
deck,  leaving  Hands,  the  pilot,  and  the  captain  to- 
gether. When  the  pistols  were  ready,  he  blew 
out  the  candles,  and  cossinghis  hands,  discharged 
them  at  his  company;  Hands  the  master  was  shot 
througii  the  knee,  and  lamed  for  life;  the  other 
pistol  did  no  execution." — Johiisoii's  History  of 
Pirates,  Lond.  \7-2A,  8vo.  vol.  i,  p.  88. 

Another  anecdote  of  this  worthy  may  be  also 
mentioned.  "Tiie  heroof  wliom  wearewritingwas 
thoroughly  accomplished  this  "ay,  and  some  of  his 
frolics  of  wickedness  were  so  extravagant,  as  if  he 
aimed  at  making  his  men  believe  he  was  a  devil 
incarnate;  for  one  day  being  at  sea,  and  a  little 
flushed  with  drink,  '  Come,'  says  he,  '  let  us  make 
a  hell  of  our  own,  and  try  how  long  we  can  bear 
it.'  Accordingly  he,  with  two  or  three  otliers, 
went  down  into  the  hold,  and,  closing  up  all  the 
hatches,  filled  several  pots  full  of  brimstone  and 
other  combustible  matter,  and  set  it  on  fire,  and 
so  continued  till  they  were  almost  suffocated,  when 


some  of  the  men  cried  out  for  air.  At  length  he 
opened  the  hatches,  not  a  little  pleased  that  he 
held  out  tj»e  longest.  "—Ibid.  p.  90. 


10.  my  rani;ei-s  go 

Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe. — P.  206. 
"  Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman 
should  go  to  his  master's  chamber,  and  if  he  serve 
a  king,  then  let  him  go  to  the  master  of  the  game's 
chamber,  to  know  in  wliat  quarter  he  deiermineth 
to  hunt  the  day  following,  that  he  may  know  his 
own  quarter;  that  done,  he  may  go  to  "bed,  to  the 
end,  that  he  may  rise  the  earlier  in  the  morning,  ac- 
cording to  the  time  and  season,  and  according  to  the 
place  wiiere  he  must  hunt;  then,  w  hen  he  is  up  and 
ready,  let  him  drinke  a  good  draught,  and  fetch 
his  hound,  to  make  him  breake  his  fast  a  little;  and 
let  him  not  forget  to  fill  Ids  bollel  with  good  wine; 
lliat  done,  let  iiim  take  a  little  vinegar  into  the 
palme  of  his  hand,  and  put  it  in  the  nostrils  of  his 
hound,  for  to  make  him  snufte,  to  tlie  end  his  scent 
may  be  the  perfecter;  then  let  him  go  to  the  wood. 
When  the  huntsman  perceiveth  that  it  is 
time  to  begin  to  beat,  let  him  put  his  hound  before 
him,  and  beat  the  outsides  of  springs  or  thickets; 
and  if  he  find  an  hart  or  deer  that  "likes  him,  let 
him  mark  well  whether  it  be  fresh  or  not,  which 
he  may  know  as  well  by  the  manner  of  his  hounds 

drawing,  as  also  by  the  eye. When  he  hath 

well  considered  wliat  manner  of  hart  it  may  be, 
and  hath  marked  every  tiling  to  judge  by,  then 
lei  him  draw  till  he  come  to  the  couert  where  he 
is  gone  to;  and  let  him  harbour  him  if  he  can,  still 
marking  all  his  tokens,  as  well  by  the  slot  as  by  the 
entries,  foyles,  or  such-like.  That  done,  let' him 
plash  or  brush  down  small  twigges,  some  aloft  and 
some  below,  as  the  art  requiretti,  and  therewithal!, 
whilest  his  hound  is  bote,  let  him  beat  the  outsides, 
and  make  his  ring  walkes  twice  or  thrice  about  the 
wood." — Tlie  J\'oble  Art  of  Veneiie,  or  llunting. 
Loud.  1611,  4to.  pp.  76,  77. 

H.  He  turned  his  charger  as  he  spake,  &c.— P.  205. 

The  last  verse  of  tliis  song  is  taken  from  the 
fragment  of  an  old  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  I  only 
recollected  two  verses,  when  the  first  edition  of 
Rokeby  was  published.  Mr.  Thomas  Sheridan 
kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire  copy  of  this 
beautiful  song,  which  seems  to  express  the  fortunes 
of  some  follower  of  the  Stuart  family: 

It  was  a'  for  uur  riglitful  kingf 

That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand. 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 

That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 
My  dear! 

That  we  e"er  saw  Irish  land. 
Now  all  is  done  that  man  can  do, 

Arid  all  is  done  in  vainl 
My  love!  my  native  land,  adieu! 

For  I  must  cross  tlie  main. 
My  dear! 

For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

He  turned  him  round  and  right  about, 

All  on  the  Irish  shore. 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake. 

With,  Adieu  for  evermore, 
>Iy  dear! 

Adieu  for  evermore. 

The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns, 

And  the  merchant  fi-ae  the  main. 
But  I  hae  i)arted  wi'  my  love. 

And  ne'er  to  meet  agiiin. 

My  dear! 

And  ne'er  to  meet  ug:un. 

When  day  is  g-me,  and  night  is  come, 
And  a'  are  bjtju"  to  sleep. 


238 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 
The  lie-l;ing  night,  and  »etp, 

My  dial-; 
The  lee-lang  nipht,  and  weep. 

12.  The  linron  of  Ravenswor.h.— P.  207. 
Tlicniinsol'  Ravenswoi-th  caslle   stanils  in  the 
Noiih  Ridinn;  of  Vorkshii-c,  about  three  miles  from 
the  tnwnof  Ricliinond,  and  adjoinins;  to  the  waste 
called  the  foi-est  of  ArkiiiRarlli.   It  helonged  origi- 
nallv  to   the   powerful    family  of  Fitzhugh,   from 
whom  it  passed  V>  tiie  lofds  Dacfc  of  the  south. 
13.  _— .  Here-cross  on  Slanraore. — P.  207. 
This  is  a  fraa;ment  of  an  old  cross  with  its  petli- 
ment,  surrounded  by  an  entrenchment,  upon  the 
verv  summit  of  the  waste  ridge  of  Stanmore,  near 
a  stnall  house  of  entertainment  called  the  spittal. 
It  is  called  rere-cross,  or  ree-cross,  of  which  Hol- 
linshed  gives  us  the  following  explanation: — 

"  At  length  a  peace  was  concludeil  betwixt  the 
two  kings  vnder  these  conilitions,  that  Malcome 
should  enjoy  that  part  of  Xorthiimberland  which 
lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumberland,  and  Stainmore, 
and  doo  homage  to  the  kinge  of  England  for  the 
same.  In  the  midst  of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a 
crosse  set  up,  with  the  kinge  of  England's  image 
on  the  one  side,  and  the  kinge  of  Scotland's  on 
the  other,  to  signifie  that  one  is  march  to  England, 
and  the  other  to  Scotland.  This  crosse  was  called 
the  roi-crosse,  that  is,  the  crosse  of  the  kinge." — 
JloUinshed,  Lonii.  1808,  -ito.  p.  280. 

HoUinshed's  sole  authority  seems  to  have  been 
Boethius.  But  it  is  not  improbable  that  his  account 
may  be  the  true  one,  although  the  circumstance 
does  not  occur  in  Wintonn's  Chronicle.  The  situ- 
ation of  the  cross,  and  the  pains  taken  to  defend 
it,  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  intended  for  a  land- 
mark of  importance. 

14. hast  thou  lodged  our  deer?— P.  207. 

The  duty  of  the  ranger,  or  pricker,  was  first  to 
lodge,  or  harbour  the   deer;  i.  e.  to  discover  his 
retreat,  as  described  at  length  in  note  10,  and  then 
to  make  his  report  to  his  prince,  or  master: 
"  Before  the  king  I  come  report  to  make, 

Thi  n  hush  and  piaee  for  noble  Tristrame's  s.ike 

My  lit  ge,  I  went  this  moniing  on  my  quest, 

JIv  hound  did  sticke,  and  seemed  to  vent  some  beast. 

1  held  him  short,  anti  drawin";  after  him, 

I  might  behold  the  hart  was  feeding  tryni; 

His  head  was  high,  and  large  in  each  degree, 

Well  paulmed  eke,  and  seemed  full  sound  to  be, 

Of  colour  browne,  he  bearcth  eight  and  tenne. 

Of  stately  htight  and  long  he  seemed  then. 

His  b<  am  seemed  great,  in  good  proportion  led. 

Well  barred  and  round,  well  pearled  neare  his  head. 

He  seemed  fayre  tweene  blacke  and  berrie  brounde, 

He  s.ems  well  fed  by  all  the  signes  T  found. 

For  wlien  I  had  well  marked  him  with  the  eye, 

I  stept  aside,  to  watch  where  he  would  lye. 

And  when  I  so  had  wayted  full  an  houre. 

That  he  might  be  at  layre  and  in  his  houre, 

I  cast  about  to  harbour  him  full  sure; 

My  hound  by  sent  did  uie  thereof  assure • 

Then  if  he  ask  what  slot  or  view  I  found, 
I  say  the  slot  or  view  was  long  on  ground; 
The  toes  were  great,  thejoynt  bones  round  and  short, 
The  shinne  bones  large,  th''  dew-claws  close  in  port: 
Short  ioynted  was  he,  hollow-fixited  eke, 
And  hart  to  hunt  as  any  man  can  seeke.'' 

T/te  Art  oj  Veiieric,  ut  supra,  p.  9fi. 

iTOTEs  TO  CAirro  ir. 
1.  when  Denmark's  raven  soared  on  high. 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky. 
Till,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke.— P.  207. 
About  the  year  of  God   806,  the   Danes,  under 
their  celebrated   leaders   Inguar  (more  properly 


Agnar)  and  Hubba,   sons,  it  is  said,  of  the  still 
more  celebrated  Regnar  Lodbrog,  invaded  North- 
umberland, bringing  with  them  the  magical  stand- 
ard, so  often  mentioned   in  poetn,',  called  reafen, 
or  raunfan,  from  its  bearing  the  figure  of  a  raven: 
Wrouc^ht  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king, 
Of  furious  Ivar  in  a  midnight  hour: 
While  the  sick  moon,  .it  their  enchanted  song 
Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labour'd  thro'  the  cloudt. 
The  demons  of  destruction  then,  they  say. 
Were  all  abroad;  and,  mixing  with  the  woof 
Their  baleful  power,  the  sisters  ever  sung, 
"  Shake,  standard,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes." 

Thomson  and  Mallet's  Alfred, 
The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  their  incur- 
sions, and  begun  to  colonize,  establishing  a  kind 
of  caiiital  at  York,  from  which  they  spread  their 
conquests  and  incursions  in  every  direction.  Stan- 
more,  w  hich  divides  the  mountains  of  Westmore- 
land and  Cumberland,  was  probably  the  boundary 
of  the  Danish  kingdom  in  that  direction.  The  dis- 
trict to  the  west,  known  in  ancient  British  history 
by  the  name  of  Reged,had  never  been  conquered  by 
the  Saxons,  and  continued  to  maintain  a  precarious 
independence,  until  it  was  ceded  to  Malcolm,  king 
of  Scots,  by  William  the  Conqueror,  proiiably  on 
account  of  its  similarity  in  language  and  manners 
to  the  neighbouring  British  kingdom  of  Strath 
Clyde. 

Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish  so- 
vereignty in  Northumberland,  the  curious  may 
consult  the  various  authorities  quoted  in  the  Gesta 
et  Vestigia  Danorum  extra  Duniam,  vol.  ii,  p. 
40.  The  most  powerful  of  their  Northumbrian 
leaders  seems  to  have  been  Ivar,  called,  from  the 
extent  of  bis  conquests,  Widfami,  that  is,  The 
Stride)'. 

2.  Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  source, 

Thundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force.— P.  207. 

The  Tees  rises  about  the  skirts  of  Crossfell, 
and  falls  over  the  cataracts  named  in  the  text  be- 
fore it  leaves  the  mountains  which  divide  the 
North  Riding  from  Cumberland.  High-force  is 
seventy-five  feet  in  height. 

3.  Beneath  the  shade  the  nortlimen  came, 
Fixed  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name.— P.  207. 

The  heathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces  of 
their  religion  in  the  upper  part  of  Teesdale.  Bal- 
der-Garth, which  derives  its  name  from  tbe  unfor- 
tunate son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract  of  waste  land  on  the 
verv  ridge  of  Stanmore;  and  a  brook,  which  falls 
into  the  Tees  near  Barnard  castle,  is  named  after 
the  same  deity.  A  field  upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees 
is  also  termed  Woden-Croft,  from  the  supreme 
deity  of  the  Edda.  Thorsgill,  of  which  a  descrip- 
tion is  attempted  in  Stanza  II,  is  a  beautiful  little 
brook  and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruins  of 
Eglistone  Abbey.  Thor  was  the  Hercules  of  the 
Scandinavian  mythology,  a  dreaded  giant-queller, 
and  in  that  capacity  the  champion  ot  the  gods  and 
the  defender  of  Asgard,  the  northern  Olympus, 
against  the  frequent  attacks  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Jotunheim.  There  is  an  old  poem  in  the  Edda  of 
Sxmund,  called  the  song  of  Thrym,  which  turns 
upon  the  loss  and  recovery  of  the  mace,  or  ham- 
mer, which  was  Thor's  principal  weapon,  and  on 
which  much  of  his  power  seems  to  have  depended. 
It  may  be  read  to  great  advantage  in  a  version 
equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the  Miscella- 
neous Translations  and  Poems  of  the  Honourable 
William  Herbert. 
4.  Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel.— P.  208. 


ROKEBY. 


239 


The  O'Neale  here  meant,  for  more  than  one 
succeeded  to  the  chieftainBhip  during  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  was  Hugh,  the  grandso!i  of  Con  O' 
Neale,  called  Con-Bacco,  or  the  Lame.  His  father, 
Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  illegitimate,  and,  being  the 
son  of  a  blacksmith's  wife,  was  usually  called 
Matthew  the  Blacksmith.  His  father,  nevertheless, 
destined  his  succession  to  him;  and  he  was  created, 
by  Elizabeth,  baron  of  Dungannon.  Upon  the 
death  of  Con-Bacco,  this  ^Matthew  was  slain  by 
his  brother.  Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the  same  fate, 
and  was  protected  by  the  English.  Shane  O'Xeale, 
his  uncle,  called  Shane-Dymas,  was  succeeded  by 
Turlough  Lynogh  O'Neale;  after  whose  death, 
Hugh,  liaving  assumed  the  chieftainship,  became 
nearly  as  formidable  to  the  English  as  any  by  whom 
it  had  been  possessed.  He  rebelled  repeatedly, 
and  as  often  made  submissions,  of  which  it  was 
usually  a  condition  that  he  should  not  any  longer 
assume  the  title  of  O'Neale;  in  lieu  of  which  lie 
was  created  earl  of  Tyrone.  But  this  condition  he 
never  obsen'ed  longer  than  until  the  pressure  of 
superior  force  was  withdrawn.  His  baffling  the 
gallant  carl  of  Essex  in  the  field,  and  over-reach- 
ing him  in  a  treaty,  was  the  induction  to  that  no- 
bleman's tragedy.  Lord  Mountjoy  succeeded  in 
finally  subjugating  O'Neale;  but  it  was  not  till  the 
succession  of  James,  to  whom  he  made  personal 
submission,  and  was  received  with  civility  at  court. 
Yet,  according  to  Morrison,  "  no  respect  to  him 
could  containe  many  weomen  in  those  parts,  who 
had  lost  husbands  and  children  in  the  Irish  warres, 
from  flinging  durt  and  stones  at  the  earle  as  he 
passed,  and  from  reuiling  him  with  bitter  words; 
yea,  when  the  earle  had  been  at  court,  and  there 
obtaining  his  majesty's  direction  for  his  pardon 
and  performance  of  all  conditions  promised  him 
by  the  lord  Mountjoy,  was  about  September  to  re- 
turne,  hee  durst  not  passe  by  those  parts  without 
direction  to  the  sheriftes,  to  conuay  him  with 
troopes  of  horse  from  place  to  place,  till  he  was 
safely  imbarked  and  put  to  sea  for  Ireland. " — Id- 
iierary,  p.  296. 

5.  But  chief  arose  his  victor  piide. 
When  that  brave  marshal  fought  and  died.— P.  208. 

The  chief  victory  which  Tjrone  obtained  over 
the  English  was  in  a  battle  fought  near  Blackwater, 
while  he  besieged  a  fort  garrisoned  by  the  English, 
which  commanded  the  passes  into  his  country. 

"  The  captaine  and  his  few  warders  did  with 
no  less  courage  suffer  hunger,  and,  having  eaten 
the  few  horses  they  had,  lived  vpon  hearbes.grow- 
ing  in  the  ditches  and  wals,  suffering  all  extremi- 
ties, till  the  lord-lieutenant,  in  the  moneth  of  Au- 
gust, sent  sir  Henry  Bagnal,  marshall  of  Ireland, 
with  the  most  choice  companies  of  foote  and  horse 
troopes  of  the  English  army,  to  victual  this  fort, 
and  to  raise  the  rebels'  siege.  When  the  English 
entered  the  place  anJ  thicke  woods  beyond  Ar- 
magh, on  the  east  side,  Tyrone  (with  all  the  rebels 
assembled  to  him)  pricked  forward  with  rage, 
enu)',  and  settled  rancour  against  the  marshal,  as- 
sayled  the  English,  and  turning  his  full  force 
against  the  marshall's  person,  had  the  successe  to 
kill  him  valiantly  fighting  among  the  thickest  of 
the  rebels.  Whereupon  the  English  being  dis- 
mayed with  his  death,  the  rebels  obtained  a  great 
victory  against  them.  I  terrae  it  great,  since  the 
English,  from  their  first  arriuall  in  that  kingdome, 
neuer  had  receiued  so  great  an  ouerthrow  as  this, 
commonly  called  the  defeat  of  Blackwater;  thir- 
teene  valiant  captaines  and  1500  common  souldiers 


(whereof  many  were  of  the  old  companies  which 
had  serued  in  Britanny  vnder  generall  Norreys) 
were  slain  in  the  field.  The  yielding  of  the  fort  of 
Blackwater  followed  this  disaster,  when  the  as- 
saulted guard  saw  no  hope  of  relief;  i)ut  especially 
vpon  messages  sent  to  captaine  Williams,  from 
our  broken  forces,  retired  to  Armagh,  professing 
that  all  their  safety  depended  vpon  his  yielding 
the  fort  into  the  hands  of  Tyrone,  without  which 
danger  captain  Williams  professed  that  no  want  or 
miserie  should  have  induced  him  thereunto." — 
Fynes  JMorifson's  ItiTierary,  London,  1617,  fol. 
part  ii.  p.  24. 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  personal 
animosity  against  the  knight-marshal,  sir  Henry 
Bagnal,  whom  he  accused  of  detaining  the  letters 
which  he  sent  to  queen  Elizabeth,  explanatory  of 
his  conduct,  and  offering  terms  of  submission.  The 
river,  called  by  the  English  Blackwater,  is  termed, 
in  Irish,  Avon-Duff^,  which  has  the  same  significa- 
tion. Both  names  are  mentioned  by  Spenser  in  his 
"Marriage  of  the  Thames  and  the  Medway." 
But  I  understand  that  his  verses  relate  not  to  "the 
Blackwater  of  Ulster,  but  to  a  river  of  the  same 
name  in  the  south  of  Ireland: — 

Swift  Avon-DufF,  which  of  the  Englishmen 
Is  called  Black-water 

6.  The  tanist  he  to  great  O'Xeale.— P.  208. 

"Evdox.  What  is  this  which  you  call  tanist 
andtanistry?  These  be  names  and  terms  never 
heard  of  nor  known  to  us. 

"//■e/i.  It  is  a  custorae  amongst  all  the  Irish, 
that,  presently  after  the  death  of  one  of  their  chiefe 
lords  or  captaines,  they  doe  presently  assemble 
themselves  to  a  place  generally  appointed  and 
knowne  unto  them,  to  choose  another  in  his  stead, 
where  they  doe  nominate  and  elect,  for  the  most 
part,  not  the  eldest  Sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children 
of  the  lord  deceased,  but  the  next  to  him  in  blood, 
that  is  the  eldest  and  worthiest,  as  commonly  the 
next  brother  unto  him,  if  he  have  any,  or  the  next 
cousin,  or  so  forth,  as  any  is  elder  iri  that  kindred 
or  sept;  and  then  next  to  him  doe  they  choose  the 
next  of  the  blood  to  be  tanist,  who  shall  next  suc- 
ceed him  in  the  said  captainry,  if  he  live  thereunto. 

"  Eiidox.  Do  they  not  use  any  ceremony  in  this 
election,  for  all  barbarous  nations  are  commonly 
great  observers  of  ceremonies  and  superstitious 
rites? 

"/rera.  They  use  to  place  him  that  shall  be  their 
captaine  upon  a  stone,  always  reserved  to  that 
purpose^  and  placed  commonly  upon  a  hill.  In 
some  of  which  I  have  seen  formed  and  engraven  a 
foot,  which  they  say  was  the  measure  of  their  first 
captaine's  foot;  whereupon  hee  standing, receives  an 
oath  to  preserve  all  the  auncienl  former  customes 
of  the  countrey  inviolable,  and  to  deliver  up  the 
succession  peaceably  to  his  tanist,  and  then  iiath  a 
wand  delivered  unto  him  by  some  whose  proper 
office  that  is;  after  which,  descending  from  the 
stone,  he  turneth  himself  round,  thrice  forwards 
and  thrice  backwards. 

"  Eudox.  But  how  is  the  tanist  chosen? 

"  Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon 
the  stone,  and  receiveth  the  like  oath  that  ihe 
captaine  did." — Spe7iser''s  View  of  the  State  of  Ire- 
land, apud  Works,  Lond.  1805,  8vo.  vol.  viii,  p. 
306. 

The  tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale,  was  the  heir 
apparent  of  his  power.  This  kind  of  succession 
appears  also  to  have  regulated,  in  very  remote 
times,  the  succession  to  the  crown  of  Scotland.  It 


240 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


■would  have  been  imprudent,  if  not  impossible,  to 
have  asserted  a  minor's  right  of  succession  in  those 
stormv  days,  when  the  principles  of  policy  were 
summed  up  in  my  friend  Mr.  Wordswortli's  lines: 

the  good  old  nilo 

Siifficetli  them;  the  simple  plan, 
That  iliey  should  taki-  who  have  the  power, 

.\nd  th'ey  should  ketj)  who  can. 

7.  His  plaiti-d  hair  in  elf-locks  spread,  &c. — P.  208. 

There  is  here  an  attempt  to  describe  the  ancient 
Irish  dress,  of  which  a  poet  of  queen  Elizabeth's 
day  has  given  us  the  following  particulars: 

I  menailde  in  my  mjiide, 
and  thereupon  did  muse. 
To  se<-  a  bride  of  heaven  lie  hewe 

an  ouplie  fere  to  chuse. 
This  bride  it  is  the  soilc, 

the  bridegroom  is  the  kame, 
With  wriUied  glibbes,  like  wicked  spirits, 

wiili  visage  rough  luid  stearne; 
With  sculles  upon  their  poales, 

instead  of  civill  cappes; 
Witli  spears  in  h;ind,  and  swordes  by  sides, 

to  beare  of  after  elappes; 
With  jackettes  long  and  larg« 

which  shroud  siinplicitie. 
Though  spitfull  dartes  which  they  do  beare 

importe  iniquitie. 
Their  shiites  be  vei-y  strange, 

not  reaching  past  the  thie; 
With  pleates  on  pleates  thei  pleated  are 

as  tliicke  as  pleates  may  lye. 
Whose  sleaves  hang  training  douue, 

almost  unto  the  shoe; 
And  with  a  mantell  coramonlie 

the  Irish  karne  do  goe. 
Now  some  amongst  the  reste 

doe  use  anotlier  weede; 
A  coate,  I  meai>e,  of  strange  devise, 

which  fancie  first  did  breade. 
His  skirts  be  very  shone, 

with  jjleates  set  thick  about. 
And  Irish  trouzes  moe  to  put 

their  strange  protactoui-s  out. 
Derrick^ s  Image  of  Ireland,  apiid  Somen''  Tracts, 
Loud.  1809,  4to.  vol.  i,  p.  585. 
Some  curious  wooden  engravings  accompany 
this  poem,  from  which  it  would  seem  that  the  an- 
cient Irish  dress  was  (the  bonnet  excepted)  very 
similar  to  that  of  the  Scottish  higlilanders.  The 
■nant  of  a  covering  on  the  head  was  supplied  by 
the  mode  of  plaiting  and  arranging  their  hair, 
which  was  called  the  glibbe.  These  glibbes,  ac- 
cording to  Spenser,  were  fit  masks  for  a  tliief, 
since,  wlien  he  wished  to  disguise  himself,  he 
could  either  cut  it  off"  entirely,  or  so  pull  it  over 
his  eyes  as  to  render  it  very  hard  to  recognize  him. 
This,  however,  is  nothing  to  the  reprobation  with 
•which  the  same  poet  regards  that  favouritte  part  ot 
the  Irish  dress,  the  mantle. — 

"  It  is  a  fit  house  for  an  outlaw,  a  meet  bed  for 
n  rebel,  and  an  apt  cloke  for  a  thiefe.  First,  the 
outlaw  being  for  his  many  crimes  and  villanyes  ban- 
ished from  the  tow  nes  and  liouses  of  honest  men, 
and  wandering  in  waste  places  far  from  danger  of 
law,  maketh  his  mantle  iiis  house,  and  under  it 
covereth  himself  from  the  wrath  of  heaven,  from 
the  offence  of  the  earth,  and  fi-om  the  sight  of  men. 
Wiien  it  raineth,  it  is  his  penthouse;  w  hen  it  blow- 
eth,  it  is  his  tent;  when  it  freezeth,  it  is  his  taber- 
nacle. In  sommer  he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  winter 
he  can  wrap  it  close;  at  all  times  he  can  use  it; 
never  heavy,  never  cumbersome.  Likewise  for  a 
rebel  it  is  as  serviceable:  for  in  his  wari-e  that  he 
maketh,  (if  at  least  it  deserve  the  name  of  warre, ) 
when  he  still  fiyelh  from  his  foe,  and  lurketh  in  tlie 
tiiicke  woods  and  straite  passages,  waiting  for  ad- 
vantages, it  is  his  bed,  yea,  and  almost  his  house- 


hold stuff.  For  tiie  wood  is  his  house  against  all 
weathers,  and  his  mantle  is  his  couch  to  sleep  in. 
Tiierein  he  wrappeth  himself  rounde,  and  coucheth 
himselfe  strongly  against  the  gnats,  which,  in  that 
country,  doe  more  annoy  the  naked  rebels  while 
they  keep  the  woods,  and  doe  more  sharply  wound 
them,  than  all  their  enemy's  swords  or  spears, 
which  can  seldom  come  nigh  them:  yea,  and  often- 
times tlieir  mantle  serveth  them  when  they  are 
neere  driven,  being  wrapt  about  their  left  arme, 
instead  of  a  target,  for  it  is  hard  to  cut  through 
with  a  sword:  besides  it  is  light  to  beare,  liglit  to 
throw  away,  and  being  (as  they  commonly  are)  na- 
ked, it  is  to  them  all  in  all.  Lsstly,  forathiele,  it 
is  so  handsome  as  it  may  seem  it  w  as  first  invented 
for  him,  for  under  it  he  may  cleanly  convey  any 
fit  pillage  tliat  cometh  handsomely  in  his  way,  and 
w  hen  he  goeth  abroad  in  the  night  in  free-booting, 
it  is  his  best  and  surest  friend:  for  lying,  as  they  of- 
tendo,  two  or  three  nights  togetlier  abroad  to  watch 
for  their  boot)',  w  ith  that  they  can  prettily  shroud 
themselves  under  a  bush  or  a  bankside  till  they 
may  conveniently  do  their  errand;  and  when  all 
is  over,  he  can  in  his  mantle  passe  tlirough  any 
town  or  company,  being  close  hooded  over  his 
head,  as  he  useth,  from  knowledge  of  any  to  whom 
lie  is  indangered.  Besides  this,  he,  or  any  man 
els  tliat  is  disposed  to  mischief  or  villany,  maj", 
under  his  mantle,  goe  privily  armed  without  sus- 
picion of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his  skean,  or 
pistol,  if  he  please,  to  be  always  in  readiness." 
S/jenser''s  Vieivofthe  State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works, 
ut  supra,  viii,  'MT. 

The  javelins,  or  darts,  of  the  Irish,  which  tliey 
threw  w  ith  great  dexterity,  appear,  from  one  of 
the  prints  already  mentioned,  to  have  been  about 
four  feet  long,  w  ith  a  strong  steel  head  and  thick 
knotted  shaft. 

8.  With  wild  majestic  poit  .^nd  tone, 

Like  envoy  of  some  ba.barous  throne. — P.  203. 

Tlie  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with  the 
Englisli,  and  with  eacli  other,  were  wont  to  assume 
llie  language  and  style  of  independent  royalty. 
Morrison  has  preserved  a  summons  from  Tyrone 
to  a  neighbouring  chieftain,  which  runs  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms: — 

"  O'Xeale  commendeth  him  unto  you,  Morish 
Fitz  Thomas:  O'Neale  recjuesteth  yon,  in  God's 
name,  to  take  part  with  him,  and  fight  for  your 
conscience  and  right;  and  in  so  doing,  O'Neale 
w  ill  spend  to  see  you  righted  in  all  your  aftaires, 
and  will  help  you.  And  if  you  come  not  at  O'Xeale 
betw  ixt  this  and  to-morrow  al  twelve  of  the  cloke, 
and  take  his  part,  O'Xeale  is  not  beholding  to  you, 
and  w  ill  doe  to  tlie  uttermost  of  his  pow  er  to  over- 
throw you  if  you  come  not  to  him  at  furthest  by 
Satturday  noone.  From  Knocke  Uumayne  in  Cal- 
rie,  the  fourth  of  February,  1599. 

"  O'Xeale  requesteth  you  to  come  to  speake  with 
him,  and  doth  giue  his  word  that  you  shall  i-eceive 
no  harnie,  neitiier  in  comming  nor  going  from  him, 
whether  you  be  friend  or  not,  and  bring  with  you, 
to  O'Xeale,  Gerat  Fitzgei-ald. 

"Subscribed  O'Xeale." 

Xor  did  the  royalty  of  O'Xeale  consist  in  words 
alone.  Sir  John  Harrington  paid  him  a  visit  at  the 
time  of  his  Unice  with  Essex,  and  after  mentioning 
"  his  fern  table,  and  fern  forms,  s|)read  under  the 
stately  canopy  of  heaven,"  he  notices  what  consii- 
tutes  the  real  power  of  every  monarch,  the  luve, 
namely,  and  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  "  Hisgiiaid, 
for  the  most  part,  were  beardless  boys  witliuut 


ROKEBY. 


241 


shirts;  who  in  the  frost  wade  as  familiarly  through 
rivers  as  water-spaniels.  With  what  charm  such 
a  master  makes  them  love  him,  1  know  not,  but  if 
he  bid  come,  they  come;  if  go,  they  do  go;  if  he  say 
do  this,  they  do  it."— J\''iigse  Aiitiqux,  Loud.  1784, 
8vo.  vol.  i,  p.  351. 

9.  His  foster-father  was  his  c^ide. — P.  209. 
There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the  Irish, 
than  that  which  connected  the  foster-father,  as  well 
as  the  nurse  herself,  with  the  child  they  brought  up. 
"  Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time,  money, 
and  affection  on  their  foster-children  than  their 
ow  n,  and  in  return  take  from  them  clothes,  money  for 
their  several  professions,  and  arms,  and  even  for 
any  vicious  purposes;  fortunes  and  cattle,  not  so 
much  by  a  claim  of  right  as  by  extortion;  and  they 
will  even  carry  those  things  off  as  plunder.  All 
who  ha^  e  been  nursed  by  the  same  person  preserve 
a  greater  mutual  affection  and  confidence  in  each 
other  than  if  they  were  natural  brothers,  whom  they 
will  even  hate  for  the  sake  of  these.  When  chid  by 
their  parents,  they -fly  to  their  foster-fathers,  who 
frequently  encourage  them  to  make  open  war  on 
their  parents,  train  them  up  to  every  excess  of 
wickedness,  and  make  them  most  abandoned  mis- 
creants: as,  on  the  other  hand,  the  nurses  make 
the  young  women,  whom  they  bring  up  tor  eveiy 
excess,  if  a  foster-child  is  sick,  it  is  incredible  how 
soon  the  nurses  hear  of  it,  however  distant,  and 
with  what  solicitude  they  attend  it  by  day  and 
night." — Giraldus  Cam6re/i«s,  quoted  by  Camden, 
iv,  363. 

This  custom,  like  many  other  Irish  usages,  pre- 
vailed till  of  late  in  the  Scottish  highlands,  and 
was  cherished  by  the  chiefs  as  an  easy  mode  of 
extending  their  influence  and  connection;  and  even 
in  the  lowlands,  during  the  last  century,  the  con- 
nection between  the  nurse  and  foster-child  was 
seldom  dissolved  but  by  the  death  of  one  party. 
10  .  Great  Xial  of  the  pledges  nine.— P.  209. 
Neill  Xaighvallach,  or  of  the  nine  hostages,  is 
said  to  have  been  monarch  of  all  Ireland,  diu*ing 
the  end  of  the  fourth  or  beginning  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury. He  exercised  a  predatory  warfare  on  the 
coasts  of  England  and  of  Bretagne,  or  Armorica; 
and  from  the  latter  country  brought  off  tiie  cele- 
brated saiiit  Patrick,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  among 
other  captives,  whom  he  transported  to  Ireland. 
Neal  derived  his  epithet  from  nine  nations,  or 
tribes  whom  he  held  under  liis  subjection,  and 
from  whom  he  took  hostages.  From  oneof  Neal's 
sons  were  derived  the  kinel-eoguiu,  or' race  of 
Tyrone,  which  afforded  monarchs  both  to  Ireland 
and  to  Ulster.  Neill  (according  to  O'Flalierty's 
Ogygia)  was  killed  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  in  one  of 
his  descents  on  the  coast  of  Bretagne. 

n.  Shane-Dvmas  wild P.  209. 


1000  horse  for  the  field.  He  claimed  superiority 
over  all  the  lords  of  Ulster,  and  called  himself  king 
thereof.  When  commissioners  were  sent  to  treat 
with  him,  he  said,  '  That,  tho'the  queen  were  his 
sovereign  lad)-,  he  never  made  peace  with  her  biit 
at  her  lodging;  that  she  had  made  a  wise  earl  of 
Macartymore,  but  that  he  kept  as  good  a  man  as 
he;  that  he  cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  earl; 
that  his  blood  and  power  were  better  than  the  best; 
that  his  ancestors  were  kings  of  Ulster;  and  that 
he  would  give  place  to  none.'  His  kinsman,  the 
earl  of  Kildare,  having  persuaded  him  of  the  folly 
of  contending  with  the  crown  of  England,  he  re- 
solved to  attend  the  queen,  but  in  a  style  suited  to 
his  princely  dignity.  He  appeared  in  London  with 
a  magnificent  train  of  Irish  galloglasses,  arrayed 
in  the  richest  habiliments  of  their  country,  ttieir 
heads  bare,  their  hair  flowing  on  their  shoulders, 
with  their  long  and  open  sleeves  dyed  with  saffron. 
Tlius  dressed,  and  surcliarged  with  military  har- 
ness, and  armed  with  battle-axes,  they  afforded  an 
astonishing  spectacle  to  the  citizens,  who  regarded 
them  as  the  intruders  of  some  very  distant  part  of 
the  globe.  But  at  court  his  versatility  now  pre- 
vailed, his  title  to  the  sovereignly  of  Tyrone  was 
pleaded  from  English  laws  and  Irish  institutions, 
and  his  allegations  were  so  specious,  that  the  queen 
dismissed  him  with  presents  and  assurances  of  fa- 
vour. In  f^ngland  this  transaction  was  looked  upon 
as  the  humiliation  of  a  repenting  rebel;  in  Tyrone 
it  was  considered  as  a  treaty  of  peace  between  two 
potentates." — Camden''s  JBritantua,  by  Gough, 
Lond.  1S06,  fol.  vol.  iv,  p.  442. 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English,  and 
forsaken  by  his  allies,  this  Slia'ne-Dymas  fled  to 
Clandeboy,  then  occupied  by  a  colony  of  Scottisli 
highlanders  of  the  family  of  Mac-Donell.  He  was 
at  first  courteouslj-  received,  but  by  degrees  thev 
began  to  quarrel  about  the  slaughter  of  some  of 
their  friends,  whom  Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  deatli, 
and,  advancing  from  Mords  to  deeds,  fell  upon  liim 
with  tlieir  broad-swords,  and  cut  him  to  pieces. 
After  his  death  a  law  was  made  that  none  should 
presume  to  take  the  name  and  title  of  O'Neale. 
12. Geraldine.— P.  209. 


This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  AVanton,  held 
the  title  and  power  of  O'Neale  in  the  earlier  part 
of  Elizabeth's  reign,  against  whom  he  rebelled  re- 
peatedly. 

"  This  chieftain  is  handed  down  to  us  as  the 
most  proud  and  profligate  man  on  earth.  He  was 
immoderately  addicted  to  women  and  wine.  He 
is  said  to  have  had  200  tuns  of  wine  at  once  in  his 
cellar  at  Uandram,  but  usquebaugh  was  his  fa- 
vourite liquor.  He  spared  neither  age  nor  condi- 
tion of  the  fair  sex.  Altho'  so  illiterate  that  he 
could  not  write,  he  was  not  destitute  of  address; 
his  understanding  was  strong,  and  his  courage 
daring.  He  had  600  men  for  his  guard,  4000  foot, 


The  O'Xeales  were  closely  allied  with  this  pow- 
erful and  warlike  family,  for  Henry  Owen  O'Neale 
maiTied  the  daughter  of  Thomas  earl  of  Kildare, 
and  their  son  Con-More  married  his  cousin-ger- 
man,  a  daughter  of  Gerald  earl  of  Kildare.  I'his 
Con-More  cursed  any  of  his  posterity  who  should 
learn  the  English  language,  sow  corn,  or  build 
houses,  so  as  to  invite  the  English  to  settle  in  their 
country.  Others  ascribe  this  anathema  to  his  son 
Con-Bacco.  Fearflatha  O'Gnive,  bard  to  the 
O'Xeales  of  Clannaboy,  complains  in  the  same 
spirit  of  the  towers  and  ramparts  with  which  the 
strangers  had  disfigured  \he  t:<ir  sporting  fields  of 
Erin. — See  Walker's  Irish  Bards,  p.  140. 

13.  He  chose  that  honoured  flag  to  bear.— P.  210. 

Lacy  informs  us,  in  the  old  play  already  quoted, 
how  the  cavaliy  raised  by  the  country  gentlemen 
for  Charles's  service  were  usually  officered.  "  You, 
cornet,  have  a  name  that's  proper  for  all  cornets 
to  be  called  by,  for  they  are  all  beardless  boys  in 
our  army.  The  most  part  of  our  horse  were  raised 
thus: — The  honest  country  gentleman  raises  the 
troop  at  his  own  charge:  ttien  lie  gets  a  low-coun- 
try lieutenant  to  fight  his  troop  safely;  then  he 
sends  for  his  son  from  school  to  be  his  cornet;  and 
then  he  puts  off  liis  child's  coat  to  put  oji  a  buff 
coat;  and  this  is  the  constitution  of  our  army." 


242 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


14.  — ^-^  his  page,  llie  next  degree 
In  that  old  time  to  chivalry.— P.  210. 
Ofigin.ill y  tlic  order  of  cliivalry  embi-aced  three 
ranks: — 1.  'i'lic  page;  '2.  The  Kquire;  3.  The  knight; 
— a  gradation  which  seems  to  have  been  imitated 
in  the  mystery  of  free-m:isoniy.  But  before  the 
reign  of  Cliarles  I,  the  custom  of  serving  as  a  squire 
hail  fallen  into  disuse,  though  the  order  of  the 
page  was  still,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  observaHce. 
This  slate  of  servitude  was  so  far  from  inferring 
any  thing  degrading,  that  it  was  considered  as 
the  regular  school  for  acquiring  every  quality  ne- 
cessary for  future  distinction.  The  proper  nature, 
and  the  decay  of  the  institution,  are  pointed  out 
by  old  Ben  .lonson,  wiiii  his  own  forcible  moral 
colouring.  The  dialogue  occurs  between  Lovel, 
"  a  complete  gentleman,  a  soldier,  and  a  scholar, 
know  n  to  have  bei-n  p:ige  to  the  olil  lord  Beaufort, 
and  so  to  have  followed  him  in  the  French  wars, 
after  companion  of  iiis  studies,  and  left  guardian 
to  his  son,"  and  the  facetious  Good-stock,  host  of 
the  Light  Heart.  Lovel  had  offered  to  take  Good- 
stock's  son  for  his  page,  which  the  latter,  in  refe- 
rence to  the  recent  abuse  of  the  establishment,  de- 
clares as  "a  desperate  course  of  life:" — 

Lorcll.  Call  you  that  desperate,  which  by  a  line 
Of  inslitution,  from  our  ancestors 
Hath  be<.n  derived  down  to  us,  and  received 
In  a  succession,  fur  the  noblest  way 
Of  breeding  up  our  youth,  in  letters,  arms. 
Fair  mien,  discourses,  civil  exercise. 
And  all  tlie  blazon  of  a  p^entleman? 
Where  he  can  leain  to  vault,  to  ride,  to  fence. 
To  move  his  body  gracefully;  to  speak 
His  language  purer;  or  to  tune  his  mind 
Or  manners,  more  to  the  harmony  of  nature, 
Than  in  the  nui-series  of  nobility? 

Host.  AVj  that  was  when  the  nm-sery's  self  was  noble. 
And  only  virtue  made  it,  not  the  market; 
The  titles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum. 
Or  common  outcry:  goodness  gave  the  greatness. 
And  greatness  worship:  everj  house  became 
An  academy  of  honour;  and  those  parts 
We  see  departed,  in  the  practice,  now. 
Quite  from  the  institution. 

Lovell.  Why  do  you  say  so. 
Or  think  so  enviously?  do  they  not  still 
Learn  there  the  centaur's  skill,  the  art  of  Thrace, 
To  ride?  or,  Pollux'  mystery,  to  fence? 
The  Pyrrhic  gestures,  both  to  dance  and  spring 
In  armour,  to  be  active  in  the  wars? 
To  study  figures,  numbers,  and  proportions, 
May  jield  'em  great  in  counsels,  and  the  arts 
Grave  Nestor  and  the  w  ise  Vlysses  practised? 
To  make  their  English  sweet  upon  their  tonejue. 
As  reverend  Chaucer  says? 
.    Host.  Sir,  you  mistake; 
To  play  sir  Pandarus  my  copy  hath  it. 
And  carry  messages  to  madam  Cressida; 
Instead  of  backing  the  brave  steed  o'  mornijigs. 
To  court  the  chambermaid;  and  for  a  leap 
O'  the  vaulting  hoise  to  ply  the  vaulting  house: 
I'"or  exercise  of  arms  a  bale  of  dice. 
Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the  cheat. 
And  nimbleness  of  hand;  mistake  a  cloak 
Upon  my  lord's  b;ick,  and  pawn  it;  ease  his  pocket 
Of  a  sui)eriluous  watch;  or  geld  a  jewel 
Of  an  odd  stone  or  so;  twinge  two  or  thi"ee  buttons 
From  off  my  lady's  gow  n:  these  are  tlie  arts 
Or  seven  liberal  deadly  sciences. 
Of  pagerj-,  or  rather  paganism. 
As  the  tides  run;  to  which  if  he  apply  him, 
He  may  perhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 
A  ye^r  the  earlier;  come  to  take  .a  lecture 
Upon  Aquinas  at  St.  Thomas  a  Waterings, 
And  so  go  forth  a  laureat  in  hemp  circle! 

Ben  Jonson's  New  Inn,  act  i,  scene  iii. 

K0TE8  TO  CANTO  V. 
1. Rokebv P.  213. 


The  ancient  castle  of  Rokeby  stood  exactly  upon 
the  site  of  the  present  mansion,  by  which  a  part 


of  its  walls  is  inclosed.  It  is  surrounded  by  a  pro- 
fusion of  fine  wood,  and  the  park  in  which  it  stands 
is  adorned  by  the  junction  of  the  Greta  and  of  the 
Tees.  The  title  of  baron  Rokeby  of  Armagh  was, 
in  1777,  conferred  on  the  right  reverend  Richard 
Robinson,  primate  of  Ireland,  descended  of  the 
Robinsons,  formerly  of  Rokeby,  in  Yorkshire. 
2.  Itokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 

I  can  count  them  name  by  name. — P.  214. 
The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  verj-  ancient 
and  once  powerful  family,  was  kindly  supplied  to 
the  autlior  by  Mr.  Rokeby  of  Northamptonshire, 
descended  of  the  ancient  barons  of  Rokeby: — 

Pedigree  of  tlie  house  of  Rokeby. 
L  Sir  Alex.  Rokeby, knight,  married  to  sir  Hump. 
Lifile's*  daughter. 

2.  Rali)h  Rokeby,  esq.  to  Tho.  Luraley's  daughter. 

3.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  knt.  to  Tho.  Hubborn's  daugh- 

ter. 

4.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  knt.  to  sir  Ralph  Biggott's 

•hiughter. 

5.  Sir  Tiio.  Rokeby,  knt.  to  si^  John  de  Melsass' 

daugiiter,  of  Bennet-hall  in  Holderness. 

6.  Ralph  Rokeby,  esq.  to  sir  Bryan  Stapleton's 

daughter,  of  Weighill. 

7.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  knt.  to  sir  Ralph  Ury's 

daughter.! 

8.  Ralph  "Rokeby,  esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Mans- 

field, heir  of  Morton.  |: 

9.  Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  knt.   to  Stroode's  _daughter 

and  heir. 

10.  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  knt.  to  sir  Jas.  Strangwayes' 

daugiiter. 

11.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  knt.  to  sir  John  Hotham's 

daughter. 

12.  Ralph  Rokeby,   esq.   to  Danby  of  YafTorth's 

daughter  and  heii'.§ 

13.  Tho.  Rokeby,  esq.  to  Rob.  constable's  daugh- 

ter, of  Clili",  serjt.  at  law. 

14.  Christopher   Rokeby,    esq.    to   Lasscells   of 

Brackenburgh's  daughter.  || 

15.  Thomas    Rokeby,  esq.   to   the    daughter    of 

Tliweng. 

16.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  knt.  to  sir  Ralph  Law- 

son's  (laughter,  of  Brough. 

17.  Frans.   Rokeby,  esq.   to  Faucett's  daughter, 

citizen  of  London. 

18.  Thos.  Rokeby,  esq.  to  the  daughter  of  Wic- 

liffe  of  Gales. 

High  sheriffs  of  Yorkshire. 

1337.  11  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thomas  dc 
Rokeby. 

1343.     17  Edw.  3.   Thos.   de  Rokeby,  pro  sept. 
.    annis, 

1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  justiciary 
of  Ireland  for  six  years;  died 
at  the  castle  of  Kilka. 

1407.  8  Hen.  4.  Thomas  Rokeby,  Miles,  defeated 
and  slew  tlie  duke  of  North- 
umberland at  the  battle  of 
Bramham  moor. 

1411.     12  Hen.  4.  Thomas  Rokebv,  Miles. 

1486 Thos.  Rokeby,  esq. 

1539 Robert  Holgatc,  bish.  of  Lan- 

daff,  afterwards  P.  of  York, 
Id.  president  of  the  council 


•  Lisle. 

t  Temp.  Edw., 2di.  }  Temp.  Edw.  3tii. 

j  Temp.  Henr.  "mi.  and  from  him  is  the  house  of  Sky- 
ers of  a  fourth  brother. 

II  From  him  is  the  house  of  Hotham,  and  of  the  second 
brother  that  had  issue. 


ROKEBY. 


243 


for  the  preservation  of  peace 
in  the  north, 
564.     6  Eliz.  Tho.  Younge,  archbishop  of  \'orke, 
Id.  president. 
30  Hen.  8.  Tho.  Rokeby,  L.L.D.  one  of  the 
council. 
Jn.  Rokeby,  L.L.D.  one  of  the 
council. 
1572.     15  Eliz.  Hen.  Hastings,  earl  of  Hunting- 
don, Id.  president. 
Jo.  Rokeb}-,  esq.  one  of  the  coun- 
cil. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  L.L.L).  ditto. 
Ralph   Rokeby,  esq.   one  of  the 
secretaries. 
1574.     17  Eliz.  Jo.  Rokebv,  precentor  of  York. 
7  Will.  3.  Sir  J.  Rokeby,  knt.  one  of  the 
justices  of  the  king's  bench. 

The  family  of  De  Rokebj'  came  over  witli  tlie  con- 
queror. 

The  old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In  Bivio 
Dextra. 

The  arms,  argent,  cherron  sable,  between  three 
rooks  proper. 

"There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  found  in  our 
family  in  the  Scottish  history  about  the  affairs  of 
Dun-Bretton  town,  but  what  it  is,  and  in  what 
time,  I  know  not,  nor  can  have  convenient  leisure 
to  search.  But  parson  Blackwood,  the  Scottish 
chaplain  to  the  lord  of  Shrewsbury,  recited  to  me 
once  a  piece  of  a  Scottish  song,  wherein  was  men 
tioned  that  William  Wallis,  the  great  deliverer  of 
the  Scots  from  the  English  bondage,  should,  at 
Dun-Bretton,  have  lieen  brought  up  under  a  Roke- 
by, captain  then  of  that  place:  and  as  he  walked 
on  a  cliff,  should  thrust  him  on  a  sudden  into  the 
sea,  and  thereby  have  gotten  tliat  hold,  which,  I 
think,  was  about  the  33d  of  Edw.  1,  or  before. 
Tbus,  leaving  our  ancestors  of  record,  we  must 
also  with  tliera  leave  the  Chronicle  of  Malmesburv 
Abbey,  called  Eulogium  Historiarum,  out  of  which 
Mr.  Leland  reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy  down 
unwritten  story,  the  which  have  yet  the  testimony 
of  later  times,  and  the  fresh  memory  of  men  yet 
alive,  for  their  warrant  and  creditt,  of  whom  I 
have  learned  it,  that  in  king  Henry  the  "th's  reign, 
one  Ralph  Rokeby,  esq.  was  owner  of  Morton,  and 
1  guess  that  this  was  he  that  deceived  the  fryars  of 
Richmond  with  his  felon  swine,  on  which  a  jargon 
was  made." 

Tlie  above  is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript 
written  by  Ralph  Rokeby;  when  he  lived  is  uncer- 
tain. 

To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  parson 
Blackwood  alluded,  it  would  be  now  in  vain  to 
.inquire.  But  in  Blind  Harry's  history  of  sir  Wil- 
liam W^allace,  we  find  a  legend  of  one  Rukbie, 
whom  he  makes  keeper  of  Stirling  castle  under 
the  English  usurpation,  and  whom  Wallace  slays 
with  his  own  hand: 

"  In  the  great  press  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met, 
AVith  his  good  sword  a  stroke  upon  him  set; 
Derfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  he  drave, 
But  his  two  sons  scaped  among  the  lave." 

These  sons,  according  to  the  romantic  minstrel. 


braced  the  English  interest,  at  a  pass  in  Glendo- 
chart,  where  many  were  precipitated  into  the  lake 
over  a  precipice.  These  circumstances  may  have 
been  confused  in  the  nan-ative  of  parson  Black- 
wood, or  in  the  recollection  of  Mr.  Rokeby. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  there  is  men- 
tioned, among  the  English  warriors,  "  sir  Raff  the 
ryche  Rugbe,"  which  may  apply  to  sir  Ralph 
Rokeby,  the  tenth  baron  in  the  pedigree.  The 
more  modern  copy  of  the  ballad  runs  thus: — 

"  Good  sir  Ralph  Raby  there  was  slain, 
Whose  prowess  did  sui-mount." 

This  would  rather  seem  to  relate  to  one  of  tlie 
Nevilles  of  Rab)-.  But  as  the  whole  ballad  is  ro- 
mantic, accuracy  is  not  to  be  looked  for. 


•  the  felon  sow.— P.  214. 


The  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well  as  a 
serious  strain  of  romance,  and  although  the  exam- 
ples of  the  latter  are  by  far  the  most  numerous, 
they  are,  perliaps,  the  less  valuable.  The  comic 
romance  was  a  sort  of  parody  upon  the  usual  sub- 
jects of  minstrel  poetiy.  If  the  latter  described 
deeds  of  heroic  achievement,  and  the  events  of  the 
battle,  the  tourney,  and  the  chase,  the  former,  as 
in  the  tournament  of  Tottenham,  introduced  a  set 
of  clowns  debating  in  llie  field,  with  all  the  as- 
sumed circumstances  of  chivalry;  or,  as  in  the 
Hunting  of  the  Hare,  ( see  Weber's  Metrical  Ro- 
mances, vol.  iii,)  persons  of  the  same  description 
following  the  chase,  with  all  the  grievous  mistakes 
and  blunders  incident  to  such  unpractised  sports- 
men. The  idea,  therefore,  of  Don  Quixote's  frenzv, 
although  inimitably  embodied  and  brought  out, 
was  not  perhaps  in  the  abstract  altogether  original. 
One  of  the  verj'  best  of  these  mock  romances,  and 
which  has  no  small  portion  of  comic  humour,  is 
the  Hunting  of  the  Felon  Sow  of  Rokebv  by  the 
Friars  of  Richmond.  Ralph  Rokeby,  who'  (for 
the  jest's  sake  apparently)  bestowed  this  intracta- 
ble animal  on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems  to 
have  flourished  in  the  time  of  Henry  VII,  which, 
since  we  know  not  the  date  of  friar  Tiieobald's 
wardenship,  to  which  the  poem  refers  us,  may  in- 
dicate that  of  the  composition  itself.  Morton,"  the 
Mortham  of  the  text,  is  mentioned  as  being  this 
facetious  baron's  place  of  residence;  accordinglj-, 
Leland  notices  that  "  Mr.  Rokeby  hath  a  place 
called  Mortham,  a  little  beneth  Gretney-bridge, 
almost  on  the  mouth  of  Gretney."  That  no  infor- 
mation may  be  lacking  which  is  in  my  power  to 
supply,  I  have  to  notice,  that  tlie  mistress  Rokebv 
of  the  romance,  who  so  charitably  refreshed  the 
sow  after  she  had  discomfited  friar  Miduleton  and 
his  auxiliaries,  was,  as  appears  from  the  pedigree 
of  the  Rokeby  family,  daughter  and  heir  of  Danby 
ofYafForth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  publislied  in  Mr. 
Whitaker's  History  of  Craven,  but  from  an  inac- 
curate manuscript,  not  corrected  very  happily.  It 
was  transfered  by  Mr.  Evans  to' the  new  edition 
of  his  ballads,  with  some  well-judged  conjectural 
improvements.  Ih.ave  been  induced  to  give  a  more 
authentic  and  full,  though  still  an  imperfect,  edi- 
tion of  this  humorous  composition,  from  being 
suiTendered  the  castle  on  conditions,  and  went  I  furnished  wiih  a  copy  from  a  manuscript  in  the 
back  to  England,  but  returned  to  Scotland  in  the  i  possession  of  Mr.  Rokeby,  to  whom  I  have  acknow- 
days  of  Bruce,  when  one  of  them  became  again  ^  ledged  my  obligations  in  the  last  note.  It  has  three 
keeper  of  Stirling  castle.  Immediately  after  this  I  or  four  stanzas  more  than  that  of  Mr.  Whitaker, 
achievement  follows  another  engagement,  between  j  and  the  language  seems,  where  tliey  differ,  to  have 
Wallace  and  those  western  highlanders  who  em-)  the  more  ancient  and  genuine  readings. 


244 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  Felon  Sow  of  Roke<)y  and  the  Friars  of  Richmond. 

Ye  mt-n  that  will  of  aunters*  «inne, 
That  late  within  this  land  bath  beene, 

Of  one  I  will  you  tell; 
And  of  a  sewt  that  was  seat  Strang, 
Alai!  tliat  ever  she  lived  sea  lang, 

For  fell}  folk  did  she  whelL|l 
She  was  mare^  than  other  three. 
The  gri'ieliest  beast  that  ere  might  bee, 

Her  htad  was  gi-eat  and  gray; 
She  was  bred  in  Koktby  wood. 
There  was  fiw  that  thither  goed," 

That  came  on  liveft  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlongtj  Greta  side; 
There  was  no  brenW  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  fix)e||||  heaven  to  hell; 
Nor  ever  man  that  had  that  might. 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight. 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Ralph  of  Rokeby  with  good  will, 

The  fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till,1i1[ 

Full  well  to  garre***  them  fare; 
Fryar  Middletou  by  his  name. 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  lier  liame, 

That  rued  him  sineftt  full  sare. 
With  him  took  he  wight  men  two, 
Peter  Dale  was  one  of  thoe, 

That  ever  was  brim  as  beare;ttt 
And  well  durst  strike  with  sword  and  knife. 
And  fight  full  manly  for  his  life. 

What  lime  as  mister  ware.fff 

These  three  men  went  at  God's  will. 
This  wickeil  sew  while  they  come  till, 

LigganlllJII  under  a  tree; 
Rugg  and  rusty  w.is  her  haire; 
She  raise  her  up  with  a  felou  fare,1)^^ 

To  fight  aganist  the  thi-ee. 

She  was  so  grisely  for  to  meete, 
She  rave  the  earth  up  with  her  feete, 

And  bark  came  fro  the  tree; 
When  fryar  Middkton  her  saugh,**** 
Weet  ye  well  he  might  not  laugh. 

Full  earnestly  looK't  hee. 

These  men  of  aunters  that  was  so  wight,  lilt 
They  bound  them  bauldlytitt  for  to  fight. 

And  strike  at  her  full  sare; 
Vntill  a  kiln  they  garred  her  flee. 
Would  God  send  them  the  victory, 

They  would  ask  him  noa  mare. 

The  sew  was  in  the  kiln  hole  down. 
As  they  were  on  the  balke  aboon,}f  J} 

Forllllllll  hurting  of  their  feet; 
They  were  so  saultedfUff  with  tliis  sew. 
That  among  them  was  a  stalwoith  stew, 

The  kilne  began  to  reeke. 

Durst  noe  man  neigh  her  with  his  hand. 
But  put  a  rape****'  down  with  his  wand. 

And  haltered  her  full  meete; 
They  hurledWier  forth  against  her  will. 
Whiles  they  came  unto  a  hill 

A  little  fro  the  streete.ttttt 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a  fray. 
If  they  should  live  to  dooraesday, 

*  Both  the  MS.  and  Mr.  Whjtaker's  copy  read  ancestors, 
evidently  a  corruption  of  aunters,  adventures,  as  correct- 
ed by  Mr.  Evans. 

+  Sow,  according  to  provincial  pronunciation. 

^  So;  Yorkshire  dialect.  §  Fele,  many.  Sax. 

j  A  corruption  of.i/uell,  to  kill.        i  More,  greater. 

•'  Went.        t  Y  Alive.  H  Along  the  side  of  Greta. 

§!  Barn,  child,  man  in  general.        |lll  From. 

^^  To.  *•*  Make.  ttt  Since. 

tXt  Fierce  as  a  bear.  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  reads,  per- 
haps in  consequence  of  mistaking  the  MS. — T'  other  was 
Br  van  of  Bear. 

f'55  N'eed  weiv.  Mr.  Whitaker  reads  musters.  |l|||l  I.jnng. 

t^«[  A  fierce  countenance  or  manner.  •»••  Saw. 

tilt  Wight,  brave.  The  Rokeby  MS.  reads  inroun- 
fen,  and  Mr.  Whitaker,  auncestors.         XWi  Boldly. 

§}}5  On  the  beam  above.  Ill' II II  To  prevent. 

W^  Assaulted.  •••••Rope. 

ttttt  Watling-street;  see  the  seiinel. 


They  tharrow*  it  ne'er  forgett; 
Slie  bradedt  up  on  every  side, 
And  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide, 

For  nothing  would  she  lett.J 

She  gave  such  bradesj  at  the  band 
That  Peter  Dale  had  m  his  hand, 

He  might  not  hold  his  feet; 
She  chafed  them  to  and  fro. 
The  wight  men  was  ne>er  so  wo, 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 

She  bound  her  boldly  to  abide; 
To  Pater  Dale  she  came  aside 

With  many  a  hideous  yell: 
She  gaped  so  w  ide  and  cried  so  hee, 
The  ti-jar  said,  "  I  conjure  thee,|| 

Thou  art  a  fiend  of  hell. 

"  Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  traine,^ 
I  conjure  thee  to  go  againe 

Where  thou  was  wont  to  dwell." 
He  sayned"  liim  with  crosse  and  creede, 
Took  forth  a  book,  began  to  reade, 

In  St.  John  his  gospell. 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  heare. 
But  rudely  rushed  at  the  frcar. 

That  blinked  all  his  blee;tt 
And  she  would  have  taken  her  hold. 
The  fnar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold. 

And  bealedlj  him  with  a  tree. 

She  was  as  brim{§  as  any  beare. 
For  all  their  meete  to  labour  there,|)|| 

To  them  it  was  no  boote: 
Upon  tress  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood, 
She  ranged  as  she  was  wood,^1i 

And  rave  them  up  by  roote. 

He  said,  "  Alas,  that  I  was  frear! 

And  I  shall  be  rugged"*  in  sunder  here, 

Hard  is  my  destinie! 
Wistttt  my  brethren  in  this  houre. 
That  I  was  sett  in  such  a  stoure,ttt 

They  would  pray  for  me." 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  wo, 
Took  tliat  rape  from  the  otlier  two, 

.\nd  tlien  they  fledd  all  three; 
They  fledd  away  by  Watling-streete, 
They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet, 

It  was  the  more  pitty. 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne;}JJ 
The  sew  went  home,  and  that  full  soone. 

To  >forton  on  the  Greene; 
When  Ralph  of  Rokeby  saw  tlie  rap-e,)!!!!] 
He  wistli^li  that  tliere  had  been  debate. 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 
He  bad  tliem  stand  out  of  her  way, 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray,— 

"  I  saw  never  so  keene; 
Some  new  tilings  shall  we  heare 
Of  her  and  Middleton  the  frear. 

Some  battell  hath  there  beene." 
But  all  that  served  him  for  nought. 
Had  they  not  better  succour  sought, 

Thev  were  served  therefore  loe. 


•  Dare.  t  Rushed.  t  Leave  it.  f  Pulls. 

]■  This  line  is  wanting  in  Mr.  V.  hitaker's  copy,  whence 
it  has  been  conjectured  that  something  is  wanting  alter 
this  stanza,  which  now  there  is  no  occasion  to  suppose. 

t  E«l  device.         **  Blessed,  Fr.       tt  Lost  his  colour. 

\\  Sheltered  himself.  y§  Fierce. 

]|||  The  MS.  vea.Ai  to  labounceere.    The  text  seems  to 
mean  that  all  their  labour  to  obtain  their  intended  meat 
was  of  no  use  to  them.  Mr.  Whitaker  reads. 
She  was  as  bi-im  as  any  boar. 
And  gave  a  grisly  hideous  roar. 
To  them  it  was  no  boot. 
Besides  the  want  of  connexion  between  the  last  line  and 
the  two  former,  the  second  has  a  ver)-  modern  sound,  and 
the  reading  of  the  Rokeby  MS.  with  the  slight  alteration 
in  the  text,  is  much  better. 

\^Mad.  **'  Tom,  pulled. 

tt+Knew.  J}t  Combat,  perilous  fight. 

}}}  This  stanza,  with  the  two  following,  and  the  fi-ag- 
ment  of  a  fourth,  are  not  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  edition. 

1!|||1  The  rope  about  the  sow's  neck.  %%,%  Knew. 


ROKEBY. 


245 


Then  mistress  Rokeby  came  anon, 
And  for  her  brought  shee  meate  full  soone, 
The  sew  came  her  unto. 

She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower. 

[^Hiatus  valde  deflendus.^ 
When  fryer  Middleton  came  home, 
His  brethren  was  full  fain  ilkone,"t" 

And  thanked  God  of  his  life; 
He  told  them  all  unto  the  end, 
How  he  had  foughten  with  a  fiend. 

And  lived  through  mickle  strife. 

"  We  gave  him  baltell  half  a  day, 
And  sithenf  was  fain  to  fly  away, 

For  saving  of  our  life.  ^ 
And  Pater  Dale  would  never  blinn,|| 
But  as  fast  as  he  could  htIiK 

Till  he  came  to  his  wife." 

The  wai-den  said,  "  I  am  full  wo, 
That  ever  you  should  be  torment  so, 

But  wee  with  you  had  betnel 
Had  wee  been  there  your  brethren  all, 
Wee  should  have  garred  the  warle**  fall, 
That  wrought  you  all  this  te)Tie.t1" 

Fryer  Middleton  said  soon,  "  Xay, 
In  faith  you  would  have  fled  away. 

When  most  misterJt  had  been;  ' 
You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame, 
A  man  will  diug§}  you  every  ilk  aue. 

And  if  it  be  as  I  weine."' 

He  look't  so  griesly  all  that  night. 
The  warden  said,  "  Yon  man  will  fight 

If  you  say  aught  but  good: 
Yon  guest  II II  hath  grieved  him  so  sare. 
Hold  your  tongues  and  speak  noe  mare, 

Hee  looks  as  hee  wers  wood." 

The  warden  wagedliU  on  the  mome, 
Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 

I  weine,  or  ever  shall  be; 
The  one  was  Gilbert  .Griflin's  son. 
Full  mickle  worship  has  he  wonne, 

Both  by  land  and  sea. 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 
Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slain, 

His  dint***  hath  gart  them  die. 
These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke 
Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  booke, 

And  sealed  security. 

That  they  should  boldly  bide  and  fight. 
And  skomfit  her  in  maine  and  might, 

Or  therefore  should  they  die. 
The  warden  sealed  to  them  againe. 
And  said,  "  In  field  if  ye  be  slain. 

This  condition  make  I: 

"  We  shall  for  you  pray,  sing,  and  read 
To  doomesday  with  hearty  speede, 

With  all  our  progeny." 
Then  the  letters  well  was  made, 
Bands  bound  with  seales  brade,1~f-t 

As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

These  men  of  armes  weere  soe  wight. 
With  armour  and  with  brandes  bright. 

They  went  this  sew  to  see; 
She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd,ttj: 
That  for  her  they  were  sare  afer"d, 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

•  This  line  is  almost  illegible.  t  Each  one. 

X  Since  then,  after  that. 

5  The  above  lines  are  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy. 
II  Cease,  stqy.  %  Run.  **  Warlock,  or  wizari. 

•f+  Harm.  tt  Need. 

j§  Beat.  The  copy  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  History  of  Craven 
reads,  perhaps  better, — 

The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one. 

[Ill  "  Yon  gnest"  may  be  yon  gest,  i.  e.  that  adventure; 
or  it  may  mean  yon  g/iaist,  or  apparition,  which  in  old 
poems  is  applied  sometimes  to  what  is  supematurally 
hideous.  The  printed  copy  reads,— The  beast  hath,  &c. 


'.^  Hired,  a  Yorkshire  phrase, 
t+t  Broad,  large. 


Blow. 
X\\  Such  like  a  roar. 


She  came  roveing  them  againe; 
^hat  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

He  braded  out*  his  brand; 
Full  spiteously  at  her  he  strake. 
For  all  the  fence  that  he  could  make. 

She  gat  sword  out  of  hand; 
And  rave  in  sunder  half  his  shielde. 
And  bare  him  backward  in  the  fielde, 

He  might  not  her  gainstand. 
She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geare, 
But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre, 

He  strake  at  her  full  strong, 
On  her  shoulder  till  she  held  the  swerd; 
Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng.t 
Since  in  his  hands  he  hath  her  tane. 
She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,^ 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast, 
She  strave  so  stiffly  in  that  stower,§ 
That  thorough  all  his  rich  armour 

The  blood  came  at  the  last. 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sea  sare, 
That  he  rave  ofl'  boUi  hide  and  haii-e, 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  bone; 
And  all  with  force  he  felled  her  there. 
And  wan  her  worthily  in  werre, 

And  bajid  her  hame  alone. 

And  lift  her  on  a  hoi-se  sea  hee. 
Into  two  panyers  well  made  of  a  tree. 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay:) 
When  they  saw  her  come. 
They  sang  merrily  Te  Deum, 

The  fryers  on  tiiat  day.H 

They  thanked  God  and  St.  Francis, 
As  they  had  won  the  beast  of  pris,** 

And  never  a  man  was  slaine: 
There  did  never  a  man  more  manly. 
Knight  Marcus,  nor  yet  sir  Gui, 

Nor  Loth  of  Louthayne.tt 
If  ye  will  any  more  of  this, 
In  the  fryers  of  Richmond  'tis 

In  parchment  good  and  fine; 
And  how  fi-yar  Middleton  that  was  so  kend,^| 
At  Greta-bridge  conjured  a  fiend 

In  likeness  of  a  swine. 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man, 
j  That  fryer  Theobald  was  warden  than. 

And  this  fell  in  his  time; 
I  And  Christ  them  bless  both  farre  andneare, 

I  All  that  for  solace  list  this  to  heare, 

I  And  him  that  made  the  rhime. 

Ralph  Rokeby  with  full  good  will. 
That  fryei-s  of  Richmond  he  gave  her  till, 

This  sew  to  mend  their  fare: 
Fryer  >Iiddleton  by  his  name, 
Would  needs  bi-in^  the  fat  sew  hame. 

That  rued  him  since  full  sare. 

4.  The  filea  of  O'Xeale  was  he.— P.  215. 
The  filea,  or  ollamh  re  dan,  was  the  proper  bard, 
or,  as  the  name  literally  implies,  poet.  Each  chief- 
lain  of  distinction  had  one  or  more  in  his  service, 
whose  office  was  usually  hereditary.  The  late  in- 
genious Mr.  Cooper  Walker  has  assembled  a  cu- 
rious collection  of  particulars  concerning;  this  or- 
der of  men,  in  his  Historical  Memoirs  of  tlie  Irish 
Bards.  There  were  itinerant  bards  of  less  elevated 
rank,  but  all  were  held  in  the  highest  veneration. 
The  English,  who  considered  them  as  chief  sup- 
porters of  the  spirit  of  national  independence, 
were  much  disposed  to  proscribe  this  race  of  i)oets, 
as  Edward  I  is  said  to  have  done  in  Wales.  Spen- 
ser, w  hile  he  admits  the  merit  of  their  wild  poetiy, 

*  Drew  out.  f  In  the  combat.  t  Bone. 

§  Meeting,  battle.        ||  Hie,  hasten. 
^  The  MS.  i-eads  mistakenly  every  day.  *»  Price. 

•ft  The  father  of  sir  Gawain,  in  the  romance  of  .\i-thur 
and  Jlerlin.  The  MS.  is  thus  corrupted,— 
Jlorc  loth  of  Louth  Ryme. 
XX  Well  kno'RTi,  or  perhaps  kind,  well  disposed. 


S46 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


as '*  savouring  of  sweet  Mit  and  good   invention, 
and  sprinkK'd  with   some  prettj-  flowers  of  their 
natural   devici.-,"   vet    rigorously   condemns    the 
^■hule  application  of  their  poetry,   as  abased   to 
""  the  gracing  of  wickedness  an<l  vice."  The  house- 
hold minstrel  was  admitted  even  to  the  feast  of 
the  prince  whom  he  served,  and   sat  at  the  same 
table.     It  was   one   of  the   customs  of  wiiich   sir 
Kichard  Sewry,  to  wliose  charge  Richard  II  com- 
mitted the  instruction  of  four  Irish  monarchs  in 
the  civilization  of  the  period,  found  it  most  diffi- 
cult to  break   liis  royal   disciples,  though   he   had 
also  mucli  ado  to  subject  them  to  other  English 
rules,  and   particularly  to  reconcile  them  to  wear 
breeches.    "  The  kyng,  my  soueverigue  lords  en- 
tent  was,  that  in  maner,  countenaunce,  and  appa- 
rell  of  clothyng,  they  sholde  use  according  to  the 
maner  of  Englande,  for  the  kynge  thought  to  make 
them  all  four  knyghtes:  they  had  a  fayre  house  to 
lodge  in,  in  Duvelyn,  and  I  was  charged  to  abyde 
sty  11  with  them,  and  not  to  departe;  and   so  two 
or  three  dayes  I  suffered  them  to  do  as  they  lyst, 
and  sayde  nothyng  to  them,  but  folowed  their  owne 
appetytes;  they  wolde  sytte  at  the  table,  and  make 
countenance  nother  good  nor  fayre.  Than  I  thought 
1  shulde  cause  them  to  chaunge  that  nianer;  they 
wolde  cause  their  mynstrells,  their  seruauntes, 
and  varlettes   to  sytte  with  them,  and  to   eate  in 
their  owne  dyssche,  and  to  drinke  of  their  cuppes; 
and  they  shewed  me  that  the  usage  of  their  coun- 
tre  was  good,  for  they  sayd  in  all  thyngs  (except 
their  beddes)  they  were  and  lyved  as  comen.    So 
the  fourthe  day  I  ordayned  other  tables  to  be 
couered   in  the  hall,  after  the  usage  of  Englande, 
and  I  made  these  four  knyghtes  to  sytte   at  the 
hyghe  table,  and  their  mynstrels  at  another  horde, 
and  their  seruauntes  and  varlettes  at  another  by- 
neth  them,  whereof  by  semynge  they  were   dis- 
pleased,  and  beheld  each   other,   and  wolde  not 
eate,  and   sayde,  how  I  wolde  take  fro  them  their 
good   usage,   wherein   they    had    been   norished. 
Then  I  answered  them  smyl3'ng,  to  apeace  them, 
that  it  was  not  honourable   for  their  estates  to  do 
as  they  dyde  before,  and  that  they  must  leave  it, 
and  use  the  custom  of  Englande,  and  that  it  was 
the  kynge's  pleasure  they  shulde  do  so,  and  how 
he  was  charged   so  to  order  them.     When  thej- 
harde  that,  they  suffred  it,  bycause  they  had  putte 
themselfe  under  llie   obeysance  of  the  kynge  of 
Englande,  and  parceuered  in  the  same  as  long  as 
I  was  with  them;  yet  they  had  one  use  which  I 
knew  was  well  used  in  their  countre,  and  that  was, 
the)'  dyde  were  no  breches;   I  caused  breches  of 
lynen  clothe  to  be  made  for  them.     Whj^le  I  was 
with  them  1  caused  them  to  leaue   many  rude 
thynges,  as  well  in  clothyng  as  in  other  causes. 
Moche  ado  I  had   at  the  fyrst  to  cause  them  to 
weare  gownes  of  sylke,  furred  witii  mvneucre  and 
gr.iy;  for  before  these  k\  nges  liiought  themselfe' 
well  apparelled  whan  they  liad  on  a  mantell.  They 
rode  always  without  saddles  and  styropes,  and  with 
great  payne  I  made  them  to  ride  after  our  usage." 
— Lord  Berners''  Froissart,  Lond.  181'2,  4to.  ii, 
621. 

The  influence  of  these  bards  upon  their  patrons, 
and  their  admitted  title  to  interfere  in  matters  of 
the  weightiest  concern,  may  be  also  proved  from 
tlie  behaviour  of  one  of  them  at  an  interview  be- 
tween Thomas  Fitzgerald,  son  of  the  earl  of  Kil- 
dare,  then  about  to  renounce  the  English  alle- 
giance, and  the  lord  chancellor  Cromer,  who 
wade  a  long  and  goodly  oration  to  dissuade  him  I 


from  his  purpose.  The  young  lord  had  come  to 
the  council  "  armed  and  weaponed,"  and  attended 
by  seven  score  horsemen  in  their  shirts  of  mail; 
and  we  are  assured  that  the  chancellor,  ha\ing  set 
forth  his  orsrtion  "  with  such  a  lamentable  action 
as  his  checks  were  all  beblubbered  with  teares, 
the  horsemen,  namelic,  such  as  understood  not 
English,  began  to  diuine  what  the  lord-chaiicelor 
meant  with  all  this  long  circumstance;  some  of 
them  reporting  that  he  was  preaching  a  sermon, 
otliers  said  that  he  stood  making  of  some  lieroicull 
poetry  in  tlie  praise  of  the  lord  Tliomas.  And 
thus  as  every  ideot  shot  his  foolish  boll  at  the  wise 
chancellor  his  discourse,  who  in  effect  did  nought 
else  but  drop  pretious  stones  before  hogs,  one  bard 
de  Nelan,  an  Irish  rilhmour,  and  a  rotten  sheepe 
to  infect  a  whole  flocke,  M'as  chatting  of  Irish 
verses,  as  thougli  his  toong  had  run  on  pattens,  in 
commendation  of  the  lord  Thomas,  investing  him 
with  the  title  of  Silken  Thomas,  bicause  his  horse- 
meiis  jacks  were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with 
silke:  and  in  the  end  he  told  him  that  tie  lingered 
there  ouer  long.  Whereat  the  lord  Thomas  being 
quickened,"*  as  Hollinshed  expresses  it,  bid  de- 
fiance to  the  chancellor,  threw  down  contemptu- 
ously the  sword  of  office,  Mhich,  in  his  father's 
absence,  he  held  as  deputy,  and  rushed  forth  to 
engage  in  open  insurrectiop. 

5.  Ab,  Clarideboy!  thy  friendly  floor 

Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more. — P.  215. 

Clandeboy  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly  pos- 
sessed by  the  sept  of  the  O'Neales,  and  Slieve-Do- 
nard  a  romantic  mountain  in  tlie  same  province. 
The  clan  was  ruined  after  Tyrone's  great  rebel- 
lion, and  their  places  of  abode  laid  desolate.  The 
ancient  Irish,  wild  and  uncultivated  in  other  re- 
spects, did  not  yield  even  to  their  descendants  in 
practising  the  most  free  and  extended  hospitality, 
and  doubtless  the  bards  mourned  the  decay  of  the 
mansions  of  their  chiefs  in  strains  similar  to  the 
verses  of  the  British  Llywarch  Hen,  on  a  similar 
occasion,  which  are  affecting,  even  through  the 
discouraging  medium  of  a  literal  translation: 

Silent-breathing  gale,  long  wilt  tliou  be  heard! 
There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  prais  e. 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  dog  that  scented  well  the  prey,  and  aerial  hawk, 
Have  been  trained  on  this  floor 
Before  Erlleon  became  polluted 

This  hearth,  ah,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  nettles.' 

Whilst  its  defender  lived, 

More  congenial  to  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy  petitioner. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green  sod! 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Elphin, 

Its  ample  cauldron  boiled  the  prey  taicen  from  the  foe. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad-stools! 
Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  moi-e  cheering  was 
The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless  warrior. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with  spreading  bram- 
bles! 
Till  now  logs  of  burning  wood  lay  on  it. 
Accustomed  to  prepare  the  gilts  of  Reged! 
This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thonis! 
More  congenial  on  it  would  have  been  the  mixed  groupe 
Of  Owain's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  over  with  the  ants! 
More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright  torches 
And  harmless  festivities! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  dock-leaves' 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 

The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheered  warriors. 

•  Hollinshed,  Lond.  1808,  4to.  vol.  ri,  p.  291. 


ROKEBY. 


24/ 


This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the  swine! 

More  congenial  to  it  would  have  been  the  clamour  of  im-n, 

And  the  circling  horns  of  the  banquet. 

Heroic  Elegies  o/Llyivarch  Hen,  by  Oa.u. 
Lond.  1792,  Svo.  p.  41. 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  bed— 

I  must  weep  awhile,  and  then  be  silent' 

The  hall  of  Cj-uddylaii  is  gloomy  this  night, 

"Without  fire,  without  candle — 

Except  God  doili,  who  will  endue  me  with  patience? 

The  hall  of  C>Tiddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire, 'without  being  lighted— 

Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence! 

The  hall  of  Cj-nddylan,  gloomy  seems  its  roof. 

Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more— 

AVo  to  him  tliat  saw  it,  if  he  neglects  to  do  good! 

The  hall  of  Cyuddylan,  art  thou  not  bereftof  thy  appear- 
ance! 

Thr  shield  is  in  the  grave; 

Whilst  he  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof! 

The  hall  of  Cj-nddylan  is  without  love  this  night, 

Since  he  that  owned  it  is  no  more— 

Ah,  death!  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will  leave  ra(>! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  not  easy  this  night, 

(>n  the  tup  of  Llie  rock  of  Hydv.yth, 

Without  its  lord,  without  companv,  without  the  circling 
feasts! 

The  hall  of  Cj-nddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
AVithout  fire,  without  songs- 
Tears  afflict  the  cheeks! 
The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night. 
Without  firej  without  family— 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out! 

The  hail  of  C>^lddylau  pierces  me  to  see  it. 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire — 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill  grief  this  night. 

After  the  respect  I  experienced; 

Without  the  men,  without  the  women,  who  reside  there. 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  silent  this  night. 

After  losing  its  master— 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do? 

Ibid.  p.  77. 

6.  Marwood-chase  and  ToUcr-hill.— P.  215. 

Alarwood-chase  is  the  old  park  extending  along 
the  Durhum  side  of  the  Tees,  attached  to  Barnard- 
castle.  Toller-hill  is  an  eminence  on  the  York- 
shire side  of  the  river,  commanding  a  superb  view 
of  the  ruias. 

7.  Hawthomden.— P.  215. 

Drummond  of  Hawthomden  was  in  the  zenith 
of  his  reputation  as  a  poet  during  the  civil  wars. 
He  died  in  1649. 

8.  M'Curtin's  harp.— P.  216. 

"M'Curtin,  hereditary  ollamh  of  Xorth  Mun- 
ster,  and  filea  to  Donough,  earl  of  Thomond,  and 
president  of  Munster.  This  nobleman  was  amongst 
those  who  were  prevailed  upon  to  join  Elizabeth's 
forces.  Soon  as  it  was  known  that  he  had  basely 
abandoned  the  interests  of  his  countrj-,  ^M'Curtin 
presented  an  adulatory  poem  to  M'Carthy,  chief  of 
South  Munster,  and  of  the  Eugenian  line,  who, 
with  O'Neil.  O'Donnel,  Lacy,  and  others,  were 
deeply  engaged  in  protecting  their  violated  country. 
In  this  poem  he  dwells  with  rapture  on  the  cour- 
age and  patriotism  of  M'Carthy:  but  the  verse  that 
should  (according  to  an  established  law  of  the  or- 
der of  the  bards)  be  introduced  in  tVie  praise  of  O' 
Brien,  he  turns  into  severe  satire: — '  How  aiu  I 
afflicted  (says  he)  that  the  descendant  of  the  great 
Brien  Boiromh  cannot  furnish  me  with  a  theme 
worthy  the  honour  and  glory  of  liis  exalted  race!' 
Lord  Thomond  hearing  this,  vowed  vengeance  on 
the  spirited  bard,  who  fled  for  refuge  to  tlie  county 
18 


of  Cork.  One  day,  observing  the  exaspeiated  no- 
bleman and  his  equipage  at  a  small  distance,  he 
thouo-ht  it  Avas  in  vai  n  to  fly,  and  pretended  to  be  sud- 
denly seized  with  the  pangs  of  death;  directing  his 
wife  to  lament  over  him,  and  tell  his  lordship  that 
the  sight  of.him,  by  awakening  the  sense  of  his  in- 
oratitude,  had  so  much  affected  him  that  he  could 
not  support  it;  and  desired  her  at  the  same  time  to 
tell  his  lordship  that  he  entreated,  as  a  dying  re- 
quest, his  forgiveness.  Soon  as  lord  Thomond  ar- 
rived, the  feigned  tale  was  related  to  him.  The 
nobleman  was  moved  to  compassion,  and  not  only 
declared  that  he  most  heartily  forgave  him,  but, 
opening  his  purse,  presented  the  fair  mourner  with 
some  pieces  to  inter  him.  This  instance  of  his 
lordship's  pity  and  generosity,  gave  courage  to  the 
trembling  bard,  who,  suddenly  springing  up,  re- 
cited an  extemporaneous  ode,  inpraise  of  Donough, 
and  re-entering  into  his  service,  became  once  more 
his  favourite." — Walker's  Memoirs  of  the  Irish 
Bards,  Lond.  1786,  4to.  p.  l4l. 

9.  The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress.— P.  216. 

AmAig  the  entertainments  presented  to  Eliza- 
beth at  Kenilworth  castle,  was  the  introduction  of 
a  person  designed  to  repi-esent  a  travelling  min- 
strel,-who  entertained  her  witli  a  solemn  slory  out 
of  the  Acts  of  king  Arthur.  Of  this  person's  dress 
and  appearance,  Mr.  Laneham  has  given  us  a  very 
accurate  account,  transfeiTed  by  bishop  Percy  to 
the  preliminary  dissertation  on  minstrels,  prefix- 
ed to  his  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetrv',  vol.  i. 
10.  Littlecot-hall.— P.  218. 

The  tradition  from  which  the  ballad  is  founded 
was  supplied  by  a  friend,  whose  account  I  will  not 
do  the  injustice  to  abridge,  as  it  contains  an  admi- 
rable picture  of  an  old  English  hall: 

"  Littlecot-house  stands  in  a  low  and  lonely 
situation.  On  three  sides  it  is  surrounded  by  a 
park  that  spreads  over  the  adjoining  hill:  on  the 
fourth,  by  meadows  whicli  are  watered  by  the  river 
Kennet.  Close  on  one  side  of  the  house  is  a  thick 
grove  of  lofty  trees,  along  the  verge  of  which  runs 
one  of  the  principal  avenues  to  it  through  the  park. 
It  is  an  irregular  building  of  gi-eat  antiquity,  and 
was  probably  erected  about  the  time  of  the  ter- 
mination <3f  feudal  warfare,  when  defence  came 
no  longer  to  be  an  object  in  a  country  nmusion. 
Many  circumstances,  however,  in  the  interior  ot 
the  house,  seem  appropriate  to  feudal  times. 
The  hall  is  very  spi'.cious,  floored  with  stones, 
and  lighted  by  large  transom  windows,  that 
are  clothed  with  casements.  Its  walls  are  hung 
with  old  military  accoutrements,  that  have  long 
been  left  a  prey  to  rust.  At  one  end  of  the  hall  is 
a  range  of  coats  of  mail  and  hehiiets,  and  there  is 
on  every  side  abundance  of  old-fashioned  pis- 
tols and  guns,  many  of  them  with  matclilocks.  Im- 
mediately below  the  cornice  hangs  a  row  of  leath- 
ern jerkins,  made  in  the  form  of  a  shirt,  supposed 
to  have  been  worn  as  armour  -by  the  vassals.  A 
large  oak  table,  reaching  nearly  from  one  end  of 
the  room  to  the  other,  might  have  feasted  tiie  whole 
neighbourhood,  and  an  a[)pend:tge  to  one  end  of  it 
made  it  answer  at  other  times  for  the  old  game  of 
shuftleboard.  The  rest  of  the  furniture  is  in  a  suit- 
able stvle,  i)articularly  an  arm  chair  of  cumbrous 
workmanship,  constructed  of  wood,  curiously  turn- 
ed, with  a  higli  back  and  triangular  seat,  said  to 
have  been  used  by  Judge  Pophara  in  tlie  reign  of 
Elizabeth.  The  entrance  into  the  hall  is  at  one 
end  by  a  low  door,  communicating  with  a  pas- 
sage that  leads  from  the  outer  door  in  the  front  of 


248 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  house  to  a  quadrangle*  within;  at  the  other,  it 
opens  upon  a  gloDniy  staircase,  by  wiiicli  yon  as- 
cend to  tiie  first  floor,  and,  passing  the  doors  of 
some  beiUchamhers,  enter  a  narrow  gallery  which 
extends  along  the  back  front  of  the  house  from  one 
end  to  the  other  of  it,  and  looks  upon  an  old  gar- 
den. This  gallery  is  hung  with  portraits,  chiefly 
in  the  Spanish  dresses  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
In  one  of  tlie  bcd-Lliambers,  which  you  pass  in  go- 
ing towards  the  _g;dlery,  is  a  bedstead  with  blue 


Darrell  was  tried  at  Salisbury  for  the  muider.  By 
coiTupting  his  judge,  he  escaped  the  sentence  of 
the  law,  but  broke  his  neck  by  n  fall  from  his 
horse  in  hunting,  in  a  few  months  after.  The  place 
where  this  happened  is  still  known  by  the  name 
of  Barrel I's  stile, — a  spot  to  be  dreaded  by  the 
peasant  whom  the  shades  of  evening  have  over- 
taken on  his  waj'. 

"  Littlccot-house  is  two  miles  from  Hungerford, 
in  Berkshire,  thi-ough  which  the  Bath  road  passes. 


furiiiture,   wiiich  lime  has  now   made  dingy  and    I'he  fact  occurred  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.    All 


threadbare,  and  in  tiie  bottom  of  one  of  the  bed 
curtains  you  are  shown  a  place  where  a  small  piece 
has  been  cut  out  and  sown  in  again,— a  circum- 
stance which  serves  to  identify  the  scene  of  the 
following  story: — 

"  It  was  on'a  dark  rainy  night  in  the  month  of 
November,  that  an  old  midwife  sate  musing  by  her 
cottage  tire-side,  when  on  a  sudden  she  was  star- 
tled by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door.  On  opening 
if  slie  found  a  horseman,  who  told  her  that  her  as- 
sistance  was  required  immediately  by  a  person  of 
rank,  and  that  she  should  be  handsomely  revjarded, 
but  that  there  were  reasons  for  keeping  the  affair 
a  strict  secret,  and,  therefore,  she  must  submit  to 
be  blind-folded,  and  to  be  conducted  in  that  con- 
dition to  the  bed-chamber  of  the  lady.  With  some 
hesitation  the  midwife  consented;  the  horseman 
bound  her  eyes,  and  placed  her  on  a  pillion  be- 
hind him.  After  proceeding  in  silence  for  many 
miles,  through  rough  and  dirty  lanes,  they  stopped, 
and  the  midwife  was  led  into  a  house,  which  from 
the  length  of  her  walk  through  the  apartments,  as 
well  as  the  sounds  about  her,  she  discovered  to  be 
the  seat  of  wealth  and  power.  When  the  bandage 
was  removed  from  her  eyes,  slie  found  herself  in 
a  bed-chamber,  in  which  were  the  lady  ou  Mhose 
account  she  had  been  sent  for,  and  a  man  of  a 
haughty  and  ferocious  aspect.  The  lady  was  de- 
livered of  a  fine  boy. ,  Immediately  the  man  com- 
manded the  midwife  to  give  him  the  child,  and 
catching  it  from  iier,  he  hurrieil  across  the  room, 
and  threw  it  on  the  back  ol'  the  fire,  that  v  as  blaz- 
ing in  the  chimney.  The  child,  however,  was 
strong,  and  by  its  struggles  rolled  itself  off"  upon 
the  heartl),  ■when  the  rufiian  again  seized  it  with 
fuiT,  and,  in  spite  of  the  intercession  of  tiie  mid- 
wife, awd  the  more  piteous  entreaties  of  the  mo- 
ther, thrust  it  under  the  grate,  and,  raking  the 
live  coals  upon  it,  soon  put  an  end  to  its  life.  The 
midwife,  after  spending  some  time  in  affording  all 
the  relief  in  her  power  to  the  wretched  mother. 


the  important  circumstances  1  have  given  exactly 
as  they  are  told  in  the  country;  some  trifles  only 
are  added,  either  to  render  the  whole  connected, 
or  to  increase  the  impression." 

With  this  tale  of  terror  the  author  has  combined 
some  circumstances  of  a  similar  legend,  which  was 
current  at  Edinburgh,  during  his  childhood. 

About  tlie  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
when  the  large  castles  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  and 
even  the  secluded  hotels,  like  those  of  tlie  French 
noblesse,  which  they  possessed  in  Edinburgh,  were 
sometimes  the  scenes  of  strange  and  mysterious 
transactions,  a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was  called 
up  at  midnight,  to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  point 
of  death.  This  was  no  unusual  summons;  but  what 
followed  was  alarming.  He  was  put  into  a  sedan- 
chair,  and,  after  he  had  been  transported  to  a  re- 
mote part  of  the  town,  the  bearers  insisted  upon 
his  being  blind-folded.  The  request  was  enforced 
bj'  a  cocked  pistol,  and  submitted  to;  but  in  the 
course  of  the  discussion  he  conjectured,  from  the 
phrases  employed  by  the  chairmen,  and  from  some 
part  of  their  dress,  not  completely  concealed  by 
their  cloaks,  that  they  were  greatly  above  the  me- 
nial station  they  had  assumed.  After  man)'  turns 
and  windings,  the  chair  was  carried  up  stairs  into 
a  lodging,  where  his  eyes  were  uncovered,  and  he 
was  introduced  into  a  bed-room,  wiiere  he  found 
a  lafiy  newly  delivered  of  an  infant.  He  was  com- 
manded by  his  attendants  to  say  such  prayers  by 
her  bedside  as  were  fitting  for  a  person  not  ex- 
pected to  survive  a  mortal  disorder.  He  ventured 
to  remonstrate,  and  observe  that  her  safe  delivery 
warranted  belter  hopes.  But  he  was  sternly  com- 
manded to  obey  the  orders  first  given,  and  with 
difficulty  recollected  himself  sufficiently  to  acquit 
himself  of  the  task  imposed  on  him.  He  was  then 
again  hurried  iiito  the  chair;  but,  as  tiiey  conducted 
him  down  stairs,  he  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol. 
He  was  safely  conducted  home:  a  purse  of  gold 
was  forced  upon  him:   but  he  was  warned,  at  the 


was  told  that  she  must  begone.     Her  former  cou-  i  same  time,  that  the   least  allusion  to  this  dark 


ductor  appeared,  who  again  bound  her  eyes,  and 
conveyed  her  behind  him  to  her  own  home;  he 
then  paid  her  handsomely,  and  departed.  The 
midwife  was  strongly  agitated  by  the  horrors  of 
the  preceding  night;  and  she  immediately  made  a 
deposition  of  the  facts  before  the  magistrate.  Two 
circumstances  aflxirded  hopes  of  detecting  the  house 
in  which  the  crime  had  been  committed;  one  was, 
that  the  midwife,  as  she  sate  by  the  bed-side,  had, 
with  a  view  to  discover  the  place,  cut  out  a  piece 
of  the  bed-curtain,  and  sown  it  in  again;  the  other 
was,  that  as  she  had  descended  the  staircase,  she 
had  counted  the  steps.  Some  suspicions  fell  upon 
one  Darrell,  at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  Little- 
cot-house  and  the  domain  around  it.  The  house 
was  examined,  and  identified  by  the  midwife,  and 


•  I  think  there  is  a  chnpel  on  one  side  of  it,  but  am  not 
quite  sure. 


transaction  would  cost  him  his  life.  He  betook 
himself  to  rest,  and,  after  long  and  broken  musing, 
fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  From  this  he  was  awakened 
by  his  servant,  with  the  dismal  news,  that  a  fire 
of  uncommon  fury  had  broken  out  in  the  house  of 
*****,  near  the  head  of  the  canon-gate,  and  that 
it  was  totally  consumed;  with  the  shocking  addi- 
tion, that  the  daughter  of  the  proprietor,  a  young 
lady,  eminent  for  beautj'^  and  accomplishments, 
had  perished  in  the  flames.  The  clergyman  had 
his  suspicions,  but  to  have  made  them  public  would 
have  availed  nothing.  He  was  timid:  the  family 
was  of  the  first  distinction;  above  all,  the  deed  was 
done,  and  could  not  be  amended.  Time  wore 
away,  however,  and  with  it  his  teiTors.  .  He  be- 
came unhappy  at  being  the  solitary  depository  of 
this  f-^arful  mystery,  and  mentioned  it  to  some  of 
his  brethren,  through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired 
a  sort  of  publicity.  The  divine,  however,  had  been 


ROKEBY. 


249 


long  dead,  and  the'stoiy  in  somcdes^ree  forgotten, 
vhen  a  fire  broke  out  aojain  on  the  very  same  spot 
•where  the  house  of  "**•  had  formerly  stood,  and 
■which  was  now  occupied  by  buildings  of  an  infe- 
rior description.  When  the  flames  were  at  their 
height,  the  tumult,  which  usually  attends  such  a 
scene,  was  suddenly  suspended  by  an  unexpected 
apparition.  A  beautiful  female,  in  a  night-dress, 
extremely  rich,  but  at  least  half  a  century  old,  ap- 
peared in  the  very  midst  of  the  fire,  and  uttered 
these  tremendous  words  in  her  vernacular  idiom: 
^^  Aiies  burned;  timce  burned;  the  t/iird  time  I'll 
scare  you  all!"  The  belief  in  this  story  was  for- 
merly so  strong,  that  on  a  fire  breaking  out,  and 
Seeming  to  approach  the  fatal  spot,  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  anxiety  testified  lest  the  apparition 
should  make  good  her  denunciation. 

11.  As  thick  a  smoke  theSo  hearths  have  ^ven 
At  Hallowtidc  or  Christmas  even.— P.  21^. 

Such  an  exhortation  was,  in  similar  circum- 
stances, actually  given  to  his  followers  by  a  Welch  i 
chieftain: —  i 

"  Enmity  did  continue  betweene  Howell  ap  Rys 
ap  HowelM'aughan  and  the  sonnes  of  John  ap ; 
Meredith.  After  the  death  of  Evan  ap  Robert,  I 
Griffith  ap  Gi-onw  (cozen-german  to  John  ap  Me- 
redith's sonnes  of  Gwynfryn,  who  had  long  served  ; 
in  France  and  had  charge  there)  comeiug  home 
to  live  in  the  countrey,  it  happened  that  a  servant 
of  his,  comeing  to  fish  in  Stymllyn,  his  fish  was 
taken  away,  and  the  fellow  beaten  by  Howell  ap 
Rvs  his  servants,  and  by  his  commandment.  Grif- 
fith ap  John  ap  Gronw  took  the  matter  in  such 
dudgeon  that  he  challenged  Howell  ap  Rys  to  the 
field,  which  he  refusing,  assembling  his  cosins 
John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  and  his  friends  toge- 
ther, assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house,  after  the 
manner  he  had  scene  in  the  French  warres,  and 
consumed  with  fire  his  barnes  and  his  out-houses. 
Whilst  he  was  thus  assaulting  the  hall,  which 
Howell  ap  Rys  and  many  other  people  kept,  being 
a  very  strong  house,  he  was  shot  out  of  a  crevice 
of  the  house,  through  the  sight  of  his  beaver  into 
the  head,  and  slayne  out-right,  being  otherwise 
arraed  at  all  points.  Notwithstanding  his  death, 
the  assault  of  tlie  house  was  continued  with  great 
vehemence,  the  doores  fired  with  great  burthens 
of  straw;  besides  this,  the  smoake  of  the  out- 
houses and  barnes  not  farre  distant  annoyed  greatly 
the  defendants,  for  that  most  of  them  lay  under 
boordes  and  benches  upon  the  floore,  in  tlie  hall, 
the  better  to  avoyd  the  smoake.  During  this  scene 
of  confusion  onely  the  old  man,  Howell  ap  Rys, 
never  stooped,  but  stood  valiantly  in  the  middest 
of  the  floore,  armed  with  a  gleve  in  his  hand,  and 
called  into  them,  and  bid  '  ihem  arise  like  men, 
for  shame,  for  he  had  knnwne  there  as  greate  a 
smoke  in  that  hall  upon  Christmas  even.'  In  the 
end,  seeing  the  house  could  no  longer  defend  them, 
being  overlayed  with  a  multitude,  upon  parlev  be- 
tweene them,  Howell  ap  Rys  was  content  toyeald 
himself  prisoner  to  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith, 
Jolm  ap  Meredith's  eldest  Sonne,  soe  as  he  would 
swear  unto  him  to  bring  him  safe  to  Carnarvon 
castle,  to  abide  the  triall  of  the  law  for  the  death 
of  Grtiff  ap  John  ap  Gronw,  who  was  cosen-german 
removed  to  the  said  Howell  ap  Rys,  and  of  the  veiy 
same  house  he  was  of.  \N'hich  MoiTis  ap  John  ap 
Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a  guard  about  the 
said  Howell  of  his  trustiest  friends  and  servants, 
who  kept  and  defended  him  from  the  rage  of  his 
kindred,  and  especially  of  Owen  ap  John  ap  Me- 


redith, his  brother,  who  was  very  eager  against 
him.  They  passed  by  leisure  thence  like  a  campe 
to  Carnarvon:  the  whole  countrie  being  assembled, 
Howell  his  friends  posted  a  horseback  from  one 
place  or  otiier  by  the  way,  who  brousjht  word  that 
he  was  come  thither  safe,  for  they  were  in  great 
feai-  lest  he  should  be  murlhei-ed,  and  that  Morris 
ap  John  ap  Meredith  could  not  be  able  to  defend 
him,  neither  durst  any  of  Howell's  friends  be  there, 
for  fear  of  the  kindred.  In  the  end,  being  delivered 
by  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  to  the  constable 
of  Carnarvon  castle,  and  there  kept  safely  in  ward 
until  tile  assises,  it  fell  out  by  law  that  the  burn- 
ing of  Howell's  houses,  and  assaulting  him  in  his 
owne  house,  was  a  more  haynous  offence  in  Mor- 
ris ap  John  ap  Mereditli  and  the  rest,  than  the 
death  of  Graft"  ap  John  ap  Gronw  in  Howell,  who 
•  lid  it  in  his  own  defence;  wiiereupon  Morris  ap 
Jolin  ap  Mereditli,  with  tliirty-five  more,  were  in- 
dicted of  felonj ,  as  appearetli  by  tlie  copie  of  the 
indictment,  which  I  iiad  from  the  records." — Sif 
John  Jl'irnne^s  History  of  the  G-^vydir  Fainilif,  Load. 

irro,  n\o.  p.  ii6. 

XOTES  TO  CASTO  TI. 
1.  O'er  Hexhani's  altar  hung^  ray  glove.— P.  224. 

This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tyne- 
dale  borderers  is  mentioned  in  the  interesting 
Life  of  Bernard  Gilpin,  where  some  account  is 
given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it  was  the  cus- 
tom of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to  visit. 

"This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on  the 
borders,  where  Saxon  barbarism  held  its  latest 
possession.  These  wild  Northumbrians  indeed 
went  beyond  the  ferocity  of  their  ancestors.  They 
were  not  content  with  a  duel;  each  contending 
party  used  to  muster  what  adherents  he  could, 
and  commence  a  kind  of  petty  war.  So  that  a  pri- 
vate grudge  would  often  occasion  much  bloodshed. 

"  it  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  on 
foot  when  Mr.  Gilpin  was  at  Rothbury,  in  those 
parts.  During  the  two  or  three  first  days  of  his 
preaching,  the  contending  parties  observed  some 
decorum,  and  never  appeared  at  clmrch  togetlier. 
At  length,  however,  they  met.  One  party  had  been 
early  at  church,  and  just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his 
sermon  tlie  other  entered.  They  stood  not  long 
silent:  inflamed  at  the  sight  of  each  other,  they 
began  to  clash  their  weapons,  for  they  were  all 
armed  with  javelins  and  swords,  and  mutually  ap- 
proach. Awed,  however,  bj  the  sacredness  of  the 
place,  the  tumult  in  some  degree  ceased.  Mr. 
Gilpin  proceeded:  when  again  the  combatants  be- 
gan to  brandish  their  weapons,  and  draw  towards 
each  other.  As  a  fray  seemed  near,  Mr.  Gilpin 
stepped  from  the  pulpit,  went  between  them,  and 
addressed  the  leaders,  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel 
for  the  present,  but  could  not  effect  ;m  entire  re- 
conciliation. They  promised  him,  however,  that 
till  the  sermon  was  over  they  would  make  no  more 
disturbance.  He  then  went  again  into  the  pulpit, 
and  spent  die  rest  of  the  time  in  endeavouring  to 
make  them  ashamed  of  w  hat  they  had  done.  His 
behaviour  and  discourse  affected  them  so  much, 
that,  at  his  farther  entreaty,  they  promised  to  for- 
bear all  acts  of  hostility  w  idle  he  continued  in  the 
country.  And  so  much  respected  was  he  among 
them,  that  whoever  was  in  fear  of  his  enemy  used 
to  resort  where  Mr.  Gilpin  was,  esteeming  his 
presence  the  best  protection. 

"  One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  church  in 
those  pai-ts  before  tlie  people  were  assembled,  he 


250 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


cbserveJ  a  glove  hanging  up,  and  was  informed  by 
the  sexton  that  it  was  meant  as  a  challenge  to  any 
one  who  should  take  it  down.    Mr.  Gilpin  oi-dcr- 
ed  the  sexton  to  reach  it  him:  but  upon  liis utterly 
refusing  to  touch  it,  he  took  it  down  himself,  and 
put  it  ill  his  breast.   When  the  people  were  assem- 
bled, he  went  into  liie  pulpit,  and,  before  he  con- 
cluded his  sermon,  took  occasion  to  rebuke  them 
severely  for  these  inhuman  challenges.    '  1  hear,' 
saith  he,  '  that  one  among  you  hath  hanged  up  a 
glove,  even  in  this  sacred  place,  threatening  to  fight 
any  one  who  taketh  it  down:  see,  I  have  taken  it 
down;'  and  pulling  out  the  glove,  he  held  it  up  to 
the  congregation,  and  then  showed  them  how  un- 
suitable such  savage  practices  were  to  the  profes- 
sion of  Christianity,  using  such  persuasives  to  mu- 
tual love  as  he  thoue;ht  would  most  affect  them. " — 
Life  of  Bernard  Gilpin,  Lond.  1753,  8vo.  p.  17". 
2.  A  horseman  armed,  at  headlong  speed.— P.  227. 
This  and   what  follows  is  taken   from  a  real 
achievement  of  major  Robert  Philipson,  called, 
from  his  desperate  and  adventurous  coui-age,  Robin 
the  Devil;  which,  as  being  very  inaccurately  noticed 
in  this  note  upon  the  first  edition,  shall  be  now 
given  in   a  more  authentic  form.   The  chief  place 
of  his  retreat  was  not  Lord's  Island  in  Derwent- 
water,  but  Curwen's  Island  in  the  lake  of  Win- 
dermere.— 

"This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the  Philip- 
sons,  a  family  of  note  in  Westmoreland.  During 
the  civil  wars,  two  of  them,  an  elder  and  a  young- 
er brother,  served  the  king.  The  former,  who  was 
the  pi'oprietor  of  it,  commanded  a  regiment;  tlie 
latter  was  a  major. 

"  The  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was  a 
man  of  great  spirit  and  enterprize;  and  for  his  many 
feats  of  personal  bravery  had  obtained,  among  the 
Oliverians  of  those  parts,  the  appellation  of  Robin 
the  Devil. 

"After  tiie  war  had  subsided,  and  the  direful 
effects  of  public  opposition  had  ceased,  revenge 
and  malice  long  kept  alive  the  animosity  of  indi- 
viduals. Colonel  Briggs,  a  steady  friend  to  usur- 
pation, resided  at  this  time  at  Kendal,  and,  under 
the  double  character  of  a  leading  magistrate  (for 
he  was  a  justice  of  peace)  and  an  active  commander, 
held  the  country  in  awe.  This  person,  having  heard 


that  major  Philipson  was  at  his  brother's  house  on 
the  island  in  Windermere,  resolved,  if  possible, 
to  seize  and  punish  a  man  who  had  made  himselt 
so  particularly  ol)noxious.  How  it  was  conducted, 
my*  authority  does  not  inform  us — whether  he  got 
together  the  navigation  of  the  lake,  and  blockaded 
the  place  by  sea,  or  whether  he  landed  and  earned 
on  his  approaches  in  form.  Neither  do  M-e  learn 
the  strength  of  the  garrison  within,  nor  of  the  works 
without.  All  we  learn  is,  that  major  Philipson 
endured  a  siege  of  eight  months  with  great  gallant- 
ry, till  his  brother,  the  colonel,  raised  a  party  and 
relieved  him. 

"  It  was  now  the  major's  turn  to  make  reprisals. 
He  put  himself,  Iheretore,  at  the  head  of  a  little 
troop  of  horse,  and  rode  to  Kendal.  Here,  being 
informed  that  colonel  Briggs  was  at  prayers,  (for 
it  was  on  a  Sunday  morning,')  he  stationed  his  men 
properly  in  the  avenues,  and  himself,  armed,  rode 
directly  into  the  churcji.  It  probably  was  not  a 
regular  church,  but  some  large  place  of  meeting. 
It  is  said  he  intended  to  seize  the  colonel  and  car- 
ry him  off";  but  as  this  seems  to  have  been  totally 
impracticable,  it  is  rather  probable  that  his  in- 
tention was  to  kill  him  on  the  spot,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  confusion  to  escape.  Whatever  his 
intention  was,  it  was  frustrated,  for  Briggs  happen- 
ed to  be  elsewhere. 

"  Tlie  congregation,  as  might  be  expected,  was 
thrown  into  great  confusion  on  seeing  an  armed 
man  on  horsel)ack  make  his  appearance  among 
them;  and  the  major,  taking  advantage  of  their  as- 
tonishment, turned  his  horse  round,  and  rode  quiet- 
ly out.  But  having  given  an  alarm,  he  was  pre- 
sently assaulted  as  he  left  the  assembly,  and  being 
seized,  his  girths  were  cut,  and  he  was  uuhorsed. 

"  At  this  instant  his  part}"  made  a  furious  attack 
on  the  assailants,  and  the  major  killed  with  his 
own  hand  the  man  who  had  seized  him,  clapped 
the  saddle,  ungirlhed  as  it  was,  upon  his  horse, 
•and  vaulting  into  it,  rode  full  speed  thi-ough  the 
streets  of  Kendal,  calling  his  men  to  follow  iiim; 
and  with  his  w  hole  party  made  a  safe  retreat  to  his 
asylum  in  the  lake.  The  action  marked  the  man. 
Many  knew  him:  and  they  who  did  not,  knew  as 
well  from  the  exploit  that  it  could  be  nobody  but 
Robin  the  Devil." 


Ef^t  HotU  of  Vbt  «i$lC0: 


A  POEM. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  scene  of  this  poem  lies,  at  first,  in  the  cas- 
tle of  Artornish,  on  the  coast  of  Argyleshire;  and 
afterwards  in  the  islands  of  Skye  and  Arran,  and 
upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire.  Finally,  it  is  laid 
near  Stirling.  The  story  opens  in  the  spring  of 
the  year  1307,  when  Bruce,  who  had  been  driven 
out  of  Scotland  by  the  English,  and  the  barons 
who  adhered  to  that  foreign  interest,  returned  from 
the  Island  of  Rachrin  on  the  coast  of  Ireland,  again 
to  assert  his  claims  to  the  Scottish  crown.  Many 
of  the  personages  and  incidents  introduced  are  ol 
historical  celebrity.  The  authorities  used  are 
chiefly  those  of  the  venerable  lord  Hailes,  as  well 
entitled  to  be  called  the  restorer  of  Scottish  his- 
tory, as  Bruce  the  restorer  of  Scottish  monarchy; 


and  of  archdeacon  Barbour,' a  correct  edition  ot 
whose  Metrical  History  of  Robert  Bruce  will  soon, 
I  trust,  appear  under  the  care  of  my  learned  friend, 
the  Rev.  IDr.  .lamieson.f 
Abbotsford,  lOth  December,  1814. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 

CANTO  I. 

Autumn  departs — but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Rests  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville, 

Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  dropped  with  gold, 
Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still; 

Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  sounds  therill 
Yet  lingering  notes  of  Sylvan  music  swell. 


*  Dr.  Burn's  History  of  Westmoreland, 
t  Now  published. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES 


251 


The  deep-toned  cushat,  and  the  redbreast  shrill; 
And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendour  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Ettrick's  west- 
ern fell. 

Autumn  departs — from  Gala's  fields  no  more 

Come  rural  sounds  our  kindred  banks  to  cheer; 
Blent  with  the  stream,  and  gale  that  wafts  it  o'er, 

No  more  the  distant  reaper's  mirth  we  hear. 
The  last  blith  shout  hath  died  upon  our  ear. 

And  harvest-home   hath   hushed  the  clanging 
wain,  I 

On  the  waste  hill  no  forms  of  life  appear, 

Save  where,  sad  laggard  of  the  autunmal  train. 
Some  age-struck  wanderer  gleans  few  ears  of  scat- i 
tered  g^-ain. 

Deem'st  thou  these  saddened  scenes  have  pleasure! 
still ^  1 


Lovest  thou  through  autumn's  fading  realms  to 
stray. 
To  see  tlie  heath-flower  withered  on  the  hill, 

To  listen  to  the  wood's  expiring  lay. 
To  note  the  red  leaf  shivering  on  the  spray, 

To  mark  the  last  bright  tints  the  mountain  stain. 
On  the  waste  fields  to  trace  the  gleaner's  way, 

And  moralize  on  moral  joj'  and  pain? — 
O!  if  such  scenes  thou  lovest,  scorn  not  the  min- 
strel strain! 

No !  do  not  scorn,  although  its  hoarser  note 

Scarce  with  the  cushat's  homely  song  can  vie, 
Though  faint  its  beauties  as  the  tints  remote 
That  gleam  through  mist  in  autumn's  evening 
sky. 
And  few  as  leaves  that  tremble,  sear  and  dry. 

When  wild  November  hath  his  bugle  wound; 
Nor  mock  my  toil — a  lonely  gleaner  I, 
Through   fields  time-wasted,   on  sad    inquest 
bound, 
Where  happier  bards  of  yore  have  richer  harvest 
found. 

So  sh^ilt  thou  list,  and  haplj-  not  unmoved, 

To  a  wild  tale  of  Albyn's  warrior  day; 
In  distant  lands,  by  tiie  rough  west  reproved, 

Slill  live  some  reliques  of  the  ancient  lay. 
For,  when  on  Coolin's  hills  the  lights  decay. 

With  such  the  seer  of  Skye  the  eve  beguiles; 
'Tis  known  amid  the  pathless  wastes  of  Reay, 

In  Harries  known,  and  in  lona's  piles, 
Where  rest  from  mortal  coil  the  mighty  of  the 
Isles. 

I. 

"  Wake,  maid  of  Lorn!"  the  minstrels  sung. 

Thy  rugged  halls,  Artornish!  rung,i 

And  the  dark  seas,  tliy  towers  that  lave. 

Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave, 

As  mid  the  tuneful  choir  to  keep 

The  diapason  of  the  deep. 

Lulled  were  the  winds  on  Inninmore, 

And  green  Locii-Alline's  woodland  shore. 

As  if  wild  woods  and  waves  had  pleasure 

In  listing  to  the  lovely  measure. 

And  ne'er  to  symphony  more  sweet 

Gave  mountain  echoes  answer  meet. 

Since,  met  from  mainland  and  from  isle, 

Ross,  Arran,  Hay,  and  Argyle, 

Each  minstrel's  ti-ibutar)'  lay 

Paid  homage  to  the  festal  day. 

Dull  and  dishonoured  were  the  bard, 

\\  orthless  of  guerdon  and  regard, 

Deaf  to  the  hope  of  minstrel  fame, 

Or  lady's  smiles,  his  noblest  aim. 


Who  on  that  morn's  resistless  call 
Was  silent  in  Artornish  hall. 

II. 
"  Wake,  maid  of  Lorn!"  'twas  thus  they  sung, 
And  yet  more  proud  the  descant  rung, 
"  Wake,  maid  of  Lorn!  high  right  is  ours. 
To  charm  dull  sleep  from  beauty's  boM'ers; 
Earth,  ocean,  air,  have  nought  so  shy 
But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 
In  Lettermore  the  timid  deer 
Will  pause,  the  harp's  wild  chime  to  hear; 
Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 
Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark;2 
To  list  his  notes,  the  eagle  proud 
Will  poise  him  on  Ben  Cailliach's  cloud; 
Then  let  not  mairien's  ear  disdain 
The  summons  of  the  minstrel  train. 
But,  while  our  harps  wild  music  make, 
Edith  of  Lorn,  awake,  awake! 

III. 

"  O  wake,  while  dawn,  with  dewy  shine, 
Wakes  nature's  charms  to  vie  with  thine! 
She  bids  the  mottled  thrush  rejoice 
To  mate  thy  melody  of  voice; 
The  dew  that  on  the  violet  lies 
Mocks  the  dark  lustre  of  thine  eyes; 
But,  Edith,  wake,  and  all  we  see 
Of  sweet  and  fair  shall  yield  to  thee!" — 
"  She  comes  not  yet,"  gray  Ferrand  cried; 
"  Brethren,  let  softer  spell  be  tried. 
Those  notes  prolonged,  that  soothing  theme, 
W^hich  best  may  mix  with  beauty's  dream, 
And  whisper,  with  their  silvery  tone. 
The  hope  she  loves,  yet  fears  to  own."— 
He  spoke,  and  on  the  harp-strings  died 
The  strains  of  flattery  and  of  pride; 
More  soft,  more  low,  more  tender  fell 
The  lay  of  love  he  bade  thera  tell. 

IV. 

"  Wake,  maid  of  Lorn !  the  moments  fly. 

Which  yet  that  maiden-name  allow; 
Wake,  maiden,  wake!  the  hour  is  nigh, 

W^hen  love  shall  claim  a  plighted  vow. 
By  fear,  thy  bosom's  fluttering  guest. 

By  hope,  that  sopn  shall  fears  remove. 
We  bid  thee  break  the  bonds  of  rest, 

And  wake  thee  at  tlie  call  of  love ! 

"  Wake,  Edith,  wake!  in  yonder  bay 

Lies  many  a  gallej'  gayly  manned. 
We  hear  the  meny  pibrochs  play. 

We  see  the  streamers'  silken  band. 
What  chieftain's  praise  these  pibrochs  swell, 

W^hat  crest  is  on  these  banners  wove, 
The  harp,  the  minstrel,  dare  not  tell — 

The  riddle  must  be  read  by  love." 

V. 

Retired  her  maiden  train  among, 

Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  song, 

But  tamed  tlie  minstrel's  pride  had  been 

That  had  her  cold  demeanour  seen; 

For  not  upon  her  cheek  awoke 

The  glow  of  pride  when  flatteiy  spoke, 

jS''or  could  their  tenderest  numbers  bring 

One  sigh  responsive  to  the  string. 

As  vainly  had  her  maidens  vied 

In  skill  to  deck  the  princely  bride. 

Her  locks,  in  dark-brown  length  arrayed, 

Cathleen  of  Ulne,  'twas  tliine  to  braid; 

Young  Eva  with  meet  reverence  drew 

On  the  light  foot  the  silken  shoe, 


252 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


While  on  tlie  uncle's  slender  nnuul 
Those  strinijs  of  ])e«rl  fair  lU'vUia  wound. 
Thai,  hkMiiicd  Lochryan's  depths  «  illiin, 
Soi'ined  (hisky  still  on  Kditli's  skin. 
Hilt  Fiinion,  ol' experience  old. 
Had  weightiest  task — the  nianlle's  fold 
In  manv  an  artful  plait  she  tied, 
To  show  tlie  form  it  seemed  to  hide, 
Till  on  the  floor  descending  rolled 
Its  waves  of  ci-imson  hlent  willi  gold. 

Yl. 

O!  lives  tliere  now  so  cold  a  maid, 
Wlio  thus  in  beauty's  ])0mp  arrayed, 
In  beauty's  proudest  pitch  of  power. 
And  conquest  won — liie  bridal  hour — 
WhU  every  charm  that  wins  the  heart, 
Hy  nature  siven,  enhanced  by  art, 
Could  yet  the  fair  reflection  view. 
In  tlie  bright  mirror  pictured  true, 
And  not  one  dimple  on  her  cheek 
A  tell-tale  consciousness  bespeak? — 
Lives  still  such  maid? — Fair  damsels,  say. 
For  further  vouches  not  my  lay. 
Save  that  stich  lived  in  Britain's  isle, 
When  Lorn's  bright  Edith  scorned  to  smile. 

VIT. 

Rut  Morag,  to  whose  fostering  care 

Proud  Lorn  had  given  his  daughter  fair, 

iVIorag,  who  saw  a  mother's  aid 

By  all  a  daughter's  love  repaid, 

(Strict  was  that  bond — most  kind  of  all — 

Inviolate  in  highland  hall — ) 

Gray  Morag  sate  a  space  apart 

In  Edith's  eyes  to  read  her  heart. 

In  vain  the  attendants'  fond  appeal 

To  Morag's  skill,  to  Morag's  zeal; 

She  marked  her  child  receive  their  care, 

Cold  as  the  image  sculptured  fair, 

(Form  of  some  sainted  patroness,) 

Which  cloistered  maids  combine  to  dress; 

She  marked — and  knew  her  nursling's  heart 

In  the  vain  pomp  took  little  part. 

Wistful  a  while  she  gazed — then  pressed 

The  maiden  to  her  anxious  breast 

In  finished  loveliness — and  led 

To  where  a  turret's  airy  head. 

Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 

O'erlooked,  dark  Mull!  thy  mighty  sound,^ 

Where  thwarting  tides,  with  mingled  roar. 

Part  thy  swarth  hills  from  Morven's  shore. 

vni. 

"  Daughter,"  she  said,  "  these  seas  behold. 
Round  twice  an  hundred  islands  rolled. 
From  Hirt,  that  hears  their  northern  roar. 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore;-* 
Or  mainland  turn,  where  many  a  tower 
Owns  thy  bold  brother's  feudal  power, 
Each  on  its  own  dark  cape  reclined. 
And  listening  to  its  own  wild  wind, 
From  where  Mingarry,  sternly  placed, 
O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste, 5 
To  where  Uunstaffnage  hears  the  raging 
Of  Connal  with  his  rocks  engaging. 
Think'st  thou,  amid  this  ample  round, 
A  single  brow  but  thine  has  frowned, 
To  sadden  this  auspicious  morn, 
That  bids  the  daughter  of  high  Lorn 
Impledge  her  spousal  faith  to  wed 
The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled:6 
Ronald,  from  many  a  hero  sprung. 
The  fair,  the  valiant,  and  the  young, 


Lord  of  the  isles,'  whose  lofty  name 
A  thousand  bards  have  given  to  fame, 
The  mate  of  monarchs,  and  allied 
On  equal  terms  with  England's  pride. — 
From  chieftain's  tower  to  bondsman's  cot. 
Who  hears  the  tale,  and  triumphs  not? 
The  damsel  dons  her  best  attire. 
The  shepherd  lights  his  beltane  fire, 
Joy,  joy !  each  warder's  horn  hath  sung, 
Joy,  joy!  each  matin  bell  hath  rung; 
The  holy  priest  says  grateful  mass. 
Loud  shouts  each  hardy  galla-glass, 
No  mountain  den  holds  outcast  boor. 
Of  heart  so  dull,  of  soul  so  poor, 
But  he  hath  flung  his  task  aside. 
And  claimed  this  morn  for  holy-tide; 
Yet,  empress  of  this  joyful  day, 
Edith  is  sad  while  all  are  gay." 

IX. 

Proud  Edith's  soul  came  to  her  eye, 
Resentment  checked  the  struggling  sigh, 
Her  hurrying  hand  indignant  dried 
The  burning  tears  of  injured  pride — 
"  Morag,  forbear!  or  lend  thy  praise 
To  swell  yon  hireling  harper's  lays; 
Make  to  yon  maids  thy  boast  of  power. 
That  they  may  waste  a  wondering  hour, 
Telling  of  banners  proudly  borne, 
Of  pealing  bell  and  bugle-horn, 
Or,  theme  more  dear,  of  robes  of  price, 
.Crownlets  and  gauds  of  rare  device. 
But  thou,  experienced  as  thou  art, 
Think'st  thou  with  these  to  cheat  the  heart. 
That,  bound  in  strong  affection's  chain, 
Looks  for  return,  and  looks  in  vain? 
No !  sum  thine  Edith's  wretched  lot 
In  these  brief  words — he  loves  her  not! 


"  Debate  it  not — too  long  I  strove 

To  call  his  cold  observance  love. 

All  blinded  by  the  league  that  styled 

Edith  of  Lorn, —  while,  yet  a  child. 

She  tripped  the  heath  by  Morag's  side, — 

The  brave  lord  Ronald's  destined  bride. 

Ere  yet  I  saw  him,  while  afar 

His  broadsword  blazed  in  Scotland's  war, 

Trained  to  believe  our  fates  the  same. 

My  bosom  throbbed  when  Ronald's  name 

Came  gracing  fame's  heroic  tale. 

Like  perfume  on  the  summer  gale. 

What  pilgrim  sought  our  halls,  nor  told 

Of  Ronald's  deeds  in  battle  bold? 

Who  touched  the  harp  to  heroes'  praise, 

But  his  achievements  swelled  the  lays? 

E'en  Morag — not  a  tale  of  fame 

Was  hers,  but  closed  with  Ronald's  name. 

He  came!  and  all  that  had  been  told 

Of  his  high  worth  seemed  poor  and  cold, 

Tame,  lifeless,  void  of  energy. 

Unjust  to  Ronald  and  to  me! 

XI. 

«  Since  then,  what  thought  had  Edith's  heart. 

And  gave  not  plighted  love  its  part! — 

And  what  requital?  cold  delay — 

Excuse  that  shunned  the  spousal  day. — 

It  dawns,  and  Ronald  is  not  here! — 

Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  deer. 

Or  loiters  he  in  secret  dell 

To  bid  some  lighter  love  farewell. 

And  swear,  that  though  he  may  nat  scorn 

A  daughter  of  the  house  of  Lorn,8 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


253 


Yet,  when  these  formal  rites  are  o'er, 
Again  they  meet,  to  part  no  more?" 

xn. 

— "  Hush,  daughter,  hush !  thy  douhts  remove, 

More  nobly  think  of  Ronald's  love. 

Look,  where  beneath  the  castle  gray 

His  fleet  unmoor  from  Aros-bay  I 

Seest  not  each  galley's  topmast  bend, 

As  on  the  yards  the  sails  ascend' 

Hiding  the  dark  blue  land  they  rise, 

Like  the  white  clouds  on  April  skies; 

The  shouting  vassals  man  the  oars. 

Behind  them  sink  Mull's  mountain  shores, 

Onward  their  merry  course  they  keep, 

Through  whistling  breeze  and  foaming  deep. 

And  mark  the  headmost,  seaward  cast, 

Stoop  to  the  freshening  gale  her  mast, 

As  if  she  veiled  its  bannered  pride. 

To  greet  afar  her  prince's  bride! 

Thv  Ronald  comes,  and  while  in  speed 

His  galley  mates  the  flying  steed. 

He  chides  her  sloth!" — Fair  Edith  sighed. 

Blushed,  sadly  smiled,  and  thus  replied: — 

xni. 

"  Sweet  thought,  but  vain! — No,  Morag!  mark, 

Tvpe  of  his  course,  yon  lonely  bark. 

That  oft  hath  shifted'  helm  and  sail, 

To  win  its  way  against  the  gale. 

Since  peep  of  morn,  my  vacant  e)-es 

Have  viewed  by  fits  the  course  she  tries; 

Now,  though  the  darkening  scud  comes  on. 

And  dawn's  fair  promises  be  gone. 

And  though  the  weary  crew  may  see 

Our  sheltering  haven  on  their  lee, 

Still  closer  to  the  rising  wind 

Thev  strive  her  shivering  sail  to  bind. 

Still  nearer  to  the  shelves'  dread  verge 

At  every  tack  her  course  they  urge. 

As  if  they  feared  Artornish  more 

Than  adverse  winds  and  breakers'  roar. " — 

XIV. 
Sooth  spoke  the  maid. — Amid  the  tide 

The  skiff  she  marked  lay  tossing  sore. 
And  shifted  oft  her  stooping  side. 

In  weary  tack  from  shore  to  shore. 
Yet  on  her  destined  course  no  more 

She  gained,  of  forward  way. 
Than  what  a  minstrel  may  compare 
To  the  poor  meed  which  peasants  share, 

Who  toil  the  live-long-  day; 
And  such  the  risk  her  pilot  braves,' 

That  oft,  before  she  wore. 
Her  bowsprit  kissed  the  broken  waves, 
Where  in  white  foam  the  ocean  raves 

Upon  the  shelving  shore. 
Yet,  to  their  destined  purpose  true. 
Undaunted  toiled  her  hardy  crew, 

Xor  looked  where  shelter  lay, 
Nor  for  Artornish  castle  drew, 

Nor  steered  for  Aros-bay. 

XV. 

Thus  while  they  strove  with  wind  and  seas, 
Borne  onward  by  the  willing  breeze, 

Lord  Ronald's  fleet  swept  by, 
Streamered  with  silk,  and  tricked  with  gold, 
Manned  with  the  noble  and  the  bold 

Of  island  chivalrj'. 
Around  their  prows  the  ocean  roars. 
And  chafes  beneath  their  thousand  oars, 

Yet  bears  them  on  their  way; 


So  chafes  the  war-horse  in  his  might, 
That  fieldward  bears  some  valiant  knight, 
Champs  till  both  bit  and  boss  are  white. 

But,  foaming,  must  obey. 
On  each  gay  deck  they  might  behold 
Lances  of  steel  and  crests  of  gold, 
And  hauberks  with  their  burnished  fold, 

That  shimmered  fair  and  free; 
And  each  proud  galley,  as  she  passed. 
To  the  wild  cadence  of  the  blast 

Gave  wilder  minstrelsy. 
Full  many  a  shrill  triumphant  note 
Saline  and  Scallastle  bade  float 

Their  misty  shores  around; 
And  Morven's  echoes  answered  well. 
And  Duart  heard  the  distant  swell 

Come  down  the  darksome  sound. 

XVI. 

So  bore  they  on  with  mirth  and  pride, 
And  if  that  labouring  bark  they  spied, 

'Twas  with  such  idle  eye 
As  nobles  cast  on  lowly  boor, 
"When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure. 

They  pass  him  careless  \fy. 
Let  them  sweep  on  with  heedless  eyes! 
But,  had  they  known  what  mighty  prize 

In  that  frail  vessel  laj-, 
The  famished  wolf,  that  prowls  the  wold. 
Had  scatheless  passed  the  unguarded  fold. 
Ere,  drifting  by  these  galleys  bold. 

Unchallenged  were  her  way ! 
And  thou,  lord  Ronald,  sweep  thou  on, 
With  mirth  and  pride  and  minstrel  tone! 
But  had'st  thou  known  who  sailed  so  nigh. 
Far  other  glance  were  in  thine  eye! 
Far  other  flush  were  on  tliy  brow. 
That,  shaded  by  the  bonnet,  now 
Assumes  but  ill  tlie  blithsome  cheer 
Of  bridegroom  when  the  bride  is  near. 

XYll. 

Yes,  sweep  they  on  I — We  will  not  leave. 
For  them  that  triumph,  those  who  grieve. 

With  that  armada  gay 
Be  laugliter  loud  and  jocund  shout. 
And  bards  to  cheer  the  wassail  rout, 

With  tale,  romance,  and  lay; 
And  of  wild  mirth  each  clamorous  art, 
^^"hich,  if  it  cannot  cheer  the  heart. 
May  stupify  and  stun  its  smart. 

For  one  loud  busy  day. 
Yes,  sweep  they  on! — But  with  that  skiff 

Abides  the  minstrel  tale. 
Where  there  was  dread  of  surge  and  cliff, 
Labour  that  strained  each  sinew  stiff. 

And  one  sad  maiden's  wail. 

xvm. 

All  day  with  fruitless  strife  they  toiled. 
With  eve  the  ebbing  currents  boiled 

More  fierce  from  streight  and  lake; 
And  midway  through  the  channel  met 
Conflicting  tides  that  foam  and  fret. 
And  high  their  mingled  billows  jet, 
As  spears,  that,  in  the  battle  set. 

Spring  upward  as  they  break. 
Then  too  the  lights  of  eve  were  past. 
And  louder  sung  the  western  blast 

On  rocks  of  Inninraore; 
Rent  was  the  sail,  and  strained  the  mast, 
And  many  a  leak  was  gaping  fast, 
And  the  pale  steersman  stood  aghast, 

And  gave  the  conflict  o'er. 


254 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XIX. 

'Twas  then  that  one,  whose  lofty  look 
Nor  labour  dulled,  nor  terror  shook, 

Thus  to  the  k-ailcr  ^poke: 
"  BrnlhiT,  liow  hopest  thou  to  abide 
The  fury  of  this  wildered  tide. 
Or  liow "avoid  llie  rock's  rude  side, 

lentil  the  day  has  l)rokc' 
Did'st  tiiou  nnt  mark  the  vessel  reel. 
With  quivcrinp;  planks  and  groaning  keel. 

At  the  last  billow's  shock? 
Vet  how  of  better  counsel  tell. 
Though  here  thou  soest  poor  Isabel 

Half  dead  witli  want  and  fear; 
For  look  on  sea,  or  look  on  land, 
Or  yon  dark  sky,  on  eveiy  hand 

Despair  and  death  are  near. 
For  her  alone  I  grieve — on  me 
Danger  sits  light  by  land  and  sea, 

I  follow  wliere  thou  wilt; 
F/ither  to  bide  the  tempest's  lour. 
Or  wend  to  yon  unfriendly  tower. 
Or  rush  amid  their  na\al  power. 
With  war-cry  wake  their  wassail-hour, 

And  die  with  hand  on  hilt." — 

XX. 
That  elder  loader's  calm  reply 

In  steady  \oice  was  given, 
"  In  man's  most  dark  extremity 

Oft  succour  dawns  from  heaven. 
Edward,  trim  thou  liie  shattered  sail. 
The  helm  be  mine,  and  down  the  gale 

Let  our  free  course  be  driven; 
So  shall  we  'scape  the  western  bay, 
The  hostile  fleet,  the  unequal  fray, 
So  safely  hold  our  vessel's  way. 

Beneath  tlie  castle  wall; 
For  if  a  hope  of  safety  rest, 
'Tis  on  the  sacred  name  of  guest, 
Who  seeks  for  shelter,  storm  distressed. 

Within  a  cljieftain's  hall. 
Knot — it  best  beseems  our  worth. 
Our  name,  our  right,  our  lofty  birth, 

By  noble  hands  to  fall." — 
XXI. 
The  helm,  to  his  sti-ong  arm  consigned, 
Gave  the  reefed  sail  to  meet  the  wind. 

And  on  her  altered  way. 
Fierce  bounding,  forward  sprung  the  ship, 
Like  greyhound  starting  from  the  slip, 

To  seize  his  flying  prey. 
Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 
The  mimic  tires  of  ocean  glow. 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave;^ 
AVild  sparkles  crest  the  bi'oken  tides. 
And,  flashing  round,  the  vessel's  sides 

With  elvish  lustre  lave. 
While,  far  behind,  their  livid  light 
To  the  dark  billows  of  the  night 

A  gloomy  splendour  gave. 
It  seems  as' if  old  ocean  shakes 
From  liis  dark  brow  the  livid  flakes 

In  envious  pageantry. 
To  match  the  meteor  light  that  streaks 

Grim  Hecla's  midnight  sky. 
XXII. 
Xor  lacked  they  steadier  light  to  keep 
Their  course  upon  the  darkened  deep: — 
Artornish,  on  her  frowning  steep, 

'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung, 
tilanced  witli  a  thousand  lights  of  glee, 


And  landward  far,  and  far  to  sea, 

Her  festal  radiance  flung. 
By  tliat  blitb  beacon-light  they  steered, 

Wliose  luslii'  mingled  well 
With  tiic  pale  beam  that  now  appeared, 
As  the  cold  moon  her  head  upreared 

Above  the  eastern  fell. 

XXlll. 
Thus  guided,  on  their  coiu-se  tliey  bore, 
Until  they  neared  the  mainland  shore, 
\Vi)en  freipient  on  the  hollow  blast 
Wild  shouts  of  merriment  were  cast, 
And  w  ind  and  wave  and  seabird's  cry 
With  wassail  sounds  in  concert  vie 
Like  funeral  shrieks  with  revelry. 

Or  like  the  battle-shout 
By  peasants  heard  from  cliffs  on  high, 
Wiien  triumph,  rage,  and  agonj'. 

Madden  the  fight  and  rout. 
Now  nearer  yet,  through  mist  and  storm, 
Dimly  arose  the  castle's  form. 

And  deepened  shadow  made. 
Far  lengthened  on  the  main  below, 
Where,  dancing  in  reflected  glow, 

An  hundred  torches  played. 
Spangling  the  wave  with  lights  as  vain 
As  pleasures  in  this  vale  of  pain. 

That  dazzle  as  they  fade. 

XXIV. 

Beneath  the  castle's  sheltering  lee. 
They  staid  their  course  in  quiet  sea. 
Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  passage  there 
Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair 

So  straight,  so  high,  so  steep, 
AVith  peasant's  staff  one  valiant  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  have  manned, 
'Gainst  hundreds  armed  with  spear  and  brand, 

.\nd  ])lunged  them  in  the  deep.'" 
His  bugle  then  the  helmsman  wound; 
Loud  answered  eveiy  echo  round. 

From  turret,  rock,  and  bay. 
The  postern's  hinges  crash  and  groan. 
And  soon  the  warder's  cresset  shone 
On  those  rude  steps  of  slippeiy  stone, 

To  light  the  upward  way. 
"Thrice  welcome,  holy  sire!"  he  said; 
"  Full  long  the  spousal  train  have  staid. 

And,  vexed  at  thy  delay. 
Feared  lest,  amidst  these  wildering  seas. 
The  darksome  night  and  freshening  breeze 

Had  driven  thy  bark  astray."— 
XXV. 
"  Warder,"  the  younger  stranger  said, 
"  Thine  erring  guess  some  mirth  had  made 
In  mirthful  hour;  but  nights  like  tliese, 
When  the  rough  winds  wake  western  seas, 
Brook  not  of  glee.   We  crave  some  aid 
And  needtlil  shelter  for  this  maid, 

Until  the  break  of  day; 
For,  to  ourselves,  the  deck's  rude  plank 
Is  easy  as  the  mossy  bank 

That's  breathed  upon  by  May; 
And  for  our  storm-tossed  skiff"  we  seek 
Short  shelter  in  this  leeward  creek. 
Prompt  when  the  dawn  the  east  shall  streak, 

Again  to  bear  away." — 
Answered  the  warder,"  In  what  name 
Assert  ye  hospitable  claim ' 

Whence  come,  or  whither  bound  ? 
Hath  Erin  seen  your  parting  sails. 
Or  come  ye  on  Norweyan  gales } 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


255 


And  seek  ye  England's  fertile  vales, 

Or  Scotland's  mountain  ground  i*" — 
"  Warriors — for  other  title  none 
Por  some  brief  space  we  list  to  own, 
Bound  by  a  vow — warriors  are  we: 
In  strife  by  land,  and  storm  by  sea, 

We  have  been  known  to  fame; 
And  these  brief  words  have  import  dear. 
When  sounded  in  a  noble  ear, 
To  harbour  safe,  and  friendly  cheer, 

That  gives  us  rightful  claim. 
Grant  us  the  trivial  boon  we  seek, 
And  we  in  other  realms  will  speak 

Fair  of  your  courtesy; 
Deny — and  be  your  niggai-d  hold 
Scorned  by  the  noble  and  the  bold. 
Shunned  by  the  pilgrim  on  the  wold, 
And  wanderer  on  the  lea.  "^ 
XXVI. 
"Bold  stranger,  no — 'gainst  claim  like  thine, 
No  bolt  revolves  by  hand  of  mine, 
Though  urged  in  tone  that  more  expressed 
A  monarch  than  a  suppliant  guest. 
Be  what  ye  will,  Artornish  Hall 
On  this  glad  eve  is  free  to  all. 
Though  ye  had  drawn  a^hostile  sword 
'Gainst  our  ally,  gi-eat  England's  lord, 
Or  mail  upon  your  shoulders  borne, 
To  battle  with  the  lord  of  Lorn, 
Or,  outlawed,  dwelt  by  greenwood  tree 
With  the  fierce  knight  of  Ellerslie, 
Or  aided  e'en  the  murderous  strife. 
When  Corny n  fell  beneath- the  knife 
Of  that  fell  homicide  the  Bruce, 
This  night  had  been  a  term  of  truce. — 
Ho,  vassals !  give  these  guests  your  care. 
And  show  the  narrow  postern  stair." — 

xxvu. 

To  land  these  two  bold  brethren  leapt, 
(The  weary  crew  their  vessel  kept,) 
And,  lighted  by  the  torches'  flare. 
That  seaward  flung  their  smoky  glare. 
The  younger  knight  that  maiden  bare 

Half  lifeless  up  the  rock; 
On  his  strong  shoulder  leaned  lier  head. 
And  down  her  long  dark  tresses  shed. 
As  the  wild  vine,  in  tendrils  spread, 

Droops  from  the  mountain  oak. 
Him  followed  close  that  elder  lord. 
And  in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword, 

Such  as  few  arms  could  wield; 
But  when  he  bouned  him   to  such  task. 
Well  could  it  cleave  the  strongest  casque, 

And  rend  the  surest  sliield. 

xxvni. 

The  raised  portcullis  arch  they  pass. 
The  wicket  with  its  bars  of  brass, 

The  entrance  long  and  low, 
Flanked  at  each  turn  by  loop-holes  strait. 
Where  bowmen  might  in  ambush  wait, 
(If  force  or  fraud  should  burst  the  gate, ) 

To  gall  an  entering  foe. 
But  every  jealous  post  of  ward. 
Was  now  defenceless  and  unbarred. 

And  all  the  passage  free 
To  one  low-browed  and  vaulted  room, 
Where  squire  and  yeoman,  page  and  groom. 

Plied  their  loud  rerelry. 

xxix. 

And  "  Rest  ye  here,"  the  warder  bade, 
"  Till  to  our  lord  your  suit  is  said. — 


And,  comrades,  gaze  not  on  the  maid. 
And  on  these  men  who  ask  our  aid. 

As  if  ye  ne'er  had  seen 
A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark, 

And  bearing  martial  mien. " — 
But  not  for  Eachin's  reproof 
Would  page  or  vassal  stand  aloof. 

But  crowded  on  to  stare. 
As  men  of  courtesy  untaught. 
Till  fiery  Edward  roughly  caught. 

From  one  the  foremost  there. 
His  cliequered  plaid,  and  in  its  shroud. 
To  hide  her  from  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Involved  his  sister  fair. 
His  brother,  as  the  clansman  bent 
His  sullen  brow  in  discontent, 

Alade  brief  and  stern  excuse; — 
"  ^'assal,  were  thine  the  cloak  of  pall 
That  decks  thy  lord  in  bridal  hall, 

'Twere  honoured  by  her  use." — 

XXX. 

Proud  was  his  tone,  but  calm;  his  eye 

Had  that  compelling  dignity, 

His  mien  that  bearing  haught  and  high. 

Which  common  spirits  fear; 
Needed  nor  word  nor  signal  more. 
Nod,  wink,  and  laughter,  all  were  o'er: 
Upon  each  other  back  they  bore. 

And  gazed  like  startled  deer. 
But  now  appeared  the  seneschal. 
Commissioned  by  his  lord  to  call 
The  strangers  to' the  baron's  hall. 

Where  feasted  fair  and  free 
That  Island  prince  in  nuptial  tide. 
With  Edith  there  his  lovely  bride. 
And  her  bold  brother  by  her  side. 
And  many  a  chief,  the  flower  and  pride 

Of  western  land  and  sea. 

Here  pause  we,  gentles,  for  a  space; 
And,  if  our  tale  hath  won  your  grace, 
Grant  us  brief  patience,  and  again 
We  will  renew  the  minstrel  strain. 


I. 

Fill  the  bright  goblet,  spread  the  festive  board ! 

Summon  the  gay,  the  noble,  and  the  fair! 
Through  the  loud  hall  in  joyous  concert  poured. 

Let  mirth  and  music  sound  the  dirge  of  care ! 
But  ask  thou  not  if  happiness  be  there. 

If  the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe. 
Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear; 

Lift  not  the  festal  mask!— enough  to  know. 
No  scene  of  mortal  life  but  teems  with  mortal  we. 

II. 

With  beakers'  clang,  with  harpers'  lay. 
With  all  that  olden  time  deemed  gay. 
The  Island  chieftain  feasted  high; 
But  there  was  in  his  troubled  eye 
A  gloomy  fire,  and  on  his  brow 
Now  sudden  flushed,  and  faded  now. 
Emotions  such  as  draw  their  birth 
From  deeper  source  than  festal  mirtii. 
B}'  fits  he  paused,  and  harper's  strain 
And  jester's  tale  went  round  in  vain, 
Or  fell  but  on  his  idle  ear 
Like  distant  sounds  which  dreamers  hear. 
Then  would  he  rouse  him,  and  employ 
Each  art  to  aid  the  clamorous  joy. 


256 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  call  for  pledge  and  lay, 
And,  for  brief  space,  of  all  llie  crowd, 
As  he  was  loudest  of  the  loud, 

Seemed  gayest  of  the  gay. 

m. 

Yet  nought  amiss  the  bridal  throng 
Marked  in  brief  mirth,  or  musing  long; 
The  vacant  brow,  the  unlistening  ear. 
They  gave  to  thoughts  of  raptures  near, 
And  his  fierce  starts  of  sudden  glee. 
Seemed  bursls  nf  bridegroom's  ecslaSy. 
Nor  thus  alone  misjudged  the  crowd, 
Since  lofty  Lorn,  suspicious,  proud, 
And  jealous  of  his  honoured  line. 
And  that  keen  knight,  De  Argentine,' 
(From  England  sent  on  errand  liigh. 
The  western  league  more  firm  to  tie,) 
Both  deemed  in  Ronald's  mood  to  find 
A  lover's  transport-troubled  mind. 
But  one  sad  heart,  one  tearful  eye. 
Pierced  deeper  througli  the  mystery. 
And  watched,  with  agony  and  fear. 
Her  wayward  bridegroom's  varied  cheer. 

She  watched — yet  feared  to  meet  his  glance. 
And  he  shunned  her's; — till  wlien  by  chance, 
They  met,  the  point  of  foenian's  lance 

Had  given  a  milder  pang! 
Beneath  the  intolerable  smart 
He  writhed; — then  sternly  manned  his  heart 
To  plaj'  his  hard  but  destined  part. 

And  from  the  table  sprang. 
"  Fill  me  the  mighty  cup!"  he  said, 
"Erst  owned  b)"  royal  Somerled.2 
.Fill  it,  till  on  the  studded  brim 
In  burning  gold  the  bubbles  swim. 
And  every  gem  of  varied  shine 
Glow  doubly  bright  in  rosj'  wine! 
To  you,  brave  lord,  and  brother  mine, 

Of  Lorn,  this  pledge  I  drink — 
The  union  of  our  house  with  thine, 

By  this  fair  bridal-link!" 

"  Let  it  pass  round  !"  quoth  he  of  Lorn, 
"  And  in  good  time — that  winded  horn 

Must  of  the  abbot  tell; 
The  laggard  monk  is  come  at  last." — 
Lord  Ronald  heard  the  bugle  blast. 
And,  on  the  floor  at  random  cast, 

The  untasted  goblet  fell. 
But  when  the  warder  in  his  ear 
Tells  other  news,  his  blither  cheer 

Returns  like  sun  of  May, 
When  through  a  thunder-cloud  it  beams; — 
Lord  of  two  hundred  isles,  he  seems 

As  glad  of  brief  delay, 
As  some  poor  criminal  might  feel. 
When  from  the  gibbet  or  the  wheel 

Respited  for  a  day. 

VI. 
"  Brother  of  Lorn,"  with  hurried  voice 
He  said,  "  And  you,  fair  lords,  rejoice! 

Here,  to  augment  our  glee. 
Come  wandering  knights  from  travel  far, 
W'ell  proved,  they  say,  in  strife  of  war, 

And  tempest  on  the  sea. — 
Hoi  give  them  at  your  board  such  place 
As  best  their  presences  may  grace, 

And  bid  them  welcome  free!" 
With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand. 
The  seneschal  the  presence  scanned 


Of  these  strange  guests;3  and  well  he  knew 
How  to  assign  their  rank  its  due; 

For,  thougii  the  costly  furs 
That  erst  had  decked  their  caps  were  torn, 
And  their  gay  robes  were  over-worn. 

And  soiled  their  gilded  spurs. 
Yet  such  a  high  commanding  grace 
Was  in  tlieir  mien  and  in  their  face, 
As  suited  best  the  princely  dais. 

And  royal  canopy:      * 
And  there  he  marshalled  them  their  place, 

First  of  that  companv. 

vii. 

Then  lords  and  ladies  spake  aside. 
And  angry  looks  the  error  chide. 
That  gave  to  guests  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  place  so  near  their  prince's  throne; 

But  Owen  Erraught  said, 
"  For  forty  years  a  seneschal. 
To  marshal  guests  in  bower  and  hall 

Has  been  my  honoured  trade. 
Worship  and  birth  to  me  are  known, 
By  look,  by  bearing,  and  bv  tone. 
Not  by  furred  robe  or  broidered  zone; 

And  'gainst  an  oaken  bough 
I'll  gage  my  silver  wand  of  state. 
That  these  three  strangers  ofl  have  sate 

In  higher  place  than  now." — 
VIII. 
"  I,  too,"  the  aged  Ferrand  said, 
"Am  qualified  by  minstrel  trade 

Of  rank  and  place  to  tell; — 
Marked  ye  tlie  younger  stranger's  eye, 
My  mates,  how  quick,  how  keen,  how  high, 

How  fierce  its  flashes  fell. 
Glancing  among  tiie  noble  rout 
As  if  to  seek  the  noblest  out. 
Because  the  owner  might  not  brook 
On  any  save  his  peers  to  look? 

And  yet  it  moves  me  more, 
That  steady,  calm,  majestic  brow, 
With  which  the  elder  chief  e'en  now 

Scanned  the  gay  presence  o'er. 
Like  being  of  superior  kind, 
In  whose  high-toned  impartial  mind 
Degrees  of  mortal  rank  and  state 
Seem  objects  of  indifferent  weight 
The  lady  too — though,  closely  tied. 

The  mantle  veil  both  face  and  e3-e. 
Her  motion's  grace  it  could  not  hide. 

Nor  could  her  form's  fair  symmetrv." — 
IX. 
Suspicious  doubt  and  lordly  scorn 
Loured  on  the  haught)'  front  of  Lorn. 
From  underneath  his  brows  of  pride, 
The  stranger  guests  he  sternly  eyed. 
And  whispered  closely  what  the  ear 
Of  Argentine  alone  might  hear; 

Then  questioned,  high  and  brief, 
"  If,  in  their  voyage,  aught  they  knew 
Of  the  rebellious  Scottish  crew. 
Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew. 

With  Carrick's  outlawed  chief.'-* 
And  if,  their  winter's  exile  o'er. 
They  harboured  still  by  Ulster's  shore, 
Or  lanched  their  gallej's  on  the  main. 
To  vex  their  native  land  again?" 

X. 
That  younger  stranger,  fierce  and  high, 
At  once  confronts  the  chieftain's  eye 

With  look  of  equal  scorn; 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


157 


"  Of  rebels  hare  we  nought  to  show; 
But  if  of  royal  Bruce  thou'dst  know, 

I  warn  thee  he  has  sworn, 
Ere  thrice  three  days  shall  come  and  go, 
His  banner  Scottish  winds  shall  blow, 
Despite  each  mean  or  mighty  foe, 
From  England's  every  bill  and  bow. 

To  AUaster  of  Lorn." 
Bandied  the  mountain  chieftain's  ire, 
But  Ronald  quenched  the  rising  fire; 
"  Brother,  it  better  suits  the  time 
To  chase  the  night  with  Ferrand's  rhyme, 
Than  wake,  'midst  mirth  and  wine,  the  jars 
That  flow  from  these  unhappy  wars." — 
"  Content,"  said  Lorn;  and  spoke  apart 
With  Ferrand,  master  of  his  art, 

Then  whispered  Argentine, — 
"  The  lay  I  named  will  caixy  smart 
To  these  bold  strangers'  haughty  heart, 

If  right  this  guess  of  mine." 
He  ceased,  and  it  was  silence  all. 
Until  the  minstrel  waked  the  hall. 
XL 

THE  BROACH  OF  LOR^.^ 

"  Whence  the  broach  of  burning  gold. 
That  clasps  the  chieftain's  mantle-fold. 
Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device, 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price,s 
On  the  varied  tartans  beaming. 
As,  through  night's  pale  rainbow  gleaming, 
Fainter  now,  now  seen  afar. 
Fitful  shines  the  northern  star? 

"  Gem,  ne'er  wrought  on  highland  mountain. 
Did  the  fairy  of  the  fountain. 
Or  the  mermaid  of  the  wave. 
Frame  thee  in  some  coral  cave? 
Did  in  Iceland's  darksome  mine 
Dwarf's  swart  hands  thy  metal  twine' 
Or,  mortal-moulded,  comest  thou  here. 
From  England's  love,  or  France's  fear? 

XII. 

SOXG  COXTINXZD. 

"  No! — thy  splendours  nothing  tell. 
Foreign  art  or  faery  spell. 
Moulded  thou  for  monarch's  use, 
By  the  over-weening  Bruce, 
When  the  royal  robe  he  tied 
O'er  a  heart  of  wrath  and  pride; 
Thence  in  triumph  wert  thou  torn, 
By  the  victor  hand  of  Lorn ! 

"  When  the  gem  was  won  and  lost. 
Wildly  was  the  war-cry  tossed! 
Rung  aloud  Bendourish  Fell, 
Answered  Douchart's  sounding  dell, 
Fled  the  deer  from  wild  Teyndrum, 
^^^len  the  homicide,  o'ercome. 
Hardly  'scaped  with  scathe  and  scorn, 
Left  the  pledge  with  conquering  Lorn ! 
XIII. 

SOXG  COyCLUDED. 

"  Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand, 
Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand,' 
Vain  Kirkpatrick's  bloody  dirk. 
Making  siu-e  of  murder's  works 
Barendown  fled  fast  away. 
Fled  the  fierj'  De  la  Haye,' 
When  this  broach,  triumphant  borne. 
Beamed  upon  the  breast  of  Lorn. 

"  Farthest  fled,  its  former  lord 
Left  Lis  men  to  brand  and  cord, 


Bloody  brand  of  highland  steel, 
English  gibbet,  axe,  and  wheel. 
Let  him  fly  from  coast  to  coast, 
Dogged  by  Comyn's  vengeful  ghost. 
While  his  spoils,  in  triumph  worn, 
Long  shall  gmce  victorious  Lorn!"— 

xiy. 

As  glares  the  tiger  on  his  foes. 

Hemmed  in  by  hunters,  spears,  and  bows, 

And,  ere  he  bounds  upon  the  ring. 

Selects  the  object  of  his  spring,— 

Now  on  the  bard,  now  on  his  lord, 

So  Edward  glared  and  grasped  his  sword — 

But  stern  his  brother  spoke, — "  Be  still! 

What!  art  thou  yet  so  wild  of  will, 

After  high  deeds  and  sufferings  long, 

To  chafe  thee  for  a  menial's  song? — 

Well  hast  thou  framed,  old  man,  thy  strains. 

To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains;'0 

Yet  something  miglit  thy  song  have  told 

Of  Lorn's  three  vassals,  true  and  bold. 

Who  rent  their  lord  f.om  Bruce's  hold. 

As  underneath  his  knee  he  lay, 

And  died  to  save  him  in  the  frav. 

I've  heard  the  Bruce's  cloak  and  clasp 

Was  clenched  within  their  dying  grasp, 

What  time  a  hundred  foemen  more 

Rushed  in  and  back  the  victor  bore, 

Long  after  Lorn  had  left  tlie  strife, 

Full  glad  to  'scape  with  limb  and  life. — 

Enough  of  this — and,  minstrel,  hold, 

As  minstrel-hire,  this  chain  of  gold, 

For  future  lays  a  fair  excuse. 

To  speak  more  nobly  of  the  Bruce. " — 

XV. 

"  Now,  by  Columba's  shrine,  I  swear. 

And  every  saint  that's  buried  there, 

'Tis  he  himself!"  Lorn  sternly  cries, 

"  And  for  my  kinsman's  death  he  dies." 

As  loudlj'  Ronald  calls — '•  Forbear! 

Not  in  mv  sight  while  brand  I  wear, 

O'ermatched  by  odds,  shall  warrior  fall,  , 

Or  blood  of  stranger  stain  my  hall !  / 

This  ancient  fortress  of  my  race  ' 

Shall  be  misfortune's  resting-place. 

Shelter  and  sliield  of  the  distressed. 

No  slaughter-house  for  shipwTecked  guest."- — 

"  Talk  not  to  me,"  fierce  Lorn  replied, 

"  Of  odds  or  match ! — when  Comyn  died. 

Three  daggers  clashed  within  his  side! 

Talk  not  to  me  of  sheltering  hall. 

The  church  of  God  saw  Comyn  fall! 

On  God's  own  altar  streamed  his  blood, 

W^hile  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsman  stood 

The  ruthless  murderer — e'en  as  now — 

With  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow. — 

L^p,  all  who  love  me !  blow  on  blow  ! 

And  lay  the  outlawed  felons  low ! " — 

XVI. 

Then  up  sprung  many  a  mainland  lord, 
Obedient  to  their  chieftain's  word. 
Barcaldine's  arm  is  high  in  air, 
And  Kinloch-Alline's  blade  is  bare, 
Black  Mm-thok's  dirk  has  left  its  sheath, 
And  clenched  is  Dermid's  hand  of  death. 
Their  muttered  threats  of  vengeance  swell 
Into  a  wild  and  warlike  yell; 
Onward  the}'  press  with  weapons  high, 
The  affrighted  females  shriek  and  fly. 
And,  Scotland,  then  thy  brightest  ray 
Had  darkened  ere  its  niion  of  day, 


258 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


But  every  chief  of  birlh  and  fame, 
That  from  the  Isles  of  Ocean  came, 
At  Ronald's  side  that  horn-  withstood 
Fierce  Lorn's  relentless  thirst  for  blood. 

XVH. 
Krave  Torquil  from  Danvec;an  high. 
Lord  of  the  misty  hills  of  Skye, 
M'Niel,  wild  U;iVa's  ancient  thane, 
Duart,  of  bold  (;ian  Gillian's  strain, 
Fergus,  of  Canna's  castled  bay, 
M'Duffith,  lord  of  Colonsay, 
Soon  as  tliey  saw  the  broadswords  glance. 
With  ready  weapons  rose  at  once. 
More  prompt,  that  many  an  ancient  feud. 
Full  oft  suppressed,  full  oft  renewed, 
Glowed  'twixt  the  cliieftains  of  j\rgyle, 
And  many  a  lord  of  ocean's  isle. 
Willi  was  the  scene — each  sword  was  bare. 
Back  streamed  eacli  chieftain's  shaggy  hair, 
Jn  gloomy  opposition  set, 
Eyes,  hands,  and  brandished  weapons  met; 
Blue  gleaiTiing  o'er  the  social  board. 
Flashed  to  the  torches  many  a  sword; 
And  soon  those  bridal  lights  may  shine 
On  purple  blood  for  rosy  wine. 

XVIII. 

"While  thus  for  blows  and  death  prepared. 
Each  harp  was  up,  each  weapon  bared, 
Each  foot  advanced, — a  surly  pause 
Still  reverenced  hospitable  laws. 
All  menaced  violence,  but  alike 
Reluctant  each  the  first  to  strike, 
(For  aye  accursed  in  minstrel  line 
Is  he  who  braw  Is  'mid  song  and  wine,) 
And,  matched  in  numbers  and  in  might. 
Doubtful  and  desperate  seemed  the  fight. 
Thus  threat  and  murmur  died  away, 
Till  on  the  crowded  hall  there  lay 
Such  silence,  as  the  deadly  still, 
Ere  burst  the  thunder  on  the  hill. 
With  blade  advanced,  each  chieftain  bold 
Showed  like  the  sworder's  form  of  old. 
As  wanting  still  the  torch  of  life. 
To  wake  the  marble  into  strife. 

XIX. 

That  awful  pause  the  stranger  maid. 
And  Edith,  seized  to  pray  for  aid. 
As  to  De  Argentine  she  clung. 
Away  her  veil  the  stranger  flung. 
And  lovely,  'mid  her  wild  despair, 
Fast  streamed  her  eyes,  wide  flowed  her  hair. 
"  O  thou,  of  knighthood  once  the  flower. 
Sure  refuge  in  distressful  hour, 
Thou,  who  in  Judah  well  hast  fought 
For  our  dear  faith,  and  oft  hast  sought 
Renown  in  knightly  exercise. 
When  this  poor  hand  has  dealt  the  prize. 
Say,  can  thy  soid  of  honour  brook 
On  the  unequal  strlie  to  look. 
When,  butchered  thus  in  peaceful  hall. 
Those  once  thy  friends,  my  brethren,  fall!" — 
To  Argentine  she  turned  her  word. 
But  her  eye  sought  the  Island  lord. 
A  flush  like  evening's  setting  flame 
Glowed  on  his  cheek;  his  hardy  frame. 
As  with  a  brief  convulsion,  shook: 
With  hurried  voice  and  eager  look, — 
«'  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  my  Isabel ! 
What  said  I— Edith !— all  is  well- 
Nay,  fear  not — I  will  well  provide 
The  safety  of  my  lovely  bride — 


My  bride?" — but  there  the  accents  clung 
In  tremor  to  his  faltering  tongue. 

XX. 

Now  rose  De  Argentine,  to  claim 
The  prisoners  in  his  sovereign's  name. 
To  England's  crown,  who,  vassals  sworn, 
'Gainst  tiieir  liege  lord  had  weapon  borne — 
(Such  speech,  I  ween,  was  but  to  hide 
llis  care  their  safetj'  to  provide; 
For  knight  more  true  in  thought  and  deed 
Than  Argentine  ne'er  spurred  a  steed) — 
And  Ronald,  who  his  meaning  guessed, 
Seemed  half  to  sanction  the  request. 
This  purpose  fiery  Torquil  broke; — 
"Somewhat  we've  heard  of  England's  yoke," 
He  said,  "and,  in  our  islands,  fame 
Hath  whispered  of  a  lawful  claim. 
That  calls  the  Bruce  fair  Scotland's  lord, 
Though  dispossessed  by  foreign  sword. 
This  craves  reflection — but  though  right 
And  just  the  charge  of  England's  knight. 
Let  England's  crown  her  rebels  seize. 
Where  she  has  power; — in  towers  like  these, 
'Midst  Scottish  chieftains  summoned  here 
To  bridal  mirth  and  bridal  cheer. 
Be  sure,  with  no  consent  of  mine, 
Shall  either  Lorn  or  Argentine 
With  chains  or  violence,  in  our  sight. 
Oppress  a  brave  and  banished  knight." — 

XXI. 

Then  waked  the  wild  debate  again. 
With  brawling  threat  and  clamour  vain. 
Vassals  and  menials,^  thronging  in. 
Lent  their  brute  rage  to  swell  the  din: 
When,  far  and  wide,  a  bugle  clang 
From  the  dark  ocean  upward  rang. 
"  The  alibot  comes!"  they  cry  at  once, 
"  The  hoi)'  man,  whose  favoured  glance 

Hath  sainted  visions  known; 
Angels  have  met  him  on  the  way. 
Beside  the  blessed  martyrs'  bay. 

And  by  Columba's  stone. 
His  monks  have  heard  their  hymnings  high 
Sound  from  the  summit  of  Uiui-Y, 

To  cheer  his  penance  lone. 
When  at  each  cross,  on  girth  and  wold, 

S^'heir  number  thrice  an  hundred  fold,) 
is  prayer  he  made,  his  beads  he  told. 
With  aves  many  a  one — 
He  comes  our  feuds  to  reconcile, 
A  sainted  man  from  sainted  isle; 
We  will  his  holy  doom  abide, — 
The  abbot  shall  our  strife  decide. " — 

XXII. 

Scarce!}'  this  fair  accord  was  o'er. 
When  through  the  wide  revolving  door 

The  black-stoled  brethren  wind; 
Twelve  sandalled  monks,  who  relics  bore, 
With  many  a  torch-bearer  before. 

And  many  a  cross  behind. 
Then  sunk  each  fierce  uplifted  hand. 
And  dagger  bright  and  flashing  brand 

Dropped  swiftly  at  the  sight; 
They  vanished  from  the  chiu-chman's  eye, 
As  shooting  stars,  that  glance  and  die. 

Dart  from  the  vault  of  night. 
XXIIl. 
The  abbot  on  the  threshold  stood, 
And  in  his  hand  the  holy  rood; 
Back  on  his  shoulders  flowed  his  hood. 

The  torches'  glaring  ray 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


259 


Showed,  in  its  red  and  flashing  light. 
His  -withered  cheek  and  amice  white, 
His  blue  eye  glistening  cold  and  bright, 

His  tresses  scant  and  gray. 
"  Fair  lords,"  he  said,  "  our  lady's  love, 
And  peace  be  with  you  from  above, 

And  benedicile! — 
—But  what  means  this'  no  peace  is  here!— 
Do  dirks  unsheathed  suit  bridal  cheer? 

Or  ai-e  these  naked  brands 
A  seemly  show  for  churchman's  sight, 
When  he  comes  summoned  to  unite 

Betrothed  hearts  and  hands?" 

XXIV. 

Then,  cloaking  hate  with  fiery  zeal. 
Proud  Lorn  first  answered  the  appeal;^ 

"  Thou  comest,  O  holy  man, 
True  sons  of  blessed  church  to  greet. 
But  little  deeming  here  to  meet 

A  wretch,  beneath  the  ban 
Of  pope  and  church,  for  murder  done 
E'en  on  the  sacred  altar-stone! — 
Well  mayest  thou  wonder  v.e  should  know 
Such  miscreant  here,  nor  lay  him  low, 
Or  dream  of  greeting,  peace,  or  truce, 
With  excommunicated  Bruce ! 
Yet  well  I  grant,  to  end  debate, 
Thy  sainted  voice  decide  his  fate." — 

XXV. 
Then  Ronald  pled  the  stranger's  cause. 
And  knighthood's  oath  and  honour's  laws; 
And  Isabel,  on  bended  knee, 
Brought  prayers  and  tears  to  back  the  plea; 
And  Edith  lent  her  generous  aid. 
And  wept,  and  Lorn  for  mercy  prayed. 
"  Hence,"  he  exclaimed,  "  degenerate  maid! 
Was't  not  enough  to  Ronald's  bower 
1  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour,^' 
Or  bond-maid  at  her  master's  gate. 
His  careless  cold  approach  to  wait?— 
But  the  bold  lord  of  Cumberland, 
The  gallant  Clifford,  seeks  thy  hand; 
His  it  shall  be — Xay,  no  reply! 
Hence!  till  those  rebel  eyes  be  dry." — 
With  grief  the  abbot  heard  and  saw, 
\'et  nought  relaxed  his  brow  of  awe. 

XXM. 
Then  Argentine,  in  England's  name,' 
So  highly  urged  his  sovereign's  claim. 
He  waked  a  spark,  that,  long  suppressed. 
Had  smouldered  in  lord  Ronald's  breast; 
And  now,  as  from  the  flint  the  fire, 
Flashed  forth  at  once  his  generous  ire. — 
"  Enough  of  noble  blood,"  he  said, 
"  By  English  Edward  had  been  shed. 
Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 
In  mock'ry  crowned  with  wreaths  of  green, '^ 
And  done  to  death  by  felon  hand. 
For  guarding  well  his  father's  land. 
^Vhere's Nigel  Bruce'  and  Be  la  Haye, 
And  valiant  Seton — where  are  they  ? 
Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free? 
And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  ?'3 
Have  they  not  been  on  gibbet  bound, 
Their  quarters  flung  to  hawk  and  hound. 
And  hold  we  here  a  cold  debate. 
To  yield  more  victims  to  their  fate? 
What!  can  the  English  leopard's  mood 
Never  be  gorged  with  northern  blood  ? 
Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed. 
To  sooth  the  tyrant's  sickened  bed?'* 


And  must  his  word,  at  dving  day. 
Be  nought  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay ! — 15 
Thou  frown'st,  Ue  Argentine. — My  gage 
Is  prompt  to  prove  tlie  strife  I  wage." — 

XXVII. 
"  Nor  deem,"  said  stout  Dunvegan's  knight, 
"  That  thou  shall  bi-ave  alone  tiie  fight! 
By  saints  of  isle  and  mainland  both. 
By  Woden  wild,  (my  grandsire's  oath,)'^ 
Let  Rome  and  England  do  their  worst, 
Howe'er  attainted  or  accursed. 
If  Bruce  shall  e'er  find  friends  again, 
Once  more  to  brave  a  battle  plain, 
If  Douglas  couch  again  his  lance, 
Or  Randolph  dare  another  chance. 
Old  Torquil  will  not  be  to  lack, 
With  twice  a  thousand  at  his  back.— 
Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  bearing  bold,* 
Good  abbot!  for  thou  knowest  of  old, 
Torquil's  rude  thouglit  and  stubborn  will 
Smack  of  the  wild  Norwegian  still; 
Nor  will  I  barter  Freedom's  cause 
For  England's  wealth  or  Rome's  applause. " 

XXVIII. 
The  abbot  seemed  with  eye  severe 
The  hardy  chieftain's  speech  to  hear; 
Then  on  king  Robert  turned  the  monk. 
But  twice  his  courage  came  and  sunk. 
Confronted  with  the  hero's  look; 
Twice  fell  his  eye,  his  accents  shook. 
At  length,  resolved  in  tone  and  brow. 
Sternly  he  questioned  him — "  A  A  thou. 
Unhappy!  what  hast  thou  to  plead, 
Why  I  denounce  not  on  thy  deed 
That  awful  doom,  which  canons  tell 
Shuts  paradise,  and  opens  hell; 
Anathema  of  power  so  dread, 
It  blends  the  living  with  the  dead. 
Bids  each  good  angel  soar  away. 
And  every  ill  one  claim  his  prey; 
Expels  thee  from  the  church's  care, 
And  deafens  heaven  against  thy  prayer; 
Arms  every  hand  against  thy  life. 
Bans  all  who  aid  thee  in  the  strife. 
Nay,  each  whose  succour,  cold  and  scant, 
With  meanest  alms  relieves  thy  want; 
Haunts  thee  while  living, — and,  when  dead. 
Dwells  on  thy  yet  devoted  head. 
Rends  honour's  scutcheon  from  thy  hearse, 
Stills  o'er  thy  bier  the  holy  verse. 
And  spurns  thy  corpse  from  hallowed  ground. 
Flung  like  vile  carrion  to  tlie  hound! 
Such  is  the  dire  and  desperate  doom. 
For  sacrilege  decreed  by  Rome; 
And  such  the  well-deserved  meed 
Of  thine  unhallowed,  ruthless  deed." 

XXIX. 
"Abbot!"  the  Bruce  replied,  "thy  charge 
It  boots  not  to  dispute  at  large. 
This  mucli,  howe'er,  I  bid  thee  know, 
No  selfish  vengeance  dealt  the  blow. 
For  Comyn  died  his  country's  foe. 
Nor  blame  I  friends  whose  ill-timed  speed 
Fulfilled  my  soon-repented  deed. 
Nor  censure  those  from  whose  stern  tongue 
The  dire  anathema  has  rung. 
I  only  blame  mine  own  wild  ire. 
By  Scotland's  wrongs  incensed  to  fire. 
Heaven  knows  my  purpose  to  atone. 
Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done. 
And  hears  a  penitent's  appeal 
From  papal  curse  and  prelate's  zeal. 


260 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


JVIy  fii'A  and  dearest  task  achieved, 
Fair  Scotland  tVom  her  thrall  relieved, 
SKall  many  a  priest  in  C()i)e  and  stole 
Say  requiem  for  red  Comyn's  soul. 
While  1  the  blessed  cross  advance, 
And  -xiHate  this  unhappy  chance, 
In  Palestine,  -with  sword  and  lance." 
Tut,  wliile  content  llie  church  should  know 
My  coi«cience  owns  the  debt  I  owe, 
Unto  De  Argentine  and  Lorn 
The  nan)c  of  traitor  1  return, 
Bid  tUcin  defiance  stern  and  high. 
And  giv^jlthem  in  their  throats  the  lie! 
These  brief  words  spoke,  1  speak  no  more. 
Do  what  thou  wilt;  my  shrift  is  o'er." 

XXX. 

Like  man  by  prodigy  amazed, 
Upon  the  king  the  abbot  gazed; 
Then  o'er  his  pallid  features  glance 
Convulsions  of  ecstatic  trance. 
His  bre;Uhing  came  more  thick  and  fast, 
And  from  his  pale  blue  eyes  were  cast 
Strange  rays  of  wild  and  wandering  light; 
Uprise  his  locks  of  silver  white, 
Flushed  is  his  brow,  through  every  vein 
In  azui'e  tide  the  currents  strain. 
And  undistinguished  accents  broke 
The  awful  silence  ere  he  spoke. 

XXXL 

"  De  Bruce!  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head, '8 

And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 

To  him  who  burns  to  shed  th)'  gore; 

But,  like  the  Midianite  of  old, 

W^ho  stood  on  Zophim,  heaven-controlled, 

I  feel  wi'hin  mine  aged  breast 

A  powei  that  will  not  be  repressed. '^ 

It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins. 

It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains! 

De  Br'ice,  thy  sacrilegious  blow 

Hath  al^God's  altar  slain  thy  foe; 

O'cr-mjfetered  yet  by  high  behest, 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shall  be  blessed!" 

He  spol  e,  and  o'er  the  astonished  throng 

Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 

XXXII. 

Again  that  light  has  fired  his  eye. 
Again  liis  form  swells  bold  and  high. 
The  broken  voice  of  age  is  gone, 
Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone: 
"  Thrice^  vanquished  on  the  battle-plain. 
Thy  followers  slauglitered,  fled,  or  ta'en, 
A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 20 
On  forei:5n  shores  a  man  exiled. 
Disowned,  deserted,  and  distressed, 
1  bless  t  lee,  and  tliou  shall  be  blessed: 
TJlesset  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 
L^n^lcr  tne  mantle  as  the  shield. 
AM.ngeyjjf  thy  country's  shame, 
Hef torer'of  her  injured  fame, 
Dlts'ed  ill  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword, 
De  liruc-,  fair  Scotland's  rightful  lord, 
FU  ssed^Sh  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 
Wh.it  1(  n^thened  honouj-s  wait  thy  name! 
In  (Ustar'  ages,  sire  to  son 
Sl'.all  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won. 
And  teach  his  infants,  in  the  use 
Of  earliest  speech,  to  falter  Bruce. 
Cto,  then,  triumphant!  sweep  along 
'l'i)\  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song! 


The  Power,  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast, 
Hath  blessed  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  blessed! — 
Enough — my  short  lived  strength  decays, 
And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze. — 
Heaven  hath  our  destined  purpose  broke, 
Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke; 
Brethren,  our  errand  here  is  o'er. 
Our  task  discharged. — Unmoor,  unmoor!" — 
His  priests  received  the  exhausted  monk. 
As  brcatldess  in  their  arms  he  sunk, 
Punctual  his  orders  to  obey, 
The  train  refused  all  longer  stay. 
Embarked,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away. 


Hast  thou  not  marked,  when  o'er  thy  startled  head 
Sudden  and  deep  the  thunder-j)eal  has  rolled, 

How,  when  its  echoes  fell,  a  silence  dead 

Sunk  on  the  wood,  the  meadow,  and  the  wold? 

The  rye-grass  shakes  not  on  the  sod-built  fold. 
The  rustling  aspen's  leaves  are  mute  and  still, 

The  wall-flower  waves  not  on  the  ruined  hold. 
Till,  murmuring  distant  first,  then  near  and  shrill. 

The  savage  whirlwind  wakes,  and  sweeps  the  groan- 
ing hill ! 

II. 
Artornishl  such  a  silence  sunk 
Upon  thy  halls,  when  that  gray  monk 

His  prophet-speech  had  spoke; 
And  his  obedient  brethren's  sail 
Was  stretched  to  meet  the  southern  gale 

Before  a  whisper  woke. 
Then  murmuring  sounds  of  douht  and  fear. 
Close  poured  in  many  an  anxious  ear, 

Tlie  solemn  stillness  broke; 
And  still  they  gazed  with  eager  guess. 
Where,  in  an  oriel's  deep  recess. 
The  Island  prince  seemed  bent  to  press 
What  Lorn,  by  his  impatient  cheer. 
And  gesture  fierce,  scarce  deigned  to  hear. 

in. 

Starting  at  length  with  frowning  look, 
His  hand  he  clenched,  his  head  he  shook, 

And  sternly  flung  apart: — 
"  And  deem'st  thou  me  so  mean  of  mood. 
As  to  forget  the  mortal  feud, 
And  clasp  the  hand  witii  blood  embrued 

From  my  dear  kinsman's  heart' 
Is  this  thy  rede' — a  due  return 
For  ancient  league  and  friendship  sworn! 
But  well  our  mountain  proverb  shows 
The  faith  of  Islesmen  ebbs  and  flows. 
Be  it  e'en  so — believe,  ere  long. 
He  that  now  bears  shall  wreak  the  wrong. — 
Call  Edith — call  the  maid  of  Lorn! 
My  sister,  slaves! — for  further  scorn. 
Be  sure  nor  she  nor  1  will  stay. — 
Awaj',  De  Argentine,  away! — 
We  nor  ally  nor  brother  know. 
In  Bruce's  friend,  or  England's  foe." 

IV. 

But  who  the  chieftain's  rage  can  tell. 
When,  sought  from  lowest  dungeon  cell 
To  highest  tower  the  castle  round. 
No  lady  Edith  was  there  found  I 
He  shouted,  "  Falsehood ! — treacherj' ! — 
Revenge  and  blood! — a  lordly  meed 
To  him  that  will  avenge  the  deed! 
A  baron's  lands!" — His  frantic  mood 
Was  scai'cely  by  the  news  withstood. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


26: 


That  Morag  shared  his  sister's  flight, 
And  that,  in  hurry  of  the  night, 
'Scaped  noteless,  and  without  remark, 
Two  strangers  sought  the  abbot's  bark. 
"Man  every  galley! — fly — pursue! 
The  priest  his  treachery  shall  rue! 
Ay,  and  the  time  shall  quickly  come, 
"When  we  shall  hear  the  thanks  that  Rome 
Will  pay  his  feigned  prophecy!" 
Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  indignant  cry; 
And  Cormac  Doil  in  haste  obeyed,  . 
Hoisted  his  sail,  his  anchor  weighed, 
( For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil.)i 
But  others,  lingering,  spoke  apart, 
"  The  maid  has  given  her  maiden  heart 

To  Ronald  of  the  Isles; 
And,  fearful  lest  her  brother's  word 
Bestow  her  on  that  English  lord. 

She  seeks  lona's  piles; 
And  wisely  deems  it  best  to  dwell 
A  vot'ress  in  the  holy  cell. 
Until  these  feuds,  so  fierce  and  fell, 

The  abbot  reconciles." 

V. 

As,  impotent  of  ire,  the  hall 
Echoed  to  Lorn's  impatient  call. 
"  My  horse,  my  mantle,  and  my  train! 
Let  none  who  honours  Lorn  remain  I " 
Courteous,  but  stern,  a  bold  request 
To  Bruce  De  Argentine  expressed^ 
"Lord  earl,"  he  said, — "1  cannot  choose 
But  yield  such  title  to  the  Bruce, 
Though  name  aud  earldom  both  are  gone, 
Since  he  braced  rebel's  armour  on^ 
But,  eSrl  or  serf — rude  phrase  was  thine 
Of  late,  and  lanched  at  Argentine; 
Such  as  compels  me  to  demand 
Redress  of  honour  at  thy  hand. 
We  need  not  to  each  pther  tell, 
That  both  can  wield  their  weapons  well; 
Then  do  me  but  the  soldier  grace. 
This  glove  upon  thy  helm  to  place. 

Where  we  may  meet  in  fight; 
And  I  will  say,  as  still  I've  said. 
Though  by  ambition  far  misled,  ^ 

Thou  art  a  noble  knight." 
VI. 
"  And  1,"  the  princely  Bruce  replied, 
"  Might  term  it  stain  on  knighthood's  pride. 
That  the  bright  sword  of  Argentine 
Should  in  a  tyrant's  quarrel  shine; 

But,  for  your  brave  request. 
Be  sure  the  honoured  pledge  you  gave 
In  every  battle  field  shall  wave 

Upon  my  helmet-crest; 
Believe,  that  if  my  hasty  tongue 
Hath  done  thine  honour  causeless  wrong, 

It  shall  be  well  redressed. 
Nor  dearer  to  my  soul  was  glove, 
"Bestowed  in  youth  by  lady's  love, 

Than  this  which  thou  hast  given! 
Thus,  then,  my  noble  foe  I  greet; 
Health  and  high  fortune  till  we  meet, 

And  then — what  pleases  heaven." 
VII. 
Thus  parted  they — for  now,  with  sound 
Like  waves  rolled  back  from  rocky  ground, 

The  friends  of  Lorn  retire; 
Each  mainland  chieftain,  with  his  train, 
Draws  to  his  mountain  towers  again, 


Pondering  how  mortal  schemes  prove  vain, 

And  mortal  hopes  expire. 
But  through  the  castle  double  guard. 
By  Ronald's  charge,  kept  wakeful  ward. 
Wicket  and  gale  were  trebly  barred 

By  beam  and  bolt  and  chain; 
Then  of  the  guests,  in  courteous  sort. 
He  prayed  excuse  for  mirth  broke  short. 
And  bade  them  in  Artornish  fort 

In  confidence  remain. 
Now  torch  and  menial  tendance  led 
Chieftain  and  knight  to  bower  and  bed. 
And  beads  were  told,  and  aves  said. 

And  soon  they  sunk  away 
Into  such  sleep,  as  wont  to  shed 
Oblivion  on  the  weary  head. 

After  a  toilsome  day. 

VIII. 
But  soon  up-roused,  the  monarch  cried 
To  Edward,  slumbering  by  his  side, 

"  Awake,  or  sleep  for  aye! 
E'en  now  there  jarred  a  secret  door — 
A  taper  light  gleams  on  the  floor — 

Up,  Edward,  up,  I  say! 
Some  one  glides  in  like  midnight  ghost — 
— Nay,  strike  not!  'tis  our  noble  host." 
Advancing  then  his  taper's  flame, 
Ronald  slept.forth,  and  with  him  came 
Dunvegan's  cldet^ — each  bent  the  knee 
To  Bruce,  in  sign  of  fealty, 

And  proffered  him  his  sword. 
And  hailed  him,  in  a  monarch's  style. 
As  king  of  mainland  and  of  isle. 

And  Scotland's  rightful  lord. 
"  And  O,"  said  Ronald,  "  Owned  of  heaven! 
Say,  is  my  erring  youth  forgiven. 
By  falsehood's  arts  from  duty  driven. 

Who  rebel  falchion  drew. 
Yet  ever  to  thy  deeds  of  fame. 
E'en  while  I  strove  against  thy  claim. 

Paid  liomage  just  and  true'" — 
"  Alas!  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time," 
Answered  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime. 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you. 
E'en  I        '"  he  paused;  for  Falkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose.2 
The  chieftain  to  his  breast  he  pressed, 
And  in  a  sigh  concealed  the  rest. 

IX. 

They  proffered  aid,  by  arms  and  might, 
•To  repossess  him  in  his  right; 
But  well  their  counsels  must  be  weighed. 
Ere  banners  raised  and  musters  made. 
For  English  hire  and  Lorn's  intrigues 
Bound  many  chiefs  in  southern  leagues. 
In  answer,  Bruce  his  purpose  bold 
To  his  new  vassals  frankly  told. 
"  The  winter  worn  in  exile  o'er, 
I  longed  for  Carrick's  kindred  shore; 
I  thought  upon  my  native  Ayr, 
And  longed  to  see  the  burly  fare 
That  Cliff'ord  makes,  whose  lordly  call 
Now  echoes  through  my  father's  hall. 
But  first  my  course  to  Arran  led. 
Where  valiant  Lennox  gathers  head. 
And  on  the  sea,  by  tempests  tossed. 
Our  barks  dispersed,  our  purpose  crossed. 
Mine  own,  a  hostile  sail  to  shun. 
Far  from  her  destined  course  had  run. 
When  that  wise  will,  which  masters  ours, 
Compelled  us  to  your  fiiendly  towers. " — 


i. 


963 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  Torquil  spoke:  ««The  time  craves  speed! 

We  must  not  linger  in  our  deed, 

But  instant  pray  our  sovereign  liege 

'l"o  shun  the  perils  of  a  siege. 

'llie  vengeful  Lorn,  with  all  his  powers, 

Lies  but  too  near  Artornish  towers, 

And  England's  light-armed  vessels  ride, 

Not  distant  far,  ilie  waves  of  Clyde, 

Prompt  at  these  tidings  to  unmoor. 

And  sweep  eacli  strait,  and  guard  each  shore; 

'i'lien,  till  this  fresh  alarm  pass  by, 

St  cret  and  safe  my  liege  must  lie 

}n  the  far  bounds  of  friendly  Skj'e, 

'1'  niuil  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide." — 

\'ot  so,  brave  chieftain,"  Ronald  cried; 
'    ^Vlyself  will  on  my  sovereign  wait. 
And  raise  in  arms  the  men  of  Sleate, 
Whilst  thou,  renowned  wiiere  chiefs  debate, 
Shalt  sway  their  souls  by  counsel  sage. 
And  awe  them  by  thy  locks  of  age." — 
— "  And  if  my  words  in  weight  shall  fail, 
This  ponderous  sword  shall  turn  the  scale." — 

XL 

"The  scheme,"  said  Bruce," contents  me  well; 

Meantime,  'twere  best  that  Isabel, 

For  safety,  with  my  bark  and  crew. 

Again  to  friendly  Erin  drew'. 

There  Edward,  "too,  shall  with  her  wend, 

In  need  to  cheer  her  and  defend. 

And  muster  up  each  scattered  friend." 

Here  seemed  it  as  lord  Ronald's  ear 

Would  other  counsel  gladlier  hear; 

But,  all  achieved  as  soon  as  planned. 

Both  harks,  in  secret  armed  and  manned, 

From  out  the  haven  bore; 
On  different  voyage  forth  the)'  ply. 
This  for  the  coast  of  winged  Skye, 

And  that  for  Erin's  shore. 

XIL 

With  Brace  and  Ronald  bides  tlie  tale. 
To  favouring  winds  they  gave  the  sail, 
Till  Mall's  dark  headlands  scarce  they  knew, 
And  Ardnamurchan's  hills  were  blue. 
But  then  the  squalls  blew  close  and  hard. 
And,  fain  to  strike  the  galley's  yard, 

And  take  them  to  the  oar, 
W^ith  these  rude  seas,  in  weary  plight, 
Thev  strove  the  live-long  day  and  night, 
Xortill  the  dawning  had  a  sight 

Of  Skye's  romantic  shore 
Where  Coolin  stoops  him  to  the  west. 
They  saw  upon  his  shivered  crest 

The  sun's  arising  gleam; 
But  such  the  labour  and  delay. 
Ere  they  were  moored  in  Scavigh  bay, 
(For  calmer  heaven  compelled  to  stay,) 

He  shot  a  western  beam. 
Then  Ronald  said,  "  if  true  mine  eye. 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 
North  of  Strathnardill  and  Dunskye;* 

No  human  foot  comes  here, 
And,  since  tliese  adverse  breezes  blow, 
If  niv  E;ood  liege  love  hunter's  bow, 
What  hinders  that  on  land  we  go. 

And  strike  a  mountain-deer' 
Allan,  my  page,  shall  with  us  wend, 
A  bow  full  deftly  can  he  bend. 
And,  if  we  meet  an  herd,  may  send 

A  bhaft  shall  mend  our  cheer. " — 


Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand. 
Their  row-boat  lanched  and  leapt  to  land. 

And  left  their  skiff  and  train, 
■Where  a  wild  stream,  with  headlong  shock, 
Came  brawling  down  its  bed  of  rock, 

To  mingle  with  the  main. 
XIII. 
Awhile  their  route  they  silent  made, 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain-deer. 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

"  St.  Mary!  what  a  scene  is  here! 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain-strand. 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  land. 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Wlierc  safety  more  than  pleasure  led; 
Thus,  many  a  waste  I've  wandered  o'er, 
Clombe  many  a  crag,  crossed  many  a  moor, 

But,  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  this. 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness, 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps  press. 

Where'er  I  happed  to  roam." — 

Xl\. 

No  marvel  thus  the  monarch  spake; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  lake. 

With  its  dark  ledge  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strange  and  shattered  way 

I'lirough  the  i  ude  bosom  of  the  hill, 
And  that  each  naked  precipice. 
Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss, 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 
The  wildest  glen,  but  this,  can  show 
Some  touch  of  nature's  genial  glow; 
On  liigh  Benmore  green  mosses  grow, 
And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe, 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben; 
But  here, — above,  around,  below. 

On  mountain  or  in  glen. 
Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower. 
Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power, 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 
For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown. 
Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone. 

As  if  were  here  denied 
The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew. 
That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest  mountain  side. 

XV. 

And  wilder,  forward  as  they  woond. 
Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound: 
Huge  terraces  of  granite  black 
Afforded  rude  and  cumbered  track; 

For  from  the  mountain  lioar, 
Hurled  headlong  in  some  niglit  of  fear. 
When  yelled  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer. 

Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er; 
And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay. 
So  that  a  stripling  arm  might  sway 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise. 
In  nature's  rage  at  random  thrown. 
Yet  trembling  like  the  druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 
Tlie  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  change, 
Now  clotlied  the  mountains'  lofty  range. 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare, 
And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furled, 
Oi-  on  the  sable  waters  curled. 
Or,  on  the  eddying  breezes  whirled. 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


263 


And  oft,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower, 
When,  brief  and  fierce,  the.  mountain  shower 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down, 
And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  beams. 
Whitened  w  ith  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown. 

XVI. 

"This lake,"  said  Bruce,  "  whose  barriers  drear 
Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer, 
Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer, 

Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread, 
How  term  you  its  dark  waves?  and  how 
Yon  northern  mountain's  pathless  brow, 

And  yonder  peak  of  dread, 
That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 
The  griesly  gulfs  and  slaty  rifts. 

Which  seam  its  shivered  head?" 
"  Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name, 
Coolin  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim. 
From  old  CuchuUin,  chief  of  fume. 
But  bards,  familiar  in  our  isles 
Rather  with  nature's  frowns  than  smiles. 
Full  oft  their  careless  humours  please 
By  sportive  names  for  scenes  like  these. 
I  would  old  Torquil  were  to  show 
His  maidens  with  their  breasts  of  snow, 
Or  that  my  noble  liege  were  nigh 
To  hear  his  nurse  sing  lullaby, 
(The  maids — tall  cliffs  with  breakers  white. 
The  nurse — a  torrent's  roaring  might,) 
Or  tliat  your  eye  could  see  the  mood 
Of  Corryvrekin's  whirlpool  rude. 
When  dons  the  hag  her  whitened  hood— 
'Tis  thus  our  islesmen's  fancy  frames, 
For  scenes  so  stern,  fantastic  names." — 

XVII. 
Answered  the  Bruce,  "And  musing  mind 
Might  here  a  graver  moral  find. 
These  mighty  cliffs,  that  heave  on  high 
Their  naked  brows  to  middle  sky, 
Indifferent  to  the  sun  or  snow, 
Where  nought  can  fade,  and  nought  can  blow. 
May  they  not  mark  a  monarch's  fate. 
Raised  high  'mid  storms  of  strife  and  state. 
Beyond  life's  lowlier  pleasures  placed. 
His  soul  a  rock,  his  heart  a  waste? 
O'er  hope  and  love  and  fear  aloft 
High  rears  his  crowned  head — But  soft! 
Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 
Are  hunters  and  a  slaughtered  stag. 
Who  may  they  be?    But  late  you  said 
No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread!" 

XVUl. 

"  So  said  I — and  believed,  in  sooth," 
Ronald  replied,  "  I  spoke  the  truth. 
Yet  now  1  spy,  by  yonder  stone. 
Five  men— they  mark  us,  and  come  on; 
And  by  their  badge  on  bonnet  borne, 
I  guess  them  of  the  land  of  Lorn, 
Foes  to  my  liege." — "  So  let  it  be; 
I've  faced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three — 
But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid; 
Then  be  our  battle  thus  arrayed, 
If  our  free  passage  they  contest; 
Cope  thou  with  two,  I'll  match  tlie  rest." 
"  Not  so,  my  liege — for  by  my  life, 
This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife; 
My  strength,  my  ski!!  in  arms,  more  small, 
And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  fall. 
But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow, 
Allan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow, 
19 


And  were  my  monarch's  order  given. 
Two  shafts  should  make  our  number  even." 
♦'  No!  not  to  save  my  life!"  he  said; 
"  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head, 
Too  rashly  spilled — we  soon  shall  know, 
Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe." 

XIX. 

Nigh  came  the  strangers,  and  more  nigh; 
Still  less  they  pleased  the  monarch's  eye. 
Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Down-looked,  unwilling  to  be  seen;* 
The)'  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 
And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 
The  foremost  two  were  fair  arrayed. 
With  brogue  and  bonnet,  trews  and  plaid. 
And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers. 
Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 
The  three,  that  lagged  small  space  behind, 
Seemed  serfs  of  more  degraded  kind; 
Goat-skins  or  deer-hides,  o'er  them  cast. 
Made  a  rude  fence  against  tlie  blast; 
Their  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare, 
Matted  their  beards,  unshorn  their  hair; 
For  arms,  the  caitiffs  bore  in  hand, 
A  club,  an  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

XX. 

Onward,  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track; 
"Tell  who  ye  be,  or  else  stand  back," 
Said  Bruce;  "  In  deserts  when  they  meet, 
Men  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street." 
Still,  at  his  stern  command,  they  stood. 
And  proffered  greeting  brief  and  rude. 
But  acted  courtesy  so  ill. 
As  seemed  of  fear,  and  not  of  Will, 
"  Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be; 
Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  "sea, 
Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer. 
Will  share  with  you  this  fallow  deer." 
"  If  from  the  sea,  w  liere  lies  your  bark?" 
"  Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark! 
Wrecked  yesternight;  but  we  are  men, 
Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 

The  shades  come  down — the  day  is  shut 

Will  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut?" 

"Our  vessel  waits  us  in  the  bay; 

Thanks  for  your  proffer — have  good  day."— 

"  Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 

Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glowed?" 

"  It  was." — "  Then  spare  your  needless  pain. 

There  will  she  now  be  sought  in  vain. 

We  saw  her  from  the  mountain  head. 

When  with  Si.  George's  blazon  red 

A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight. 

And  yours  raised  sail,  and  took  to  flight." 

XXI. 
"  Now,  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news!" 
Tiius  with  lord  Ronald  communed  Bruce; 
"  Nor  rests  there  light  enough  to  show 
If  this  their  tale  be  true  or  no. 
The  men  seem  bred  of  clmrlish  kind. 
Yet  rugged  brows  have  bosoms  kind; 
We  will  go  with  them — food  and  fire 
And  sheltering  roof  our  «ants  require. 
Sure  guard  'gainst  treachery  will  we  keep, 
And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep. — 
Good  fellows,  thanks;  your  guests  we'll  be, 
And  well  will  pay  the  courtesy. 
Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging;  lies, 
— Nay,  soft!  we  mix  not  companies. — 
Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone. 
And  we  will  follow  you; — lead  on." — 


264 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXII. 

They  reached  the  dreary  cabin,  made 
Of  sails  against  a  rock  (lisplayed, 
And  tliere,  on  entering,  found 
A  slender  boy,  whose  form  and  mien 
111  suited  wiih  such  savuge  scene, 
In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  green, 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 
His  garb  w  as  such  as  minstrels  wear, 
Dark  was  his  hue,  and  dark  his  hair. 
His  youthful  cheek  was  marred  by  care, 

His  eves  in  sorrow  drowned. 
"  Whence  this  poor  boy?" — As  Ronald  spoke, 
The  voice  his  trance  of  anguish  broke; 
As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream, 
He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

And  wildly  gazed  around; 
Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turned, 
And  his  dark  neck  w  ith  blushes  burned. 

XXllI. 
«  Whose  is  the  boy?"  again  he  said. — 
«'  By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made; 
He  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 
That  musichas  more  charms  than  gold; 
For,  though  from  earliest  childhood  mute. 
The  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 
And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play. 
And  well  can  drive  the  time  away 

For  those  who  love  such  glee; 
For  me,  the  favouring  breeze,  when  loud 
It  pipes  upon  the  galley  shroud, 

Slakes  blither  melody." 
"Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  sound?" 

•'  Ay;  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 
A  crone  in  our  late  shipwreck  drowned. 

And  lience  the  silly  stripling's  wo. 
More  of  llie  youth  I  cannot  say. 
Our  captive  but  since  yestei-day; 
When  wind  and  weather  waxed  so  grim, 
AVe  little  listed  think  of  him. — 
But  why  waste  time  in  idle  words? 
Sit  to  your  clieer — unbelt  your  swords." 
Sudden  the  captive  turned  his  head. 
And  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 
It  was  a  keen  and  warning  look. 
And  well  the  chief  the  signal  took. 

XXIV. 
"Kind  host,"  he  said,  "  our  needs  require 
A  separate  l)oard  and  separate  fire; 
For  know,  that  on  a  pilgrimage 
Wend  1,  my  comrade,  and  tliis  page. 
And  sworn  to  vigil  and  to  fast, 
Long  as  this  hallowed  task  shall  last, 
We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword. 
Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board; 
And  never  share  one  common  sleep. 
But  one  must  still  his  vigil  keep. 
TliuF,  for  our  separate  use,  good  friend. 
We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end." — 
•'A  churlish  vow,"  the  eldest  said, 
"  And  hard,  methinks,  to  be  obeyed. 
How  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  tiie  scorn, 
That  pavs  our  kindness  harsh  return, 
We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal?" — 

"Then  say  we,  that  our  swords  are  steel! 

And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast, 
Wliere  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast." — 
Their  host's  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell. 
His  teelli  are  clenched,  his  features  swell; 
Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire. 
Before  lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire, 


Nor  could  his  craven  courage  brook 
The  monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 
W^ith  laugh  constrained, — "  Let  every  man 
Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan! 
Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep, 
And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep." — 

XXV. 
Their  fire  at  separate  distance  burns. 
By  turns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  turns; 
For  evil  seemed  that  old  man's  eye, 
Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 
Still  he  avoided  forward  look. 
But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 
A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance. 
By  iloubt  and  cunning  marke<l  at  once, 
W'liich  shot  a  mischief-boding  ray, 
From  under  eyebrows  shagged  and  gray. 
The  vounger,  too,  who  seemed  his  son, 
Had  that  dark  look  the  timid  shun; 
The  half-clad  sei-fs  behind  them  sate. 
And  scowled  a  glare  'twixt  fear  and  hate- 
Till  all,  as  darkness  onward  crept. 
Couched  down  and  seemed  to  sleep,  or  slept. 
Nor  he,  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 
Must  trust  his  eyes  to  wail  his  wrong, 
A  longer  w  atch  of  sorrow  made. 
But  stretched  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid. 

XXVL 
Xot  in  his  dangerous  host  confides 
The  king,  but  wary  watch  provides. 
Ronald  keeps  ward  till  midnight  past. 
Then  wakes  the  king,  young  Allan  last; 
Thus  ranked,  to  give  the  youthful  page 
The  rest  req\iire(l  by  tender  age. 
—AVhat  is  lord  Ronald's  wakeful  tliought, 
To  chase  the  languor  toil  liad  brought '--- 
(For  deem  not  that  he  deigned  to  throw 
Much  care  upon  such  coward  foe,)— - 
He  tliinks  of  lovely  Isabel, 
When  at  her  foeman's  feel  she  fell, 
Nor  less  when,  placed  in  princely  selle. 
She  glanced  on  him  with  favouring  eyes, 
At  Woodstock  when  he  won  the  prize. 
Nor,  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  fair. 
In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair, 
Must  slie  ahme  engross  his  care. 
His  thoughts  to  his  betrothed  bride, 
To  Edilh,  turn — O  how  decide. 
When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given. 
And  there  his  faith  stantis  plight  to  heaven! 
No  drowsy  ward  'tis  his  to  keep. 
For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 
I'ill  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl, 
Answered  the  dog-fox  with  his  liowl, 
Then  waked  the  king — at  his  request, 
Lord  Ronald  stretched  himself  to  rest. 

XXVIL 
What  spell  was  good  king  Robert's,  say 
To  drive  the  weary  night  away? 
His  was  the  patriot's  burning  thought. 
Of  freedom's  battle  bravely  fought, 
Of  castles  stormed,  of  cities  freed, 
Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed. 
Of  England's  roses  reft  and  torn, 
And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  worn, 
Of  rout  an<l  rally,  war  and  truce, — 
As  heroes  think,  so  thought  the  Bruce. 
No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high. 
Sleep  shunned  the  monarch's  thoughtful  eye. 
Now  over  Coolin's  eastern  head 
The  grayish  light  begins  to  spread, 


jfl^ 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


265 


The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew, 
And  clamoured  shrill  the  wakening  mew; 
Then  watched  the  page — to  needful  rest 
The  king  resigned  his  anxious  breast. 

XXMIl. 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task, 
The  weary  watch  their  safeties  ask. 
He  trimmed  the  fire,  and  gave  to  shine 
With  bickering  light  the  splintered  pine, 
Then  gazed  awhile  where,  silent  laid, 
Their  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  plaid. 
But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind, 
For  lie  was  bred  of  martial  kind, 
And,  if  to  manhood  he  arrive. 
May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 
Then  thought  he  of  his  mother's  tower. 
His  little  sister's  green-wood  bower. 
How  there  the  Easter-gambols  pass. 
And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengthened  mass. 
But  still  before  his  weary  eye 
In  rays  prolonged  the  blazes  die — 
Again  he  roused  him — on  tlie  lake 
Looked  forth,  where  now  the  twilight  flake 
Of  pale  cold  dawn  began  to  wake. 
On  Coolin's  cliffs  the  mist  lay  furled, 
The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  curled; 
The  short  dark  waves,  heaved  to  the  land. 
With  ceaseless  plash  kissed  cliff  or  sand; — 
It  was  a  slumb'rous  sound — he  turned 
To  tales  at  which  his  youth  had  burned, 
Of  pilgrim's  path  by  demon  crossed, 
Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost. 
Of  tlie  wild  witch's  baneful  cot. 
And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot. 
Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 
Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.^ 
Thither  in  fancy  wrapt  he  flies. 
And  on  his  sight  the  vaults  arise; 
That  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more, 
His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor. 
And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 
Gleam  like  a  firmament  of  stars! 
— Hark !  hears  he  not  the  sea-nyraph  speak 
Her  anger  in  that  thrilling  shriek i" 
No!  all  too  late,  with  Allan's  dream 
Mingled  the  captive's  warning  scream. 
As  from  the  ground  he  strives  to  start, 
A  ruffian's  dagger  finds  his  heart! 
Upwards  he  casts  his  dizzy  eyes, — 
Murmurs  his  master's  name,— and  dies! 

XXIX. 

Not  so  awoke  the  king!  his  hand 
Snatched  from  the  flame  a  knotted  brand. 
The  nearest  weapon  of  his  wrath; 
With  this  he  crossed  the  murderer's  path. 

And  venged  young  Allan  well! 
The  spattered  brain  and  bubbling  blood 
Hissed  on  the  half-extinguished  wood, 

The  miscreant  gasped  and  fell ! 
Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  lord; 
One  caitiflfdied  upon  his  sword. 
And  one  beneath  his  grasp  lies  prone. 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
But  while  lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  panting  flank, 
The  father  ruffian  of  the  band 
Behind  him  rears  a  coward  hand ! 

—  O  for  a  moment's  aid. 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  double  blow, 
Dash  to  the  earth  another  foe, 

Above  his  comrade  laid! 


And  it  is  gained — the  captive  sprung 
On  the  raised  arm,  and  closely  clung, 

And,  ere  he  shook  him  loose. 
The  mastered  felon  pressed  the  ground, 
And  gasped  beneath  a  mortal  wound, 

While  o'er  him  stands  the  Bruce. 
XXX. 
"Miscreant!  while  lasts  thy  flitting  spark, 
Give  me  to  know  the  purpose  dark, 
That  armed  thy  hand  with  murderous  knife, 
Against  ofTenceless  stranger's  life'" 
"  No  stranger  tliou!"  with  accents  fell, 
!Murmured  the  wretch,  "  1  know  thee  well; 
And  know  thee  for  the  foeman  sworn 
Of  my  high  chief,  the  mighty  Lorn." 
— "  Speak  yet  again,  and  speak  the  truth 
For  thy  soul's  sake! — from  whence  this  youth? 
His  country,  birth,  and  name  dixlare, 
And  thus  one  evil  deed  repair." 
— "  Vex  me  no  more! — my  blood  runs  cold- 
No  more  I  know  than  I  have  told. 
We  found  him  in  a  bark  we  sought 
With  different  purpose — and  1  thought  — — " 
Fate  cut  him  short;  in  blood  and  broil, 
As  he  had  lived,  died  Cormac  Doil. 

XXXI. 
Then,  resting  on  his  bloody  blade, 
The  valiant  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 
"  Now  shame  upon  us  both! — that  boy 

Lifts  his  mute  face  to  heaven, 
And  clasps  his  hands,  to  testify 
His  gratitude  to  God  on  high, 

For  strange  deliverance  given. 
His  speechless  gesture  thanks  hath  paid, 
Which  our  free  tongues  have  left  unsaid!" 
He  raised  the  youth  with  kindly  word. 
But  marked  him  shudder  at  the  sword; 
He  cleansed  it  from  its  hue  of  death. 
And  plunged  the  weapon  in  its  sheath. 
"  Alas,  poor  child  !  unfitting  part 
Fate  doomed,  when  with  so  soft  a  heart, 

And  form  so  slight  as  thine. 
She  made  thee  first  a  pirate's  slave. 
Then,  in  his  stead,  a  patron  gave 

Of  wayward  lot  like  mine; 
A  landless  prince,  whose  wandering  life 
Is  but  one  scene  of  blood  and  strife- 
Yet  scant  of  friends  the  Bruce  shall  be. 
But  he'll  find  resting-place  for  thee. 
Come,  noble  Ronald !  o'er  the  dead 
Enough  tliy  generous  grief  is  paid. 
And  well  has  Allan's  fate  been  wroke; 
Come,  wend  we  hence — the  day  has  broke. 
Seek  we  our  bark — I  trust  the  tale 
Was  false,  that  she  had  hoisted  sail." 

XXXII. 
Yet,  ere  they  left  that  charnel-cell. 
The  Island  lord  bade  sad  farewell 
To  Allan:—"  Who  shall  tell  this  tale," 
He  said,  "in  halls  of  Donagaile! 
Oh,  who  his  widowed  mother  tell, 
That,  ere  his  bloom,  her  fairest  fell! 
Rest  thee,  poor  youth!  and  trust  my  care, 
For  mass  and  knell  ami  funeral  prayer; 
VVhile  o'er  those  caitift's,  where  they  lie. 
The  wolf  shall  snarl,  the  raven  crj!" 
And  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  lake  threw  lustre  red; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
Ravine  and  precipice  and  peak — 
(So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows; 
Reveals  his  splendour,  hides  his  woes. ) 


266 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


O'er  sheets  of  granite,  dark  and  broad, 
Rent  and  iint'<|iial  lay  tlie  road. 
In  sail  disconrse  the  warriors  wind. 
And  the  mule  captive  moves  behind. 


CAXTO  IT. 
I. 

SxRANCEn!  if  e'er  thine  ardent  step  liath  traced 

The  northern  realms  of  ancient  CaliKion, 
Where  the  proud  queen  of  wilderness  liatii  placed, 

By  lake  and  cataract,  her  lonely  throne; 
Sublime  but  sad  delight  tiiy  soul  hatii  known. 

Gazing  on  pathless  glen  and  mountain  high. 
Listing  where  from  the  clifts  the  torrents  thrown 

Mingle  tiieir  echoes  with  the  eagle's  cry. 
And  with  the  sounding  lake,  and  with  the  moaning 
sky. 

Yes!  'twas  sublime,  but  sad. — The  loneliness 

Loaded  thy  heart,  the  desert  tired  thine  eye; 
And  strange  and  awful  fears  began  to  press 

Thy  bosom  w-ith  a  stern  solemnity. 
Then  hast  thou  wished  some  woodman's  cottage 
nigh. 
Something  that  showed  of  life,  though  low  and 
mean. 
Glad  sight,  its  curling  wreath  of  smoke  to  spy, 
Glad  sound,  its  cock's  blith  carol  would  have 
been, 
Or  children  whooping  wild  beneath  the  willows 
green. 

Such  are  the  scenes,  where  savage  grandeur  wakes 

An  awful  tlu'ill  tliat  softens  into  siglis; 
Such  feelings  rouse  tliem  by  dim  Rannoch's  lakes, 

In  dark  Gleiicoe  such  gloomy  raptures  rise: 
Or,  farther,  where,  beneath  the  norlliern  skies, 

Chides  wild  Locli-I'l.ribol  iiis  caverns  hoar — 
But,  be  the  minstrel  judge,  they  yield  the  prize 

Of  desert  dignity  to  that  ilread  shore. 
That  sees  grim  Coolin  rise,  and  hears  Coriskiui'oar. 

II. 

Through  such  wild  scenes  the  champions  passed, 

When  bold  iialloo  and  bugle-blast 

Upon  the  breeze  came  loud  and  fast. 

'=  There,"  said  the  Bruce,"  rung  Edward's  horn  I 

What  can  have  caused  such  brief  return? 

And  see,  brave  Ronald, — sec  him  dart 

O'er  stock  and  stone  like  hunted  hart, 

Precipitate,  as  is  the  use, 

In  war  or  sport,  of  Edward  Bruce. 

— He  marks  us,  and  his  eager  cry 

Will  tell  his  news  ere  he  be  nigli."— 

III. 

Loud  Edward  shouts,  <'  What  make  ye  here, 
Warring  upon  the  mountain  deer. 

When  Scotland  wants  lier  king? 
A  bark  from  Lermox  crossed  our  track. 
With  her  in  speed  1  hurried  back, 

These  joyful  news  to  bring-r- 
The  Stuart  stirs  in  Teviotdale, 
And  Douglas  wakes  his  native  vale; 
Thy  storm-tossed  fleet  hati*  won  its  way 
With  little  loss  to  Brodick  bay. 
And  Lennox,  with  a  gallant  band, 
Waits  but  thy  coming  and  command 
To  waft  them  o'er  to  Carrick  strand. 
There  are  blith  news! — but  mark  the  close! 
Edward,  the  deadliest  of  our  foes, 
As  with  his  host  he  northward  passed. 
Hath  on  the  borders  breathed  his  last." 


IV. 

Still  stood  the  Bruce — his  steady  cheek 
Was  little  wont  his  joy  to  speak, 

But  then  his  colour  rose: 
"  Now,  Scotland!  shortly  shalt  thou  see, 
With  God's  high  will,  thy  children  free, 

And  vengeance  on  thy  ibes! 
Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs. 
Bear  witness  with  me,  heaven,  belongs 

My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier;' 
I  took  my  knighthood  at  his  hand. 
And  lordship  held  of  him,  and  land, 

And  well  may  vouch  it  here, 
That,  blot  the  story  from  his  page. 
Of  Scotland  ruine<l  in  his  rage,. 
You  read  a  monarch  brave  and  sage. 

And  to  his  people  dear." 
"  Let  London  burghers  mourn  her  lord. 
And  Croydon  monks  his  praise  record," 

The  eager  Edward  said; 
"Eternal  as  his  own,  my  hate 
Surmounts  the  bounds  of  mortal  fate, 

And  dies  not  with  the  dead! 
Sucii  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand. 
When  vengeance  clenched  his  palsied  hand. 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land,^ 

As  his  last  accents  prayed 
Disgrace  and  curse  upon  his  heir. 
If  he  one  Scottish  head  should  spare, 
Till  stretched  upon  the  bloody  lair. 

Each  rebel  corpse  was  laid! 
Such  hate  was  his,  when  his  last  breath 
Renounced  the  peaceful  house  of  death. 
And  bade  his  bones  to  Scotland's  coast 
Be  borne  by  his  remorseless  host. 
As  it  his  dead  and  stonj'  ej'e 
Coidd  still  enjoy  her  misery! 
Such  hate  was  his, — dark,  deadly,  long; 
Mine, — as  enduring,  deep,  and  strong!" 

V. 
"  Let  women,  Edw;(rd,  frar  with  words, 
With  curses  monks,  but  men  with  swords; 
Nor  doubt  of  living  foes,  to  sate 
Deepest  revenge  and  deadliest  hate. 
Now,  to  the  sea!  behold  the  beach. 
And  see  the  galleys'  pendants  stretch 
Their  fluttering  length  down  favouring  gale! 
Aboard!  aboard!  and  hoist  the  sail. 
Hold  we  our  way  for  Arran  first, 
Where  met  in  arms  our  friends  dispersed; 
Lennox  the  loyal,  and  De  la  Haye, 
And  Boyd  the  bold  in  battle  fray. 
I  long  the  hard_v  band  to  head. 
And  see  once  more  my  standard  spread. — 
Does  noble  Ronald  share  our  course, 
Or  Slav'  to  raise  his  Island  force i"' 
"  Come  weal,  come  wo,  by  Bruce's  side," 
Replied  the  chief,  "  will  Ronald  bide. 
And  since  two  galleys  yonder  ride. 
Be  mine,  so  please  my  liege,  dismissed 
To  wake  to  arms  the  clans  of  Uist, 
And  all  who  hear  the  Minche's  roar. 
On  the  Long  Island's  lonely  shore. 
The  nearer  isles,  with  slight  delay. 
Ourselves  may  summon  in  our  way; 
And  soon  on  Arran's  shore  shall  meet, 
With  Torquil's  aid,  a  gallant  fleet, 
If  aught  avails  their  chieftain's  best 
Among  the  islesmen  of  the  west." 

VI. 
Thus  was  their  venturous  council  said. 
But,  ere  their  sails  the  galleys  spread. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


267 


Coriskin  dark  and  Coolin  high 
Echoed  the  dirge's  doleful  cry. 
Along  that  sable  lake  passed  slow, 
Fit  scene  for  such  a  sight  of  wo, 
The  sorrowing  islesmen,  as  tliey  bore 
The  murdered  Allan  to  the  sliore. 
At  every  pause,  with  dismal  shout, 
Their  coronacli  of  grief  rung  out, 
And  ever,  when  they  moved  again, 
The  pipes  resumed  their  clamorous  strain. 
And,  with  the  pibroch's  shrilling  wail. 
Mourned  the  young  heir  of  Donagaile. 
Round  and  around,  from  clift'  and  cave, 
His  answer  stern  old  Coolin  gave, 
Till  high  upon  his  misty  side 
I/.mguished  the  mournful  notes,  and  died. 
For  never  sounds,  by  mortal  made. 
Attained  his  high  and  haggard  head, 
That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan. 
Or  the  deep  thunder's  reading  groan. 

VII. 

Merrily,  merrily,  bounds  the  bark, 

She  bounds  before  the  gale. 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Ben-na-darch 

Is  joyous  in  her  sail! 
With  fluttering  sound  like  laughter  hoarse, 

The  cords  and  canvas  strain. 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force, 
In  rippling  eddies  chased  her  course. 

As  if  they  laughed  again. 
Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithly  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  light  sea-mew. 

Than  the  gay  galley  boi-e 
Her  course  upon  that  favouring  wind. 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind. 

And  Slapin's  caverned  shore. 
'Twas  then  that  warlike  signals  wake 
Dunscaitii's  dark  towers  and  Eisord's  lake, 
And  soon  from  Cavilgarrigh's  head 
Th'ck  wreaths  of  e<!dying  smoke  were  spread; 
A  summons  these  of  war  an<l  wrath. 
To  the  brave  clans  of  Sleate  and  Strath, 

And,  ready  at  the  sight, 
Each  warrior  to  his  weapon  sprung. 
And  targe  upon  his  shoulder  flung. 

Impatient  for  the  fight. 
M'Kinnon's  chief,  in  warfare  gi'ay. 
Had  charge  to  muster  their  array, 
And  guide  their  barks  to  Brodick-bay. 

VIII. 

Signal  of  Ronald's  high  command, 

A  beacon  gleamed  o'er  sea  and  land. 

From  Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 

Like  falcon-nest  o'erhangs  the  bay.3 

Seek  not  the  giddy  crag  to  climb, 

To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time; 

It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 

To  aught  hut  goat  or  mountain-deer. 

But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach, 

And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 

His  tale  of  former  day; 
His  cur's  wild  clamour  he  shall  chide. 
And  for  thy  seat,  by  ocean's  side, 

His  varied  plaid  display; 
Then  tell,  how  witli  their  chieftain  came, 
In  ancient  times,  a  foreign  dame 

To  j'ouder  turret  gray; 
Stern  was  her  lord's  suspicious  mind, 
Wlio  in  so  rude  a  jail  confined 

So  soft  and  fair  a  thrall ! 


And  oft  when  moon  on  ocean  slept. 
That  lovely  lady  sate  and  wept 

Upon  the  castle-wall. 
And  turned  her  eye  to  southern  climes. 
And  thought  perchance  of  happier  times, 
And  touched  her  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
Wild  ditties  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  still,  when  on  the  cliff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play, 

And  every  breeze  is  mute, 
Upon  the  lone  Hebridean's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure  mi.\ed  with  fear, 
While  from  tliat  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  murmur  of  a  lute. 
And  sounds,  as  of  a  captive  lone. 
That  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unknown.— 
Strange  is  the  tale — but  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  song — 

Yet  who  may  pass  them  by, 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruins  gray. 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh! 

IX. 

Merrily,  merrily,  bounds  the  bark 

O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven; 
Her  path  by  Ronin's  mountains  dark 

The  steersman's  hand  hath  given. 
And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore,* 
And  each  his  ashen  bow  unbent. 

And  gave  his  i)astime  o'er, 
And  at  the  Island  lord's  command, 
For  hunting  spear  took  warrior's  brand. 
On  Scoor-Eigg  next  a  warning  light 
Summoned  her  warriors  to  the  fight; 
A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  Macleod 
O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode,* 
When  all  in  vain  the  ocean  cave 
Its  refuge  to  its  victims  gave. 
The  chief,  relentless  in  his  wrath, 
With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path; 
In  dense  and  stifling  volumes  rolled. 
The  vapour  filled  the  caverned  hold ! 
The  warrior's  threat,  the  infant's  plain, 
The  mother's  screams,  were  heard  in  vain; 
The  vengeful  chief  maintains  his  fires, 
Till  in  the  vaidt  a  tribe  expires! 
The  bones  which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom, 
Too  well  attest  their  (^smal  doom. 

X. 

Merrily,  merrily,  goes  the  bark 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free. 
So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark. 

Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 
The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay, 
And  Ulva  dark  and  Colonsay, 
And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  Staffa  round.6 
Then  all  unknown  its  columns  rose, 
Where  dai'k  and  undisturbed  repose 

The  cormorant  had  found, 
And  the  shy  seal  had  quiet  home, 
And  weltered  in  that  wond'rous  dome. 
Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  decked 
By  skill  of  earthl}'  architect. 
Nature  herself,  it  seemed,  would  raise 
A  minster  to  her  Maker's  praise! 
Not  for  a  meaner  use  ascend 
Her  columns,  or  her  arches  bend; 
Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 
That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells. 


268 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Ami  still,  between  each  awful  pnuse. 

From  the  higli  vault  an  answer  ilraws, 

In  varied  tone  jirolonfjed  anil  liigli, 

That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 

Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 

To  old  lona's  holy  fane, 

That  Nature's  voice  mis;ht  seem  to  say, 

"  Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  ciiild  of  clay! 

Thv  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 

Tasked  high  and  hard — but  witness  mine!" — 

XI. 

Merrily,  merrily,  goes  the  bark, 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds; 
So  darts  the  dolphin  from  the  shark, 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 
They  left  Loch-Tua  on  their  lee, 
And  they  wakened  the  men  of  the  wild  Tiree, 

And  the  chief  of  the  sandy  Coll; 
They  paused  not  at  Columba's  isle. 
Though  pealed  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile 

With  long  and  measured  toll; 
No  time  for  matin  or  for  mass. 
And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 

Away  in  the  billows'  roil. 
Lochbuie's  fierce  and  warlike  lord 
Their  signal  saw,  and  grasped  his  sword, 
And  veniant  Hay  called  her  host. 
And  the  clans  of  Jura's  rugged  coast 

Lord  Ronald's  call  obey. 
And  Scarba's  isle,  whose  tortured  shore 
Still  rings  to  Corrievreken's  roar. 

And  lonely  Colonsay; 
— Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more!'' 
His  bright  and  brief  career  is  o'er, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains; 
Quenched  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore, 
That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour; 
A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

lias  Leiden's  cold  remains! 

XII. 

Ever  the  breeze  blows  merrily, 
But  the  galley  ploughs  no  more  the  sea. 
Lest,  rounding  wild  Cantire,  they  meet 
The  southern  foemen's  watchful  fleet, 

They  held  unwonted  way; — 
Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  "they  bore, 
Then  dragged  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er,^ 
As  far  as  Kilmaconnel's  shore, 

Upon  the  eastern  bay. 
It  was  a  wond'rous  sight  to  see 
Topmast  and  pennon  glitter  free. 
High  raised  above  the  green-wood  tree, 
As  on  dry  land  the  galley  moves. 
By  cliff  and  copse  and  alder  groves. 
Deep  import  from  that  selcouth  sign, 
Did  many  a  mountain  seer  divine; 
For  ancient  legends  told  the  Gael, 
That  when  a  royal  bark  should  sail 

O'er  Kilmaconnel  moss. 
Old  Albyn  should  in  fight  prevail, 
And  every  foe  should  faint  and  quail 

Bi-fore  her  silver  cross. 

Xlll. 

Now  lanched  once  more,  the  inland  sea 
I'bey  furrow  with  fair  augury, 

And  steer  for  Arran's  isle; 
The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Ben-ghoil,  "the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 
CJave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 

And  bade  Loch-Ranza  smile,' 


Tiiither  their  destined  course  they  drew; 
It  seemed  the  isle  her  monarch  knew, 
So  brilliant  was  the  landward  view, 

The  ocean  so  serene; 
Each  puny  wave  in  diamonds  rolled 
O'er  the  calm  deep,  where  hues  of  gold 

With  azure  strove  and  green. 
The  hill,  liie  vale,  the  tree,  the  tower. 
Glowed  with  the  tints  of  evening's  hour, 

The  beecji  was  silver  sheen, 
The  wind  breathed  soft  as  lover's  sigh, 
An<l,  oft  renewed,  seemed  oft  to  die. 

With  breathless  pause  between. 

0  who,  with  speech  of  war  and  woes. 
Would  wish  to  break  the  soft  repose 

Of  such  enchanting  scene! 

XIV. 

Is  it  of  war  lord  Ronald  speaks' 
The  blush  that  dies  his  manl)-  cheeks, 
The  timid  look,  and  downcast  eye. 
And  faltering  voice  the  theme  deiiy. 
And  good  king  Robert's  brow  expressed, 
He  pondered  o'er  some  high  request, 

As  doubtful  to  approve; 
Yet  in  his  eye  and  lip  the  while 
Dwelt  the  half-pitying  glance  and  smile, 
Whicii  manhood's  graver  mood  beguile, 

When  lovers  talk  of  love. 
Anxious  his  suit  lord  Ronald  pled; 
— "  And  for  my  bride  betrothed,"  he  said, 
"  My  liege  has  heard  the  rumour  spread 
Of  Edith  from  Artornish  fled. 
Too  hard  her  fate — I  claim  no  right 
To  blame  her  for  her  hasty  flight; 
Be  joy  and  happiness  harlot! 
But  she  hath  fled  the  bridal-knot, 
And  Lorn  recalled  his  promise  plight. 
In  the  assembled  chieftains'  sight. 
When,  to  fulfil  our  fathers'  band, 

1  proftered  all  1  could — my  hand — 

I  was  repulsed  with  scorn; 
Mine  honour  I  should  ill  assert. 
And  worse  the  feelings  of  my  heart. 
If  I  should  play  a  suitor's  part 

Again  to  pleasure  Lorn." 

XV. 

•'  Young  lord,"  the  royal  Bruce  replied, 
"  That  question  must  the  church  decide: 
Yet  seems  it  hard,  since  rumours  state 
Edith  takes  Cliftbrd  for  her  mate, 
The  very  tie,  which  she  hath  broke, 
To  thee  should  still  be  binding  yoke. 
But,  for  my  sister  Isabel — 
The  mood  of  wonian  who  can  tell? 
I  guess  the  champion  of  the  rock. 
Victorious  in  the  tourney  shock. 
That  knight  unknown,  to  whom  the  prize 
She  dealt,  had  favour  in  her  eyes; 
But  since  our  brother  Nigel's  fate, 
Our  ruined  house  and  hapless  state, 
From  worldly  joy  and  hope  estranged, 
Much  is  the  hapless  mourner  changed. 
Perchance,"  here  smiled  the  noble  king, 
"  This  tale  may  .other  musings  bring. 
Soon  shall  we  know — yon  mountains  hide 
The  little  convent  of  St.  Bride; 
There,  sent  by  Edward,  she  must  stay, 
Till  fate  shall  give  more  prosperous  day; 
And  thither  will  I  bear  thy  suit. 
Nor  will  thine  advocate  be  mule." — 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES.. 


269 


XVI. 

As  thus  they  talked  in  earnest  mood, 

Tliat  speechless  boy  beside  thera  stood. 

He  stooped  his  head  against  the  mast. 

And  hitter  sobs  came  thick  and  fust, 

A  grief  that  would  not  be  repressed, 

But  seemed  to  burst  his  youthful  breast. 

His  hands  against  his  forehead  held. 

As  if  by  force  his  tears  repelled, 

But  through  his  fingers,  long  and  slight. 

Fast  trilled  the  drops  of  crystal  bright. 

Edward,  who  walked  the  deck  apart, 

First  spied  the  conflict  of  the  heart, 

Thoughtless  as  brave,  with  bluntness  kind 

He  sought  to  cheer  the  sorrower's  mind; 

By  force  the  slender  hand  he  drew 

From  those  poor  eyes  that  streamed  with  dew. 

As  in  his  hold  the  stripling  strove, — 

('Twas  a  rough  grasp,  though  meant  in  love,) 

Away  his  tears  the  wan-ior  swept. 

And  bade  shame  on  him  tliat  he  wept 

"  1  would  to  heaven,  thy  helpless  tongue 

Could  tell  me  who  hath  wrought  thee  wrong! 

For,  were  he  of  our  crew  the  best, 

The  insult  went  not  unredressed. 

Come,  cheer  thee;  thou  art  now  of  age 

To  be  a  warrior's  gallant  page; 

Thou  shalt  be  mine  I — a  palfrey  fair 

O'er  hill  and  holt  my  boy  shall  bear, 

To  hold  my  bow  in  'hunting  grove, 

Or  speed  on  errand  to  my  love: 

For  well  I  wot  thou  wilt  not  tell 

The  temple  where  my  wishes  dwell." — 

XVll. 
Bruce  interposed, — "  Gay  Edward,  no, 
This  is  no  youth  to  hold  thy  bow. 
To  fill  thy  goblet,  or  to  bear 
Thy  message  light  to  lighter  fair. 
Thou  art  a  patron  all  too  wild 
And  thoughtless,  for  this  orphan  child. 
See'st  thou  not  how  apart  he  steals. 
Keeps  lonely  couch,  and  lonely  meals? 
Fitter  by  far  in  yon  calm  cell 
To  tend  our  sister  Isabel, 
With  father  Augustin  to  share 
The  peaceful  change  of  convent  prayer, 
Than  wander  wild  adventures  through, 
M'ith  such  a  reckless  guide  as  you." — 
"Thanks,  brotherl"  Edward  answered  gay, 
"For  the  high  laud  thy  words  convey! 
But  we  may  learn  some  future  day, 
If  thou  or  1  can  this  poor  boy 
Protect  the  best,  or  best  employ. 
Meanwhile,  our  vessel  nears  the  strand; 
Lanch  we  the  boat,  and  seek  the  land." — 

XYIII. 
To  land  king  Robert  lightly  sprung. 
And  thrice  aloiJd  his  bugle  rung. 
With  note  prolonged,  and  varied  strain, 
Till  bold  Ben-ghoil  replied  again. 
Good  Douglas  tlien,  and  De  la  Haye, 
Had  in  a  glen  a  hart  at  bay. 
And  Lennox  cheered  the  laggard  hounds, 
When  vfaked  that  horn  the  green- wood  bounds. 
"It  is  the  foe!"  cried  Boyd,  who  came 
In  breathless  haste  with  eye  on  flame, — 
•'  It  is  the  foe  I — Each  valiant  lord 
Fling  by  his  how,  and  g^-asp  his  sword !" 
"  Not  30,"  replied  the  good  lord  James, 
"  That  blast  uo  English  bugle  claims. 


Oft  have  I  heard  it  fire  the  fight, 
Cheer  the  pursuit,  or  stop  the  flight. 
Dead  were  my  heart,  and  deaf  mme  ear, 
If  Bruce  should  call,  nor  Douglas  hear! 
Each  to  Loch-Ranza's  margin  spring; 
That  blast  was  winded  by  the  king!" — 'O 

XIX. 

Fast  to  their  mates  the  tidings  spread, 

And  fast  to  shore  the  warriors  sped. 

Bursting  from  glen  and  green-wood  tree, 

High  waked  their  loyal  jubilee! 

Around  the  royal  Bruce  they  crowd. 

And  clasped  his  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 

Veterans  of  early  fields  were  there. 

Whose  helmets  pressed  their  hoary  hair. 

Whose  swords  and  axes  bore  a  stain 

From  life-blood  of  the  red-haired  Dane; 

And  boys,  whose  hands  scarce  brooked  to'wield 

The  heavy  sword  or  bossy  shield. 

Men  too  were  there,  that  bore  the  scars 

Impressed  in  Albyn's  woful  wars, 

At  Falkirk's  fierce  and  fatal  fight, 

Teyndrum's  dread  rout  and  Methven'a  flight. 

The  might  of  Douglas  there  was  seen, 

There  Lennox  with  his  graceful  mien; 

Kirkpatrick,  Closeburn's  dreaded  knight; 

The  Lindsay,  fierv",  fierce,  and  light; 

The  heir  of  murdered  De  la  Haye, 

And  Boyd  the  grave,  and  Seton  gay. 

Around  their  king  regained  they  pressed, 

Wept,  shouted,  clasped  him  to  their  breast, 

And  young  and  old,  and  serf  and  lord, 

And  he  who  ne'er  unsheathed  a  sword, 

And  he  in  many  a  peril  tried. 

Alike  resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 

And  live  or  die  by  Bruce's  side ! 

XX. 

Oh,  War!  thou  hast  thy  fierce  delight, 
Thy  gleams  of  joy,  intensely  bright! 
Such  gleams,  as  from  thy  polished  shield 
Fly  dazzling  o'er  the  battle-field ! 
Such  transports  wake,  severe  and  high, 
Amid  the  pealing  conquest-crv; 
Scarce  less,  when,  after  battle'  lost, 
Muster  the  remnants  of  a  host. 
And  as  each  comrade's  name  they  tell 
Who  in  the  well-fought  conflict  fell. 
Knitting  stern  brow  o'er  flashing  eye, 
Vow  to  avenge  them  or  to  die! — 
WaiTiors! — and  where  are  warriors  found, 
If  not  on  martial  Britain's  ground? 
And  who,  when  waked  with  note  of  fire, 
Love  more  than  they  the  British  lyre? 
Know  ye  not,  hearts  to  honour  dear! 
That  joy,  deep-thrilling,  stern,  severe, 
At  which  the  heart-strings  vibrate  high, 
And  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye? 
And  blame  ye,  then,  the  Bruce,  if  trace 
Of  tear  is  on  his  manly  face, 
AVhen,  scanty  reliques  of  the  train 
That  hailed  at  Scone  his  early  reign, 
Tliis  patriot  band  around  him  hung, 
And  to  his  knees  and  bosom  clung? 
Blame  ye  the  Bruce' — his  brother  blamed 
But  shared  the  weakness,  while,  ashamed. 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turned. 
And  dashed  away  the  tear  he  scorned." 

XXI. 
'Tis  morning,  and  the  convent  bell 
Long  time  had  ceased  its  matin  knell, 
Within  thy  walls,  saint  Bride! 


270 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


An  aged  sister  sought  the  cell 
Assigned  to  lady  Isabel, 

And  hurriedly  she  cried, 
"Haste,  gcntlc'lady,  haste— there  waits 
A  noble  stranger  at  the  gates; 
Saint  Bride's  itnor  vot'ress  ne'er  has  seen 
A  knight  of  such  a  princely  mien; 
His  errand,  as  he  bade  me  tell, 
Is  with  the  lady  Isabel." 
The  princess  rose,  lor  on  her  knee 
Low  bent,  she  told  her  rosary, — 
"  Let  him  by  thee  his  purpose  teach; 
I  may  not  give  a  stranger  speech." 
"  Saint  Bride  forefend,  thou  royal  maid  !" 
The  portress  crossed  herself,  and  said, — 
"  Not  to  be  prioress  might  I 
Debate  his  will,  his  suit  deny." 
"  Has  earthly  show  then,  simple  fool, 
Power  o'er  a  sister  of  thy  rule. 
And  ai-t  thou,  like  tlie  worldly  train. 
Subdued  by  splendours  light  and  vain?" 

XXIT. 

"No,  lady!  in  old  eyes  like  mine 

Gauds  have  no  glitter,  gems  no  shine! 

Nor  grace  his  rank  attendants  vain. 

One  youthful  page  is  all  his  train. 

It  is  the  form,  the  eye,  the  word. 

The  bearing  of  tiiat  stranger  lord; 

His  stature,  manly,  bold,  and  tall. 

Built  like  a  castle's  battled  wall. 

Yet  moulded  in  such  just  degrees. 

His  giant-strength  seems  lightsome  ease. 

Close  as  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 

His  locks  upon  his  forehead  twine. 

Jet-black,  save  where  some  touch  of  gray 

Has  ta'en  the  youthful  hue  away. 

Weather  and  war  their  rougher  trace 

Have  left  on  that  majestic  face; — 

But  'tis  his  dignity  of  eye! 

There,  if  a  suppliant,  would  I  fly, 

Secure,  'mid  danger,  wrongs,  and  grief. 

Of  sympathy,  redress,  relief — 

That  glance,  if  guilty,  would  I  dread 

More  than  the  doom  that  spoke  me  dead!"- 

"  Enough,  enough,"  the  princess  cried, 

"  'Tis  Scotland's  hope,  her  joy,  her  pride! 

To  meaner  front  was  ne'er  assigned 

Such  mastery  o'er  the  common  mind — 

Bestowed  thy  high  designs  to  aid. 

How  long,  O  heaven!  how  long  delayed! 

Haste,  Mona,  haste,  to  introduce 

My  darling  brother,  royal  Bruce!" 

XXIU. 

They  met  like  friends  who  part  in  pain. 
And  meet  in  doublftd  hope  again. 
But  when  subdued  that  fitful  swell, 
The  Bruce  surveyed  the  humble  cell; 
"  And  this  is  thine,  poor  Isabel,— 
Th:)t  pallet-couch,  and  naked  wall, 
For  room  of  state,  and  bed  of  pall; 
For  costly  robes  and  jewels  rare, 
A  string  of  beads  anil  zone  of  hair; 
And  for  the  ti-umpet's  sprightly  call 
To  sport  or  banquet,  grove  or  hall, 
Tlie  bed's  grim  voice  divides  thy  care, 
'  Pwixl  hours  of  penitence  and  prayer! 
O  ill  for  thee,  my  royal  claim 
From  the  first  David's  sainted  name! 
O  wo  for  thee,  that  while  he  sought 
His  riglit,  thy  brother  feebly  fought!" 


XXIV. 

"  Now  lay  these  vain  regrets  aside. 
And  be  the  unsliaken  Bruce!"  she  cried. 
"  For  more  1  glory  to  have  shared 
The  woes  thy  venturous  spirit  dared, 
When  raising  first  thy  valiant  band 
In  rescue  of  thy  native  land. 
Than  had  fair  fortune  set  me  down 
The  partner  of  an  empire's  crown. 
And  grieve  not  that  on  pleasure's  stream 
No  more  I  drive  in  giddy  ch-eam. 
For  heaven  the  erring  pilot  knew, 
And  from  the  gulf  the  vessel  drew. 
Tried  me  with  judgments,  stern  and  great, 
My  house's  ruin,  thy  defeat. 
Poor  Nigel's  death,  till,  tamed,  1  own. 
My  hopes  are  fixed  on  heaven  alone; 
Nor  e'er  shall  earthly  prospects  win 
My  heart  to  this  vain  world  of  sin." — 

XXV. 
"  Nay,  Isabel,  for  such  stern  choice. 
First  wilt  thou  wait  thy  brother's  voice; 
Then  ponder  if  in  convent  scene 
No  softer  thoughts  might  intervene — 
Say  they  were  of  that  unknown  knight, 
Victor  in  Woodstock's  tourney-fight — 
Nay,  if  his  name  sucji  blusli  you  owe. 
Victorious  o'er  a  fairer  foe!" — 
Truly  his  penetrating  eye 
Hath  caught  that  blush's  passing  die, — 
Like  the  last  beam  of  evening  thrown 
On  a  white  cloud, — ^just  seen  and  gone. 
Soon  with  calm  cheek  and  steady  eye, 
The  princess  made  composed  reply: 
"  1  guess  my  brotlier's  meaning  well; 
For  not  so  silent  is  the  cell. 
But  we  have  heard  the  islesmen  all 
Arm  in  thy  cause  at  Ronald's  call. 
And  mine  eye  proves  that  knight  unknown 
And  the  brave  Island  lord  are  one.— 
Had  then  his  suit  been  earlier  made, 
In  his  own  name,  with  thee  to  aid, 
(But  that  his  plighted  faith  forbade,) 

I  know  not But  thy  page  so  near? — 

This  is  no  tale  for  menial's  ear.  "— 

XXVL 
Still  stood  that  page,  as  far  apart 

As  the  small  cell  would  space  afford; 
With  dizzy  eye  and  bursting  heart. 

He  leaned  his  weight  on  Bruce's  sword, 
The  monarch's  mantle  too  he  bore. 
And  drew  the  fold  his  visage  o'er. 
"  Fear  not  for  him — in  murderous  strife," 
Said  Bruce,  "his  warning  saved  my  life: 
Full  seldom  parts  he  from  my  side; 
And  in  his  silence  I  confide, 
Since  he  can  tell  no  tale  again. — 
He  is  a  boy  of  gentle  strain, 
And  I  have  purposed  he  shall  dwell 
In  Augustin  the  chaplain's  cell, 
And  wait  on  thee,  my  Isabel. — 
Mind  not  his  tears;  I've  seen  them  flow. 
As  in  the  thaw  dissolves  the  snow. 
'Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful. 
Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull. 
And  those  that  with  the  Bruce  would  sail, 
Must  \eAvn  to  strive  with  stream  and  gale.— 
But  forward,  gentle  Isabel— 
My  ans\ver  for  lord  Ronald  tell."— 

XXVIL 
"  This  answer  be  to  Ronald  given— 
The  heart  he  iisks  is  fixed  on  heaven. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


271 


My  love  was  like  a  summer  flower, 

That  withered  in  the  wintry  hour, 

Born  but  of  vanity  and  pride, 

And  with  these  sunny  visions  died. 

If  further  press  liis  suit — then  say, 

He  should  his  plighted  troth  obey; 

Troth  plighted  both  with  ring  and  word, 

And  sworn  on  crucifix  and  sword. — 

Oh,  shame  thee,  Robert!  I  have  seen 

Thou  hast  a  woman's  guardian  been: 

E'en  in  extremity's  dread  hour. 

When  pressed  on  thee  the  southern  power. 

And  safety,  to  all  human  sight. 

Was  only  found  in  rapid  flight. 

Thou  he'ard'st  a  wretciied  female  plain 

In  agony  of  travail-pain. 

And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 

Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 12 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do. 

Rather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue. 

Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 

A  woman  in  her  last  distress. — 

And  wilt  thou  now  deny  thine  aid 

To  an  oppressed  and  injured  maid, 

E'en  plead  for  Ronald's  perfitly, 

And  press  his  fickle  faith  on  me? — 

So  witness  heaven,  as  true  I  vow. 

Had  I  those  earthly  feelings  now. 

Which  could  my  former  bosom  move 

Ere  taught  to  set  its  hopes  above, 

I'd  spurn  each  proft'er  he  could  bring. 

Till  at  my  feet  he  laid  the  ring, 

The  ring  and  spousal  contract  both. 

And  fair  acquittal  of  his  oath. 

By  her  who  brooks  his  perjured  scorn. 

The  ill-requited  maid  of  Lorn!" — 

XXVIIl. 
With  sudden  impulse  forward  sprung 
The  page,  and  on  her  neck  he  hung; 
Then,  recollected  instantly, 
His  head  he  stooped,  and  bent  his  knee, 
Kissed  twice  the  hand  of  Isabel, 
Arose,  and  sudden  left  the  cell. — 
The  princess,  loosened  from  his  hold. 
Blushed  angr)'  at  his  bearing  bold; 

But  good  king  Robert  cried, 
"  Chafe  not — by  signs  he  speaks  his  mind. 
He  heard  the  plan  my  care  designed. 

Nor  could  his  transpwts  hide. — 
But,  sister,  now  bethink  thee  well; 
No  easy  choice  the  convent  cell; 
Trust,  I  shall  play  no  tyrant  part. 
Either  to  force  thy  hand  or  heart. 
Or  sufler  that  lord  Ronald  scorn. 
Or  wrong  for  thee,  the  maid  of  Lorn. 
But  think, — not  long  the  time  has  been. 
That  thou  wert  wont  to  sigh  unseen. 
And  would'st  the  ditties  best  approve. 
That  told  some  lay  of  hapless  love. 
Now  are  thy  wishes  in  tiiy  power. 
And  thou  art  bent  on  cloister  bower! 
O !  if  our  Edward  knew  the  change. 
How  would  his  busy  satire  range. 
With  many  a  sarcasm  varied  still 
On  woman's  wish,  and  woman's  will!" 

XXIX. 
"  Brother,  I  well  believe,"  she  said, 
"E'en  so  would  Edward's  part  be  played. 
Kindly  in  heart,  in  word  severe, 
A  foe  to  thought,  and  grief,  and  fear. 
He  holds  his  humour  uncontrolled; 
But  thou  art  of  another  mould. 


Say  then  to  Ronald,  as  I  say, 

Unless  before  my  feet  he  lay 

The  ring  which  bound  the  faith  he  swore, 

By  Edith  freely  yielded  o'er, 

He  moves  his  suit  to  me  no  more. 

Nor  do  I  promise,  e'en  if  now 

He  stood  absolved  of  spousal  vow. 

That  1  would  change  my  purpose  made. 

To  slielter  me  in  holy  shade. — 

Brother,  for  little  space,  farewell! 

To  other  duties  warns  the  bell." 

XXX. 
"  Lost  to  the  world,"  king  Robert  said, 
When  he  had  left  ttie  royal  maid, 
"  Lost  to  the  world  by  lot  severe, 
O  what  a  gem  lies  buried  here, 
Nipped  by  misfortune's  cruel  frost, 
The  buds  of  fair  affection  lost! 
But  what  have  1  with  love  to  do? 
Far  sterner  cares  my  lot  pursue. 
— Pent  in  this  isle  we  may  not  lie. 
Nor  would  it  long  our  wants  supply. 
Right  opposite,  the  mainland  towers 
Of  my  ow  n  Turn  berry  court  our  powers — 
— Might  not  my  father's  beadsman  Itoar, 
Culbbert,  who  dwells  upon  the  shore, 
Kindle  a  signal-flame,  to  show 
The  time  propitious  for  the  blow  ! — 
It  shall  be  so — some  friend  shall  bear 
Our  mandate  with  dispatch  and  care; 
Edward  shall  find  the  messenger. 
That  fortress  ours,  the  island  fleet 
May  on  the  coast  of  Carrick  meet. 
O  Scotland !  shall  it  e'er  be  mine 
To  wreak  thy  wrongs  in  battle  line, 
To  raise  my  victor  head,  and  see 
Thy  hills,  thy  dales,  thy  people  free, — 
That  glance  of  bliss  is  all  I  crave, 
Betwixt  my  labours  and  my  grave!" 
Then  down  the  hill  he  slowly  went. 
Oft  pausing  on  the  steep  ilescent, 
And  reached  the  spot  where  his  bold  train 
Held  rustic  camp  upon  the  plain. 

CAXTO  V. 

I. 

Ox  fair  Loch-Ranza  streamed  the  early  day. 
Thin  wreaths  oi  cottage-smoke  are  upward  curled 

From  the  lone  hamlet,  which  her  inland  bay 
And  circling  mountains  sever  from  the  world. 

And  there  the  fisherman  his  sail  unfurled, 
The  goat-herd  drove  his  kids  to  steep  Ben-ghoil, 

Before  the  hut  the  dame  lier  spindle  twirled, 
Courting  the  sunbeam  as  she  plied  her  toil, — 

For,  wake  where'er  he  may,  man  wakes  to  care 
and  toil. 

But  other  duties  called  each  convent  maid. 

Roused  by  the  summons  of  the  moss-grown  bell; 

Sung  were  the  matins,  and  the  mass  was  said. 
And  every  sister  sought  her  separate  cell. 

Such  was  the  rule,  her  rosary  to  tell. 
And  Isabel  has  knelt  in  lonely  prayer; 

The  sunbeam,  through  the  narrow  lattice,  fell 
Upon  the  snowy  neck  and  long  dark  hair. 

As  stooped  her  gentle  head  in  meek  devotion  there. 
II. 
She  raised  her  eyes,  that  duty  done. 
When  glanced  upon  the  pavement  stcne, 
Gemmed  and  enchased,  a  golden  ring, 
Bound  to  a  scroll  with  silken  string. 
With  few  brief  words  inscribed  to  tell, 
•'  This  for  the  lady  Isabel." 


272 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Within,  tlie  writing  farther  bore, — 
"  'Twas  with  this  ring  his  plight  he  swore, 
Witii  this  his  promise  I  restore; 
To  her  who  can  the  heart  command, 
Well  may  I  yield  the  pligiited  hand. 
And  O!  for  better  fortune  born, 
Grudge  not  a  ])assing  sigli  to  mourn 
Her  wtio  was  Edith  once  of  Lorn!" 
One  single  flash  of  glad  surprise 
Just  glanced  from  Isabel's  dark  eyes. 
But  vanished  in  the  blush  of  shame, 
That,  as  its  penance,  instant  came. 
"  O  tiiought  unworthy  of  my  race  I 
Selfish,  ungenerous,  mean,  and  base, 
A  moment's  tiirob  of  joy  to  own. 
That  rose  upon  her  hopes  o'erthrown! — 
Thou  pledge  of  vows  too  well  believed, 
Of  man  ingrate  and  maid  deceived. 
Think  not  tiiy  lustre  here  shall  gain 
Another  heart  to  hope  in  vain! 
For  thou  siialt  rest,  thou  tempting  gaud, 
Where  worldly  thoughts  are  overawed. 
And  worldly  splendours  sink  debased." — 
Then  by  the  cross  the  ring  she  placed. 

111. 

Next  rose  the  thought, — its  owner  far, 
How  came  it  here  through  bolt  and  bar.' — 
But  the  dim  lattice  is  a-jar — 
She  looks  abroad — the  morning  dew 
A  liglit  short  step  liad  brushed  anew, 

And  there  were  fool-priiits  seen 
On  the  carved  buttress  rising  still, 
Till  on  the  mossy  window-sill 

Their  track  effaced  the  green. 
The  ivj'  twigs  were  torn  and  frayed, 
As  if  some  climber's  steps  to  aid. — 
But  who  the  hardy  messenger 
Whose  venturous  path  these  signs  infer' — 
"  Strange  doubts  are  mine  I — Mcna,  draw  tiigh;" 
—  Nought  'scapes  old  Mona's  curious  eys- 
"  What  strangers,  gentle  mother,  saj", 
Have  sought  these  holy  walls  to-day?" 
"  None,  lady,  none  of  note  or  name, 
Onlj'  your  brother's  foot-page  came. 
At  peep  of  dawn — I  prayed  him  pass 
To  chapel  where  they  said  the  mass; 
But  like  an  arrow  he  shot  by. 
And  tears  seemed  bursting  from  his  eye." 

IV. 

The  truth  at  once  on  Isabel, 

As  darted  by  a  sunbeam,  fell. 

"  'Tis  Edith's  self! — her  speechless  wo, 

Her  form,  her  looks,  the  secret  show! 

— Instant,  good  Mona,  to  the  bay, 

And  to  my  royal  brother  say, 

1  do  conjure  him  seek  mj'  cell. 

With  that  mute  page  he  loves  so  well." 

"  What!  know'st  thou  not  his  warlike  host 

At  break  of  day  has  left  our  coast? 

My  old  eyes  saw  them  from  the  tower. 

At  eve  they  couched  in  green-wood  bower. 

At  dawn  a  bugle-signal,  made 

By  their  bold  lord,  their  ranks  arrayed; 

Up  sprung  the  spears  through  bush  and  tree. 

No  time  for  henedicite! 

Like  deer,  that,  rousing  from  their  lair, 

Just  shake  the  dew-drops  from  their  hair. 

And  toss  their  armed  ci-ests  aloft, 

Such  matins  theirs!" — "  Good  mother,  soft — 

Where  does  my  brother  bend  his  way?" 

"  As  I  have  heard,  for  Brodick-bay,  , 


Across  the  isle — of  barks  a  score 

Lie  there,  'tis  said,  to  waft  them  o'er, 

On  sudden  news,  to  Carrick-shore." 

"  If  such  their  purpose,  deep  the  need," 

Said  anxious  Isabel,  "of  speed! 

Call  father  Augustin,  good  dame." 

The  nun  obeyed,  the  father  came. 
V. 

"Kind  father,  hie  without  delay. 

Across  the  hill  to  Brodick-bay! 

This  message  to  the  Bruce  be  given; 

I  pray  him,  by  his  hopes  of  heaven, 

Tiiat,  till  he  speak  with  me,  he  stay ! 

Or,  if  his  haste  brook  no  delay. 

That  lie  deliver,  on  my  suit, 

Into  tiiy  charge  that  stripling  mute. 

Thus  prays  his  sister  Isabel, 

For  causes  more  than  she  may  tell — 

Away,  good  father! — and  take  heed. 

That  life  and  death  are  on  thy  speed." — 

His  cowl  the  good  old  priest  did  oti. 

Took  his  piked  staff  and  sandalled  shoon, 

.\nd,  like  a  palmer  bent  by  eld, 

O'er  moss  and  moor  his  iournev  held. 

Vl.  ^ 

Heavy  and  dull  the  foot  of  age. 
And  rugged  was  the  pilgrimage; 
But  none  was  there  beside,  whose  care 
Migiit  s;!ch  important  message  bear. 
Through  birchen  copse  he  wandered  slow. 
Stunted  and  sapless,  thin  and  low; 
By  many  a  mountain  stream  he  passed. 
From  the  tall  cliffs  in  tumult  cast. 
Dashing  to  foam  their  waters  dun, 
And  sparkling  in  the  summer  sun. 
Round  Jiis  gray  heail  the  wild  curlew 
In  many  a  fearless  circle  flew. 
O'er  chasms  he  passed,  w  here  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride;' 
He  crossed  his  brow  beside  the  stone, 
W'here  druids  erst  heard  victims  groan. 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild. 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled, 2 
He  breathed  a  timid  prayer  for  those 
Who  died  ere  Shiloh's  sun  arose. 
Beside  Macfarlane's  cross  he  staid. 
There  told  his  hours  within  the  shade, 
And  at  the  stream  his  thirst  allayed. 
Thence  onward  journeying  slowly  still. 
As  evening  closed  he  reached  the  hill. 
Where  rising  through  the  woodland  green. 
Old  Brodick's  gothic  towers  were  seen. 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword.* 
The  sun  that  sunk  behind  the  isle 
Now  tinsred  tiiem  witli  a  parting  smile. 

VH. 
But  though  the  beams  of  light  decay, 
'Twas  bustle  all  in  Brodick-bay. 
The  Bruce's  followers  crowd  the  shore. 
And  boats  and  barges  some  unmoor. 
Some  raise  the  sail,  some  seize  the  oar; 
Their  eyes  oft  turned  where  glimmered  far 
What  might  have  seemed  an  early  star 
On  heaven's  blue  arch,  save  that  its  light 
Was  all  too  flickering,  fierce  and  bright. 
Far  distant  in  the  south,  the  ray 
Shone  pale  amid  retiring  day. 

But  as,  on  Carrick  shore. 
Dim  seen  in  outline  faintly  blue. 
The  shades  of  evening  closer  drew, 

It  kindled  more  and  more. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES- 


273 


The  monk's  slow  steps  bow  press  the  sands, 
And  now  amid  a  sceiie  he  stands. 

Full  strange  to  churchman's  eye; 
Warriors,  who,  arming  foi  the  fight, 
Rivet  and  clasp  their  harness  light, 
And  twinkling  spears,  and  axes  bright, 

And  helmets  flashing  high; 
Oft,  too,  with  unaccustomed  ears, 
A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears,* 

While  hastening  all  on  board. 
As  stormy  as  the  swelling  surge 
That  mixed  its  roar,  the  leaders  urge 
Their  followers  to  the  ocean  verge, 

With  many  a  haughty  word. 

"  vm. 

Through  that  wild  throng  the  father  passed, 

And  reached  the  royal  Bruce  at  last. 

He  leant  against  a  stranded  boat, 

That  the  approaching  tide  must  float, 

And  counted  every  rippling  wave. 

As  higher  yet  her  sides  they  lave. 

And  oft  the  distant  fire  he  eyed. 

And  closer  yet  his  hauberk  tied. 

And  loosened  in  its  sheath  his  brand. 

Edward  and  Lennox  were  at  hand; 

Douglas  and  Ronald  had  the  care 

Tlie  soldiers  to  the  barks  to  share. — 

The  monk  approached  and  homage  paid; 

"  And  art  thou  come,"  king  Robert  said, 

"  So  far,  to  bless  us  ere  we  part'" — 

— "  My  liege,  and  with  a  loyal  heart! — • 

liut  other  charge  1  have  to  tell," — 

And  spoke  the  best  of  Isabel. 

•^"  Now,  by  saint  Giles,"  the  monarch  cried, 

"This  moves  me  much! — this  morning  tide, 

I  sent  the  stripling  to  saint  Bride, 

With  my  commandment  there  to  bide." — 

—"Thither  he  came  the  portress  showed, 

But  there,  my  liege,  made  brief  abode." — 

IX. 

"  'Twas  1,"  said  Edward,  "  found  employ 

Of  nobler  import  for  the  boy. 

Deep  pondering  in  my  anxious  mind, 

A  fitting  messenger  to  find, 

To  bear  thy  written  mandate  o'er 

To  Cuthbert  on  the  Carrick  shore, 

1  chanced,  at  early  dawn,  to  pass 

The  chapel  gate  to  snatch  a  mass. 

1  found  the  stripling  on  a  tomb 

Low-seated,  weeping  for  the  doom 

That  gave  his  youth  to  convent  gloom. 

1  told  my  purpose,  and  his  eyes 

Flashed  joyful  at  the  glad  surprise. 

He  bounded  to  the  skiff,  the  sail 

Was  spread  before  a  prosperous  gale. 

And  well  m)'  charge  he  hath  obe}ed; 

For,  see !  the  ruddy  signal  made. 

That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all, 

Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall."5 

X. 
"O  wild  of  thought,  and  hard  of  heart!" 
Answered  the  monarch,  "  on  a  part 
Of  such  deep  danger  to  employ 
A  mute,  an  orphan,  and  a  boy  ! 
Unfit  for  flight,  unfit  for  strife. 
Without  a  tongue  to  plead  for  life ! 
Now,  were  my  right  restored  by  heaven, 
Edward,  my  crown  I  would  have  given. 
Ere,  thrust  on  such  adventure  wild, 
I  periled  thus  the  helpless  child." 


— Offended  half,  and  half  submiss, 

"  Brother  and  liege,  of  blame  like  this," 

Edward  replied,  "  1  little  dreamed. 

A  stranger  messenger,  I  deemed. 

Might  safest  seek  the  beadsman's  cell. 

Where  all  thy  squires  are  known  so  well. 

>foteless  his  presence,  sharp  his  sense, 

His  imperfection  his  defence. 

If  seen,  none  can  his  errand  guess; 

If  ta'en,  his  words  no  tale  express-— 

Methinks,  too,  yonder  beacon's  shine 

Might  expiate  greater  fault  than  mine." — 

"  Rash,"  said  king  Robert,  "  was  the  deed — 

But  it  is  done. — Emb.-irk  with  speed! — 

Good  father,  say  to  Isabel 

How  this  unhappy  chance  befel; 

If  well  we  thrive  on  yonder  shore. 

Soon  shall  my  care  her  page  restore. 

Our  greeting  to  our  sister  bear. 

And  think  of  us  in  mass  and  praver." — 

XI. 
"  Ay!"  said  the  priest,  "while  this  poor  hand 
Can  chalice  raise  or  cross  command. 
While  my  old  voice  has  accents'  use. 
Can  Augustin  forget  the  Bruce?" — 
Then  to  his  side  lord  Ronald  pressed. 
And  whispered,  "  Bear  thou  this  request, 
That  when  by  Bnice's  side  I  fight. 
For  Scotland's  crown  and  freedom's  right, 
The  princess  grace  her  knight  to  bear 
Some  token  of  her  favouring  care; 
It  shall  be  shown  where  England's  best 
May  shrink  to  see  it  on  my  crest. 
And  for  the  boy — since  weightier  care 
For  royal  Bruce  the  times  prepare. 
The  helpless  youth  is  Ronald's  charge. 
His  couch  my  plaid,  his  fence  my  targe." — 
He  ceased ;  for  many  an  eager  hand 
Had  urged  the  barges  from  the  strand. 
Their  number  was  a  score  and  ten, 
They  bore  thrice  three  score  chosen  men. 
With  such  small  force  did  Bruce  at  last 
The  die  for  death  or  empire  cast! 

XH. 
No"w  on  the  darkening  main  afloat, 
Ready  and  manned  rocks  every  boat; 
Beneath  their  oars  the  ocean's  might 
Was  dashed  to  sparks  of  glimmering  light. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  as  off"  they  bore. 
Their  armour  glanced  against  the  shore, 
And,  mingled  with  the  dashing  tide. 
Their  murmuring  voices  distant  died. — 
"  God  speed  them!"  said  the  priest,  as  dark 
On  distant  billows  glides  each  bark: 
"  O  heaven!  when  swords  for  freedom  shine, 
And  monarch's  right,  the  cause  is  thine! 
Edge  doubly  every  patriot  blow ! 
Beat  down  the  banners  of  the  foe! 
And  be  it  to  the  nations  known. 
That  victory  is  from  God  alone!" — 
As  up  the  hill  his  path  he  drew. 
He  turned,  his  blessings  to  renew, 
Oft  turned,  till  on  the  darkened  coast 
All  traces  of  their  course  were  lost; 
Then  slowly  bent  to  Brodick  tower. 
To  shelter  for  the  evening  hour. 

XIU. 
In  night  the  fairy  prospects  sink. 
Where  Cumray's  isles  with  verdant  link 
Close  the  fair  entrance  of  the  Clyde; 
The  woods  of  Bute  no  more  descried 


274 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Are  gone — and  on  the  i)l:(cid  soa 

The  rowers  iilied  their  l:tsk  with  glee, 

While  liaiids  lliat  kni;;litiy  lances  hore 

Impatient  aid  ihe  lat)onriiii;  oar. 

The  hall  faced  moon  shone  dim  and  pale, 

And  glanced  against  the  whitened  sail; 

lUlt  on  that  ru(ldy  beaeon  light 

Each  steersman  kept  the  helm  aright. 

And  oft.  for  siicii  the  king's  command. 

That  ail  at  once  miglit  reach  the  strand, 

From  boat  to  boat  loud  shout  and  hail 

Warned  them  to  crowd  or  slacken  sail. 

Soutli  and  by  west  tiie  armada  bore. 

And  near  at  Icngtli  the  Carrick  shore. 

As  less  and  less  the  distance  grows. 

High  and  more  high  tiie  beacon  rose; 

Tiie  light,  that  seemed  a  twinkling  star, 

Now  blazed  portentous,  fierce,  and  far. 

Dark-red  the  heaven  above  it  glowed, 

Dark-red  the  sea  beneath  it  flowed. 

Red  rose  the  rocks  on  ocean's  brim, 

In  blood-red  light  her  islets  swim; 

Wild  scream  the  dazzled  sea-fowl  gave, 

Dropjied  from  their  crags  on  plashing  wave, 

Tlie  deer  to  distant  covert  drew. 

The  black-cock  deemed  it  day,  and  crew. 

Like  some  tall  castle  given  to  flame. 

O'er  half  the  land  the  lustre  came. 

"  Now,  good  my  liege,  and  brother  sage, 

What  think  ye  ol  mme  elfin  page?" 

"  Row  on!"  the  noble  king  replied, 

"  We'll  learn  the  truth  whate'er  betide; 

Yet  sure  the  beadsman  and  the  child 

Could  ne'er  have  waked  that  beacon  wild." — 

XIV. 

W^itli  that  the  boats  approached  the  land. 

But  Edward's  grounded  on  the  sand; 

The  eager  knight  leaped  in  the  sea 

Waist  deep,  and  first  on  shore  was  he. 

Though  every  barge's  hardy  band 

Contended  which  should  gain  the  land. 

When  that  strange  light,  v/hich,  seen  afar. 

Seemed  steady  as  the  polar  star. 

Now,  like  a  prophet's  fiery  chair. 

Seemed  travelling  the  realms  of  air. 

Wide  o'er  the  sky  the  splendour  glows 

As  that  portentous  meteor  rose; 

Helm,  axe,  and  falchion,  glittered  bright. 

And  in  the  red  and  dusky  light 

His  comrade's  face  each  warrior  saw. 

Nor  marvelled  it  was  pale  with  awe. 

Then  high  in  air  the  beams  were  lost. 

And  darkness  sunk  upon  the  coast. — 

Ronald  to  heaven  a  prayer  addressed, 

And  Douglas  crossed  his  dauntless  breast; 

"  Saint  James  protect  us!"  Lennox  cried, 

But  reckless  Edward  spoke  aside, 

"  Deemest  thou,  Kirkpatrick,  in  that  flame 

Red  Comyn's  angry  spirit  came, 

Or  would  thy  dauntless  heart  endure 

Once  more  to  make  assurance  sure?" 

"  Husii !"  said  the  Bruce,  "  we  soon  shall  know, 

If  this  be  sorcerer's  empty  show. 

Or  stratagem  of  southern  foe. 

The  moon  shines  out — upon  the  sand 

Let  every  leader  rank  his  band." — 

XV. 

Faintly  the  moon's  pale  beams  supply 
That  ruddy  light's  unnatural  die; 
The  dubious  cold  reflection  lay 
On  the  wet  sands  and  quiet  bay. 


Beneath  tlie  rocks  king  Robert  drew 

His  scattered  files  to  order  due. 

Till  shiekl  compact  and  serried  spear 

In  the  cool  light  slione  blue  and  clear. 

Then  down  a  path  that  sought  tiie  tide, 

That  speechless  page  was  seen  to  glide; 

He  knelt  him  lowly  on  the  sand. 

And  gave  a  scroll  to  Robert's  hand. 

"  A  torch,"  the  monarch  cried;  "  What,  ho! 

Nov/  shall  we  Cuthbcrt's  tidings  know." — 

But  evil  news  the  letters  bare, 

The  Clifford's  force  was  strong  and  ware. 

Augmented,  too,  that  very  morn. 

By  mountaineers  who  came  with  Lorn. 

Long  harrowed  by  oppressor's  hand, 

Courage  and  faith  had  fled  the  land, 

And  over  Carrick,  dark  and  deep. 

Had  sunk  dejection's  iron  sleep. — 

Cuthbert  had  seei\  that  beacon  flame. 

Unwilling  from  what  soiuxc  it  came. 

Doubtful  of  perilous  event, 

Edward's  mute  messenger  he  sent. 

If  Bruce  deceived  should  venture  o'er, 

T."o  warn  him  from  the  fatal  shore. 

XVI. 
As  round  the  torch  the  leaders  crowd, 
Bruce  read  these  chilling  news  aloud. 
"  What  council,  nobles,  have  we  now? 
To  ambush  us  in  green-wood  bough. 
And  take  the  chance  which  fate  may  send 
To  bring  our  enterprise  to  end; 
Or  shall  we  turn  us  to  the  main 
As  exiles,  and  embark  again?" 
Answered  fierce  Edward,  "  Hap  what  may, 
In  Carrick,  Carrick's  lord  must  stay. 
I  would  not  minstrels  told  the  tale, 
Wiltl-fire  or  meteor  made  us  quail." 
Answered  the  Douglas,  "  If  my  liege 
May  win  yon  walls  by  storm  or  siege. 
Then  were  each  brave  and  patriot  heart 
Kindled  of  new  for  loyal  part." 
Answered  lord  Ronald,  "  Not  for  shame, 
W'ould  I  that  aged  Torquil  came. 
And  found,  for  all  our  empty  boast. 
Without  a  blow  we  fled  the  coast. 
I  will  not  credit  that  this  land. 
So  famed  for  warlike  heart  and  hand, 
The  nurse  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce, 
Will  long  with  tyrants  hold  a  truce." 
"  Prove  we  our  fate — the  brunt  we'll  bide!" 
So  Hoyd  and  Haye  and  Lennox  cried; 
So  said,  so  vowed,  the  leaders  all; 
So  Bruce  resolved;  "  And  in  my  hall 
Since  the  bold  southern  make  their  home. 
The  hour  of  payment  soon  shall  come, 
When  with  a  rough  and  rugged  host 
Clifford  may  reckon  to  his  cost. 
Meantime,  through  well-known  bosk  and  dell, 
I'll  lead  where  we  may  shelter  well." 

XVII. 
Now  ask  you  whence  that  wond'rous  light. 
Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight? 
It  ne'er  was  known'-' — yet  gray-haired  eld 
A  superstitious  credence  held, 
Tliat  never  did  a  mortal  hand 
Wake  its  broad  gbre  on  Can-ick  strand: 
Nay,  and  that  on  the  self-same  night 
When  Bruce  crossed  o'er,  still  gleams  the  light. 
Yearly  it  gleaitis  o'er  mount  und  moor. 
And  glittering  wave  and  crinuoned  shore 
But  whether  beam  celestial,  lent 
By  heaven  to  aid  the  king's  descent. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


275 


Or  fire  hell-kindled  from  beneath, 
To  lure  him  to  defeat  and  death, 
Or  were  it  but  some  meteor  strange. 
Of  such  as  oft  through  midnight  range, 
Startling  the  traveller  late  and  lone, 
I  know  not — and  it  ne'er  was  known. 

XVUI. 

Now  up  the  rocky  pass  they  drew. 

And  Ronald,  to  his  promise  true. 

Still  made  his  arm  the  stripling's  stay, 

To  aid  him  on  the  rugged  way. 

"  Now  cheer  thee,  simple  Amadine! 

Why  throbs  that  silly  heart  of  thine'" — 

— That  name  the  pirates  to  their  slave, 

(In  Gselic  'tis  the  changeling)  gave — 

"  Dost  thou  not  rest  thee  on  my  arm' 

Do  not  my  plaid-folds  hold  thee  warm? 

Hath  not  the  wild  bull's  treble  hide 

This  targe  for  thee  and  me  supplied? 

Is  not  Cian-Colla's  sword  of  steel?    • 

And,  trembler,  can'st  thou  terror  feel? 

Cheer  thee,  and  still  that  throbbing  heart; 

From  Ronald's  guard  thou  shalt  not  part. " — 

— O !  many  a  shaft,  at  random  sent. 

Finds  mark  the  archer  little  meant! 

And  many  a  word,  at  random  spoken. 

May  sooth  or  wound  a  heart  that's  broken ! 

Half  soothed,  half  grieved,  half  terrified, 

Close  drew  the  page  to  Ronald's  sidej 

A  wild  delirious  thrill  of  joy 

^Vas  in  that  hour  of  agony. 

As  up  the  steepy  pass  he  strove, 

Fear,  toil,  and  sorrow,  lost  in  love! 

XIX. 

The  barrier  of  that  iron  shore. 

The  rock's  steep  ledge,  is  now  climbed  o'erj 

And  from  the  castle's  distant  wall. 

From  tower  to  tower  the  warders  call: 

Tlie  sound  swings  over  land  and  sea, 

And  marks  a  watchful  enemy. — 

They  gained  the  chase,  a  wide  domain 

Left  for  the  castle's  sylvan  reign, 7 

(Seek  not  the  scene — the  axe,  the  plough. 

The  boor's  dull  fence,  have  marred  it  now,) 

But  then,  soft  swept  in  velvet  green 

The  plain  with  many  a  glade  between, 

Whose  tangled  alleys  far  invade 

The  depth  of  the  brown  forest  shade. 

Here  the  tall  fern  obscured  the  lawn, 

Fair  shelter  for  the  sportive  faun; 

There,  tufted  close  with  copse-wood  green, 

Was  many  a  swelling  hillock  seen; 

And  all  around  was  verdure  meet 

For  pressure  of  the  fairies'  feet. 

The  glossy  holly  loved  the  park. 

The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  dark. 

And  many  an  old  oak,  worn  and  bare, 

With  all  its  shivered  boughs,  was  there. 

Lovely  between,  the  moonbeams  fell 

On  lawn  and  hillock,  glade  and  dell. 

The  gallant  monarch  sighed  to  see 

Those  glades  so  loved  in  childhood  free, 

Bethinking  that,  as  outlaw  now. 

He  ranged  beneath  the  forest  bough. 

XX. 

Fast  o'er  the  moonlight  chase  they  sped. 
^Vell  knew  the  band  that  measured  tread. 
When  in  retreat  or  in  advance, 
The  serried  warriors  move  at  once; 
And  evil  were  the  luck,  if  dawn 
Descried  them  on  the  open  lawn. 


Copses  they  traverse,  brooks  they  cross. 
Strain  up  the  bank  and  o'er  the  moss. 
From  the  exliausted  page's  brow 
Coid  drops  of  toil  are  streaming  now; 
With  effort  faint  and  lengthened  pause. 
His  weary  step  the  stripling  draws. 
"  Nay,  droop  not  yet!"  the  warrior  said; 
"Come,  let  me  give  thee  ease  and  aid! 
Strong  are  mine  arms,  and  little  care 
A  weight  so  slight  as  thine  to  bear. 
What!  wilt  thou  not' — capricious  boy! 
Then  thine  own  limbs  and  strength  employ. 
Pass  but  this  night,  and  pass  thy  care, 
I'll  place  thee  with  a  lady  fair. 
Where  thou  shalt  tune  tliy  lute  to  tell 
How  Ronald  loves  fair  Isabel!" 
Worn  out,  disheartened,  and  dismayed. 
Here  Amadine  let  go  the  plaid; 
His  trembling  limbs  their  aid  refuse. 
He  sunk  among  the  midnight  dews! 

XXI. 

What  may  be  donei" — the  night  is  gone— 

The  Bruce's  band  moves  swiftly  on — 

Eternal  shame,  if  at  the  brunt 

Lord  Ronald  grace  not  battle's  front! 

"  See  yonder  oak,  within  whose  trunk 

Decay  a  darkened  cell  hath  sunk; 

Enter,  and  rest  thee  there  a  space. 

Wrap  in  my  plaid  thy  limbs,  tiiy  face. 

I  will  not  be,  believe  me,  far; 

But  must  not  quit  the  ranks  of  war. 

Well  will  1  mark  the  bosky  bourne. 

And  soon  to  guard  thee  hence,  return. 

Nay,  weep  not  so,  tliou  simple  boy ! 

But  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  in  joy." 

In  sylvan  lodging  close  bestowed. 

He  placed  the  page,  and  onward  strode 

With  strength  put  forth,  o'er  moss  and  brook. 

And  soon  the  marching  band  o'ertook. 

XXII. 
Thus  strangely  left,  long  sobbed  and  wept 
The  page,  till,  wearied  out,  he  slept. 
A  rough  voice  waked  his  dream — "  Nay,  here. 
Here  by  fliis  thicket,  passed  the  deer — 
Beneath  that  oak  old  Ryno  staid — 
What  have  we  here' — a  Scottish  plaid. 
And  in  its  folds  a  stripling  laid? 
Come  forth!  thy  name  and  business  tell! 
What,  silent' — then  I  guess  thee  well. 
The  spy  that  sought  old  Cuthbert's  cell. 
Wafted  from  Annan  yester  morn — 
Come,  comrades,  we  will  straight  return. 
Our  lord  may  choose  the  rack  should  teach 
To  this  young  lurcher  use  of  speech. 
Thy  bow-string,  till  I  bind  him  fast.' 
"  Nay,  but  he  weeps  and  stands  aghast; 
Unbound  we'll  lead  him,  fear  it  not; 
'Tis  a  fair  stripling,  though  a  Scot. " 
The  hunters  to  the  castle  sped. 
And  there  the  hapless  captive  led. 

XXUI. 

Stout  Clifford  in  the  castle-court 
Prepared  him  for  the  morning  sport; 
And  now  with  Lorn  held  deep  discourse. 
Now  gave  command  for  hound  and  horse. 
War-steeds  and  palfreys  pawed  the  ground, 
And  many  a  deer-dog  howled  around. 
To  Amadine,  Lorn's" well-known  word 
Replying  to  that  southern  lord. 
Mixed  with  this  clanging  din,  might  seem 
The  phantasm  of  a  fevered  dream. 


276 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  tone  upon  his  ringing  ears 
Came  like  the  sounds  whicii  fancy  hears, 
When  in  rude  waves  or  roaring  winds 
Some  words  of  wn  the  muser  finds, 
Until  more  loudly  and  more  near. 
Their  speech  arrests  the  page's  ear. 

XXIV. 

"  And  was  she  thus,"  said  Clifford,  "  lost? 

The  priest  will  rue  it  to  his  cost! 

What  says  the  monk?" — "The  holy  sire 

Owns  that,  in  masquer's  quaint  attire. 

She  sought  his  skiff,  disguised,  unknown 

To  all  except  to  him  alone. 

But,  says  the  priest,  a  hark  from  Lorn 

Laid  them  aboard  that  very  morn, 

And  pirates  siezed  her  for  their  prey. 

He  proftered  ransom-gold  to  i)ay. 

And  they  agreed — hut  ere  told  o'er. 

The  winds  blow  loud,  the  billows  roar; 

They  severed,  and  they  met  no  more. 

He  deems — such  tempest  vexed  the  coast — 

Ship,  crew,  and  fugitive,  were  lost. 

—  So  let  it  he,  with  the  disgrace 

And  scandal  of  her  lofty  race! 

Thrice  better  she  had  ne'er  been  born, 

Than  brought  her  infamy  on  Lorn!" 

XX  V^ 

Lord  Clifford  now  the  captive  spied;- 

"  Whom,  Herbert,  hast  thou  there?"  he  cried. 

"  A  spy  was  siezed  within  the  chase. 

An  hollow  oak  his  lurking  place." — 

"  What  tidings  can  the  youth  afford?" — 

"  He  plays  the  mute." — "  Then  noose  a  cord — 

Unless  brave  Lorn  reverse  the  doom 

For  his  plaid's  sake." — "  Clan-Colla's  loom," 

Said  Lorn,  whose  careless  glances  trace 

Rather  the  vesture  than  the  face, 

"  Clan-Colla's  dames  such  tartans  twine; 

Wearer  nor  plaid  claims  care  of  mine. 

Give  him,  if  my  advice  you  crave, 

His  own  scathed  oak:  and  let  him  wave 

In  air,  unless,  bv  terror  wrung, 

A  frank  confession  find  his  tongue — '■ 

Nor  shall  he  die  without  his  rite; 

^Thou,  Angus  Roy,  attend  the  sight. 

And  give  Clan-Colla's  dirge  thy  breath, 

As  they  convey  him  to  his  death." 

"  O  brother!  cruel  to  the  last!" 

Through  the  poor  captive's  bosom  passed 

The  thought,  but,  to  his  purpose  true. 

He  said  not,  though  he  sighed,  "Adieu!"— 

XXVI. 

And  will  he  keep  his  purpose  still. 

In  sight  of  that  last  closing  ill. 

When  one  poor  breath,  one  single  word, 

May  freedom,  safety,  life,  afford? 

Can  he  resist  the  instinctive  call. 

For  life,  that  bids  us  barter  all? — 

Love,  strong  as  death,  his  heart  hath  steeled, 

His  nerves  hath  strung — he  w^ill  not  yield! 

Since  that  poor  breath,  that  little  word. 

May  yield  lord  Ronald  to  the  sword. — • 

Clan-Colla's  dirge  is  pealing  wide. 

The  gi'iesly  headsman's  by  his  side; 

Along  llie  green  wood  chase  they  bend. 

And  now  tlieir  march  has  ghastly  end! 

That  old  and  shattered  oak  btneath. 

They  destine  for  the  place  of  death. 

— What  thoughts  are  his,  while  all  in  vain 

His  eye  for  aid  explores  the  plain' 


What  thoughts,  while,  with  a  dizzy  ear. 
He  hears  the  death-prayer  muttered  near? 
And  must  he  die  such  death  accurst. 
Or  will  that  bosom-secret  burst' 
Cold  on  his  brow  breaks  terror's  dew, 
His  trembling  lips  are  livid  blue; 
The  agony  of  parting  life 
Has  nought  to  match  that  moment's  strife ! 

XXVII. 

But  other  witnesses  are  nigh. 

Who  mock  at  fear,  and  death  defy! 

Soon  as  the  dire  lament  was  played, 

It  waked  the  lurking  ambuscade". 

'i'he  Island  loi'd  looked  forlli,  and  spied 

The  cause,  and  loud  in  fury  cried, 

"  By  heaven  they  lead  the  page  to  die, 

And  mock  me  in  his  agony! 

They  shall  abye  it!" — On  his  arm 

Bruce  laid  strong  grasp,  "They  shall  not  harm 

A  ringlet  of  the  stri[)ling's  hair; 

But,  till  I  give  the  word,  forbeai*. 

— Douglas,  lead  fifty  of  our  force 

Up  yonder  hollow  water-course. 

And  couch  thee  midway  on  the  wold. 

Between  the  flyers  and'their  hold: 

A  spear  above  the  copse  displayed. 

Be  signal  of  the  ambush  made. 

— Edward,  with  forty  spearmen,  straight 

Through  yonder  copse  approacli  the  gate, 

And,  when  thou  he.arest  the  battle  din, 

Rash  forward,  and  the  passage  win. 

Secure  the  drawbridge — storm  the  port^ 

And  man  and  guard  the  castle-court. — 

The  rest  move  slowly  forth  with  me, 

In  shelter  of  the  forest  tree. 

Till  Douglas  at  his  post  I  see." 

XXVIU. 

Like  war-horse  eager  to  rush  on. 
Compelled  to  wait  the  signal  blown. 
Hid,  and  scarce  hid,  by  green-wood  bough, 
Trembling  with  rage,  stands  Ronald  now. 
And  in  his  grasp  his  sword  gleams  blue, 
Soon  to  be  dyed  with  deadlier  hue.— 
Meanwhile  the  Bruce,  with  stead)'  eye. 
Sees  the  dark  death-train  moving  by, 
And  heedful  measures  oft  the  space, 
The  Douglas  and  his  band  must  trace, 
Ere  they  can  reach  tlieir  destined  ground. 
Now  sinks  the  dirge's  wailing  sound, 
Now  cluster  round  the  direful  tree 
That  slow  and  solemn  compan}'. 
While  hymn  mistuned  and  muttered  prayer 
The  victim  for  his  fate  prepare. — 
What  glances  o'er  the  green-wood  shade? 
The  spear  that  marks  the  ambuscade ! — 
"Now,  noble  chief!  I  leave  thee  loose; 
Upon  them,  Ronald,"  said  the  Bruce. 

XXIX. 

"The  Bruce,  the  Bruce!"  to  well-known  cry 
His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply. 
"The  Bruce,  the  Bruce!"  in  that  dread  word 
The  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard. 
The  astonished  southern  gazed  at  first, ' 
Where  the  wild  tempest  was  to  burst. 
That  waked  in  that  presaging  name! 
Before,  behind,  around  it  came! 
Half-armed,  surprised,  on  every  side 
Hemmed  in,  hewed  down,  they  bled  and  died. 
Deep  in  the  ring  the  Bruce  engaged. 
And  fierce  Clan-Colla's  broadsword  raged! 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


277 


Full  soon  the  few  who  fou|ht  were  sped, 
Nor  better  was  their  lot  who  fled, 
And  met,  'mid  terror's  wild  career, 
The  Douglas's  redoubted  spear! 
Two  hundred  yeomen  on  that  mom 
The  castle  left,  and  none  return. 

XXX. 
Not  on  their  flight  pressed  Ronald's  brand, 
A  gentler  duty  claimed  his  hand. 
He  raised  the  page,  where  on  the  plain 
His  fear  had  sunk  him  with  the  slain: 
And,  twice  that  morn,  surprise  well  near 
Betrayed  the  secret  kept  by  fear. 
Once,'  when,  with  life  returning,  came 
To  the  boy's  lip  lord  Ronald's  name, 
And  hardly  recollection  drowned 
The  accents  in  a  murmuring  sound: 
And  once,  when  scarce  he  could  resist 
The  chieftain's  care  to  loose  the  vest. 
Drawn  tightly  o'er  his  labouring  breast. 
But  then  the  Bruce's  bugle  blew, 
For  martial  work  was  yet  to  do. 

XXXI. 
A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits. 
Ere  signal  given,  the  castle  gates 

His  fury  had  assailed; 
Such  was'his  wonted  reckless  mood. 
Yet  desperate  valour  oft  made  good, 
E'en  by  its  daring,  venture  rude, 

Where  prudence  might  have  failed. 
Upon  the  bridge  his  strength  he  threw, 
And  struck  the  iron  chain  in  two 

By  which  its  planks  arose; 
The  warder  next  his  axe's  edge 
Struck  down  upon  the  threshold  ledge, 
'Twixt  door  and  post  a  ghastly  wedge ! 

Tiie  gate  they  may  not  close. 
Well  fought  the  southern  in  the  fray, 
Clifford  and  Lorn  fought  well  that  day, 
But  stubborn  Edward  forced  his  way 

Against  an  hundred  foes. 
Loud  came  the  cry,  "  The  Bruce,  The  Bruce!' 
No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce. 

Fresh  combatants  pour  in; 
Mad  with  success,  and  drunk  with  gore, 
They  drive  the  struggling  foe  before, 

And  ward  on  ward  they  win. 
Unsparing  was  the  vengeful  sword. 
And  limbs  were  lopped  and  life-blood  poured. 
The  cry  of  death  and  conflict  roared. 

And  fearful  was  the  din ! 
The  startling  horses  plunged  and  flung, 
Clamoured  the  dogs  till  turrets  rung. 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry, 
Till  not  a  foeman  was  there  found 
Alive,  save  those  who  on  the  ground 

Groaned  in  their  agony ! 
XXXII. 
The  valiant  Clifford  is  no  more; 
On  Ronald's  broadsword  streamed  his  gore. 
But  better  hap  had  he  of  Lorn, 
Who,  by  the  foemen  backward  borne. 
Yet  gained  with  slender  train  the  port, 
Where  lay  his  bark  beneath  the  fort, 

And  cut  the  cable  loose. 
Short  were  his  shrift  in  that  debate. 
That  hour  of  fury  and  of  fate. 

If  Lorn  encountered  Bruce ! 
Then  long  and  loud  the  victor  shout 
From  turret  and  from  tower  rung  out. 

The  rugged  vaults  replied; 


And  from  the  donjon  tower  ou  high. 
The  men  of  Carrick  may  descry 
Saint  Andrew's  cross,  in  blazonry 
Of  silver,  waving  wide! 

XXXITL 

The  Bruce  hath  won  his  fathers'  hall  !* 

— "Welcome,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all, 

Welcome  to  mirth  and  joy ! 
The  first,  the  last,  is  welcome  here. 
From  lord  and  chieftain,  prince  and  peer, 

To  this  poor  speechless  boy. 
Great  God !  once  more  my  sire's  abode 
Is  mine — behold  the  floor  1  trode 

In  tottering  infancy! 
And  there  the  vaulted  arch,  whose  sound 
Echoed  my  joyous  shout  and  bound 
In  boyhood,  and  that  rung  around 

To  youth's  unthiiiking  glee! 
O  first,  to  ihee,  all  gracious  heaven. 
Then  to  my  friends,  my  thanks  be  given!" 
He  paused  a  space,  his  brow  he  crossed-— 
Then  on  the  board  his  sword  he  tossed. 
Yet  streaming  hot;  with  southern  gore 
From  hilt  to  point  'twas  crimsoned  o'er. 

XXXIV. 
"  Bring  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four, 
My  noble  fatiiers  loved  of  yore.9 
Thrice  let  them  circle  round  the  board. 
The  pledge,  '  fair  Scotland's  rights  restored!' 
And  he  whose  lip  shall  touch  the  wine. 
Without  a  vow  as  true  as  mine. 
To  hold  both  lands  and  life  at  nought. 
Until  her  freedom  shall  be  bought, — 
Be  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot, 
And  lasting  infamy  his  lot! 
Sit,  gentle  friends!  our  hour  of  glee 
Is  brief,  we'll  spen<l  it  joyously! 
Blithest  of  all  the  sun's  bright  beams, 
When  betwixt  storm  and  storm  he  gleams. 
Well  is  our  country's  work  begun, 
But  more,  far  more,  must  yet  be  done!— 
Speed  messengers  tlie  country  through; 
Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new;'0 
Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  mail. 
Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 
Let  Ettrick's  archers  sharp  their  darts. 
The  fairest  forms,  tlie  truest  iiearts!'' 
Call  all,  call  all!  from  Reedswair  path. 
To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape- Wrath; 
Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring. 
The  northern  eagle  claps  his  wing!" 

CANTO  TI. 

I. 

0  WHO,  that  shared  them,  ever  shall  forget 

The  emotions  of  tlie  spirit-rousing  time. 
When  breathless  in  the  mart  the  couriers  met. 

Early  and  late,  at  evening  and  at  prime; 
When  the  loud  cannon  and  the  merry  chime 

Hailed  news  on  news,  as  field  on  field  was  won, 
When  hope,  long  doubtful,  soared  at  length  sub- 
lime. 

And  our  glad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun. 
Watched  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  to  meet  the  ris- 
ing sun! 

O  these  were  hours,  when  thrilling  joy  repaid 
A  long,  long  course  of  darkness,  doubts,  and 
fears ! 

The  heart-sick  faintness  of  the  hope  delayed. 
The  waste,  the  wo,  the  bloodshed,  and  the  tears. 


278 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  U-ackccl  ^^  ith  terror  twenty  rolling  years, 
All  was  forgot  in  lliat  blilli  jubilee! 

Her  downcast  eye  e'en  pale  AlHiction  rears, 
To  sigh  a  thankful  praver,  amid  the  glee, 

That  hailed  the  despot's  fall,  and  peace  and  liberty ! 

Such  news  o'er  Scotland's  hills  triumphant  rode, 
When  'gainst  the  invaders  turned  the  battle's 
scale. 

When  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flowed 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale;i 

When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale,2 
And  fiei-y  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John, 3 

When  Randolph's  war-cry  swelled  the  southern 
gale,4 
And 'many  a  fortress,  town,  and  tower,  was  won. 

And  Fame  still  sounded  forth  fresh  deeds  of  glory 
done. 

11.     ■ 
Blith  tidings  flew  from  baron's  tower, 
To  peasant's  cot,  to  forest-bower, 
And  waked  the  solitary  cell, 
Where  lone  saint  Bride's  recluses  dwell. 
Princess  no  more,  fair  Isabel, 
A  vot'ress  of  the  order  now. 
Say,  did  the  rule  that  bid  thee  wear 
Dim  veil  and  woollen  scapulaire. 
And  reft  thy  locks  of  dark-brown  hair, 

That  stern  and  rigid  vow. 
Did  it  condemn  the  transport  high. 
Which  glistened  in  thy  watery  eye. 
When  minstrel  or  when  palmer  told 
Each  fresh  exploit  of  Bruce  the  bold  ? — 
And  whose  the  lovely  form,  that  shares 
Thy  anxious  hopes,  thy  fears,  thy  prayers? 
No  sister  she  of  convent  shade; 
So  say  these  locks  in  lengtiiened  braid, 
So  say  the  blushes  and  the  sighs, 
The  tremors  that  unbidden  rise. 
When,  mingled  with  the  Bruce's  fame, 
The  brave  lord  Ronald's  praises  came. 

111. 

Believe,  his  fathers'  castle  won, 
And  his  bold  enterprise  begun. 
That  Bruce's  earliest  cares  restore 
The  speechless  page  to  Arran's  shore; 
Nor  think  that  long  the  quaint  disguise 
Concealed  her  from  a  sister's  eyes; 
And  sister-like  in  love  they  dwell 
In  that  lone  convent's  silent  cell. 
There  Bruce's  slow  assent  allows 
Fair  Isabel  the  veil  and  vows: 
And  there,  her  sex's  dress  regained. 
The  lovely  maid  of  Lorn  remained. 
Unnamed,'  unknown,  while  Scotland  far 
Resounded  with  the  din  of  war; 
And  many  a  month  and  many  a  day, 
In  calm  seclusion  wo.-e  away. 

IV. 

These  drtys,  these  months,  to  years  had  worn. 
When  tidings  of  high  weight  were  borne 

To  that  lone  Island's  shore; 
Of  all  the  Scottish  conquests  made 
Bv  tlie  first  Edward's  ruthless  blade, 

'His  son  retained  no  mnre, 
Northward  of  Tweed,  but  Stirling's  towers. 
Beleaguered  by  king  Robert's  powers; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce,* 
If  England's  king  should  not  relieve 
The  siege  ere  John  the  Baptist's  eve, 

To  yield  them  to  the  Bruce. 


England  was  roused  on  every  side, 
Courier  and  post  and  herald  hied. 

To  summon  prince  and  peer. 
At  Berwick-bounds  to  meet  their  liege,<' 
Prepared  to  raise  fair  Stirling's  siege, 

With  buckler,  brand,  and  spear. 
The  term  was  nigh — they  mustered  fast. 
By  beacon  and  by  bugle  blast 

Forth  marshalled  for  the  field; 
There  rode  each  knight  of  noble  name, 
There  England's  hardy  archers  came. 
The  land  they  trode  seemed  all  on  flame. 

With  banner,  blade,  and  shield! 
And  not  famed  England's  powers  alone, 
Renowned  in  arms,  the  summons  own; 

For  Neustria's  knights  obeyed, 
Gascoyne  hath  lent  her  horsemen  good. 
And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued. 
Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude,'' 
And  Connaugiit  poured  from  waste  and  wooJ 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 

Dark  Eth  O'Conner  swayed.** 
V. 
Right  to  devoted  Caledon 
The  storm  of  war  rolls  slowly  on, 

With  menace  deep  and  dread; 
So  the  dark  clouds,  with  gathering  power, 
Suspend  awhile  the  threatened  shower. 
Till  every  peak  and  summit  lower 

Round  the  pale  pilgrim's  head. 
Not  with  such  pilgrim's  startled  eye 
King  Robert  marked  the  tempest  nigh! 

Resolved  the  brunt  to  bide. 
His  royal  summons  warned  the  land. 
That  all  who  owned  their  king's  command 
Should  instant  take  the  spear  and  brand. 

To  combat  at  his  side. 
O,  who  may  tell  the  sons  of  fame. 
That  at  king  Robert's  bidding  came, 

To  battle  for  the  right! 
From  Cheviot  to  the  shores  of  Ross, 
From  Solway-Sands  to  Marshal's  moss. 

All  bouned  them  for  the  fight. 
Such  news  the  royal  courier  tells. 
Who  came  to  rouse  dark  Arran's  dells; 
But  farther  tidings  must  the  ear 
Of  Isabel  in  secret  hear. 
These  in  her  cloister  walk,  next  morn, 
Thus  shared  she  with  the  maid  of  Lorn. 

A'f. 
"  My  Edith,  can  1  tell  how  dear 
Our'intercourse  of  hearts  sincere 

Hath  been  to  Isabel?  — 
Judge  then  the  sorrow  of  my  heart. 
When  I  must  say  tiie  words,  we  part! 

The  cheerless  convent-cell 
Was  not,  sweet  maiden,  made  for  thecj 
Go  thou  where  thy  vocation  free 

On  happier  fortunes  fell. 
Nor,  Edith,  judge  thyself  betrayed. 
Though  Robert  knows  that  Lorn's  high  maid 
And  his  poor  silent  page  were  one. 
Versed  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man. 
Earnest  and  anxious  hath  he  looked 
How  Ronald's  heart  the  message  brooked 
That  gave  him,  with  her  last  farewell. 
The  charge  of  sister  Isabel, 
To  think  upon  thy  better  right, 
And  keep  the  faith  his  promise  plight. 
Forgive  him  for  thy  sister's  Sike, 
At  first  if  vain  repinings  wake- 
Long  since  that  mood  is  gone: 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


279 


Now  dwells  he  on  thyjuster  claims, 
And  oft  his  breach  of  faith  he  blames — 
Forgive  him  for  thine  own!" — 

vn. 

"No!  never  to  lord  Ronald's  bower 

Will  I  again  as  paramoui- " 

"Nay,  hush  thee,  too  impatient  maid, 

Until  my  final  tale  be  said! — 

The  good  king  Robert  would  engage 

Edith  otu-e  more  his  elfin  page, 

By  her  own  heart,  and  her  own  eye, 

Her  lover's  penitence  to  try — 

Safe  in  his  royal  charge,  and  free, 

Should  sucli  thy  final  purpose  be, 

Again  unknown  to  seek  the  cell, 

And  live  and  die  with  Isabel." 

Thus  spoke  the  maid — king  Robert's  eye 

Might  have  some  glance  of  policy; 

UunstafTnage  had  the  monarch  ta'en, 

And  Lorn  had  owned  king  Robert's  reign; 

Her  brother  had  to  England  fled. 

And  there  in  banishment  was  dead: 

Ample,  through  exile,  death,  and  flight. 

O'er  tower  and  land  was  Edith's  right; 

This  ample  right  o'er  tower  and  land 

Were  safe  in  Ronald's  faithful  hand. 

A'^III. 

Embarrassed  cj'e  and  blushing  cheek. 
Pleasure,  and  shame,  and  fear  bespeak! 
Yet  much  the  reasoning  Edith  made; 
"  Her  sister's  faith  she  must  upbraid. 
Who  gave  such  secret,  dark  and  dear, 
In  council  to  another's  ear. 
Why  should  she  leave  the  peaceful  cell' 
How  should  siie  part  with  Isabel  ? 
How  wear  that  strange  attire  agen? 
How  risk  herself  'midst  martial  men^ 
And  how  be  guarded  on  the  way  ? 
At  least  she  might  entreat  delay. " 
Kind  Isabel,  with  secret  smile. 
Saw  and  forgave  the  maiden's  wile. 
Reluctant  to  be  thought  to  move 
At  the  first  call  of  truant  love. 

IX. 
Oh,  blame  her  not! — when  zephyrs  wake. 
The  aspen's  tremblmg  leaves  must  shake; 
When  beams  the  sun  through  Ajjril's  shower, 
It  needs  must  bloom,  the  violet  flower; 
And  love,  howe'er  the  maiden  strive, 
Must  with  reviving  hope  revive! 
A  thousand  soft  excuses  came. 
To  plead  his  cause  'gainst  virgin  shame. 
Pledged  by  their  sires  in  earliest  youth, 
He  had  her  plighted  faith  and  truth — 
Then,  'twas  her  liege's  strict  command. 
And  she,  beneath  his  royal  hand, 
A  ward  in  person  and  in  land: 
And,  last,  she  was  resolved  to  stay 
Only  brief  space — one  little  day — 
Close  hidden  in  her  safe  disguise 
From  all,  but  most  from  Ronald's  eyes — 
But  once  to  see  him  more! — nor  blame 
Her  wish — to  hear  iiim  name  her  name! 
Then,  to  bear  buck  to  solitude 
The  thought,  he  had  his  falsehood  rued ! 
But  Isabel,  who  long  had  seen 
Her  pallid  cheek  and  pensive  mien. 
And  well  herself  the  cause  might  knon-, 
Tliough  innocent,  of  Edith's  wo, 
.loved,  generous,  that  revolving  time 
Gave  means  to  expiate  the  crime. 

20 


High  glowed  iicr  bosom  as  she  said, 
"  Well  shall  her  sufterings  be  repaid!" 
Now  came  tiic  parting  hour — n  band 
From  Arraii's  moimtains  left  the  land; 
Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis,9  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 
To  Bruce,  witii  honour,  as  behoved 
To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved. 

X. 
The  king  had  deemed  the  maiden  bright 
Should  reach  him  long  before  the  fight, 
But  storms  and  fate  her  course  delay: 
It  was  on  eve  of  battle-day. 
When  o'er  the  Gillie's  hill  she  rode. 
The  landscape  like  a  furnace  glowed. 
And  far  as  e'er  the  eye  was  borne. 
The  laoces  waved  like  autumn  corn. 
In  battles  four  beneath  their  e3-e, 
The  forces  of  king  Robert  lie.'" 
And  one  below  the  hill  was  laid, 
Reserved  for  rescue  and  for  aid; 
And  three,  advanced,  formed  va'ward  line, 
'Twixt  Bannock's  brook  and  Ninian's  shrine. 
Detached  was  each,  yet  each  so  nigh 
As  well  might  mutual  aid  supply. 
Beyond,  the  southern  host  appcars,il 
A  boundless  wilderness  of  spears. 
Whose  verge  or  rear  the  anxious  eye 
Strove  far,  but  strove  in  vain,  to  spy. 
Thick  flashing  in  the  evening  beam. 
Glaives,  lances,  bills,  and  baimers  gleam; 
And  wiiere  the  heaven  joined  with  the  hill. 
Was  distant  armour  flashing  still. 
So  wide,  so  far,  the  boundless  host 
Seemed  in  the  blue  horizon  lost. 

XI. 
Down  from  the  hill  the  maiden  passed, 
At  the  wild  show  of  war  aghast; 
And  traversed  first  the  rearward  host. 
Reserved  for  aid  where  needed  most. 
The  men  of  Carrick  and  of  Ayr, 
Lennox  ami  Lanark  too,  were  there. 

And  all  the  western  land; 
With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 
Beneath  their  chieftains  ranked  their  filea^'. 

In  many  a  plaided  band. 
There,  in  tlie  centre,  proudly  raised, 
The  Brace's  royal  standard  blazed. 
And  there  lord  Ronald's  banner  bore 
A  galley  driven  by  sail  and  oar. 
A  wild,  yet  pleasing  contrast,  made 
A^'arriors  in  mail  and  plate  arrayed. 
With  the  plumed  bonnet  and  the  plaid 

By  these  Hebrideans  worn; 
But'O !  unseen  for  three  long  3'ears, 
Dear  was  the  garb  of  mountaineers 

To  the  fair  maid  of  Lorn! 
For  one  she  looked — but  he  was  far 
Busied  amid  the  ranks  of  war — 
Yet  with  aftection's  troubled  eye 
She  marked  his  banner  boldly  fly, 
Gave  on  the  countless  foe  a  glance, 
And  thought  on  battle's  desperate  chance. 

XII. 
To  centre  of  the  va'ward  line 
Fitz- Louis  guided  Amadine. 
Armed  all  on  foot,  that  host  appears 
A  serried  mass  of  glimmering  spears. 
There  stood  the  Marclier's  warlike  band. 
The  warriors  there  of  Lodon's  land: 
Ettrick  and  Lidtiel  bent  tiie  yew, 
A  baud  of  archers  fierce  though  few; 


:80 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  men  of  Nith  ;«nd  Annan's  vale, 
Anil  I  he  bold  spears  of  Teviotdale; — 
'1  he  dauntless  Douglas  these  obey, 
And  the  voiing  Stuart's  gentle  sway. 
North-eastward  by  saint  Ninian's  shrine, 
Beneath  tierce  Randolph's  charge,  combine 
The  warriors  whom  the  hardy  north 
From  Tay  to  Sutherland  sent  forth. 
'l"he  rest  of  Scotland's  war  array 
With  Edward  Bruce  to  westward  lay, 
Where  Bannock,  with  his  broken  bank 
And  deep  ravine,  protects  their  flank: 
Behind  them,  screened  by  sheltering  wood, 
The  gallant  Keith,  lord-marshal,  stood; 
His  nien-at-arnis  bear  mace  and  lance, 
And  plumes  that  wave,  and  helms  that  glaDOe. 
Thus  fair  divided  by  the  king. 
Centre,  and  right,  and  left-ward  wing, 
Composed  his  front;  nor  distant  far 
Was  strong  reserve  to  aid  the  war. 
And  'twas  to  front  of  this  array. 
Her  guide  and  Edith  made  their  way. 

Xlll. 

Here  must  they  pause;  for,  in  advance, 

As  far  as  one  might  pitch  a  lance, 

The  monarch  rode  along  the  van,'* 

The  foe's  approaching  force  to  scan, 

His  line  to  marshal  and  to  range, 

\nd  ranks  to  square,  and  fionts  to  change. 

Alone  he  rode — from  head  to  heel 

Sheathed  in  his  ready  arms  of  steel; 

Nor  mounted  yet  on  war-horse  w  ight, 

But,  till  more  near  the  shock  of  fight, 

Reining  a  palfrey  low  and  light. 

A  diadem  of  gold  was  set 

Above  his  bright  steel  bassinet. 

And  clasped  within  its  glittering  twine 

Was  seen  the  glove  of  Argentine: 

Truncheon  or  leading  staff  he  lacks, 

Bearing,  instead,  a  battle-axe. 

He  ranged  his  soldiers  for  the  fight, 

Accoutred  thus,  in  open  sight 

Of  either  host. — Three  bowshots  far. 

Paused  the  deep  front  of  England's  war, 

And  rested  on  their  arras  awhile. 

To  close  and  rank  their  warlike  file, 

And  hold  high  council,  if  that  night 

Should  view  the  strife,  or  dawning  light. 

XIV. 
O  gay,  yet  fearful  to  behold, 
Flashing  with  steel  and  rough  with  gold. 

And  bristled  o'er  with  bills  and  spears. 
With  plumes  and  pennons  waving  fair. 
Was  that  bright  battle-front!  for  there 

Rode  England's  king  and  peers; 
And  who,  that  saw  the  monarch  ride. 
His  kingdom  battled  by  his  side, 
Could  tlien  his  direful  doom  foretell! — 
Fair  was  his  seat  in  knightly  scUe, 
And  in  his  sprightly  eye  was  set 
Some  spark  of  the  Flantagenet. 
Though  light  and  wandering  was  his  glance. 
It  flashed  at  sight  of  shield  and  lance. 
"  Know'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  De  Argentine, 
Yon  knight  who  marshals  thus  their  line?" — 
•'  The  tokens  on  his  helmet  tell 
The  Bruce,  my  liege:  I  know  him  well." — 
"  And  shall  the  audacious  traitor  brave 
The  presence  where  our  banners  wave?" — 
"  So  please  mj'  liege,"  said  Argentine, 
"  Were  he  but  horsed  on  steed  like  mine. 


To  give  him  fair  and  knightly  chance, 
1  would  adventure  forth  my  lance." — 
"In  battle-day,"  the  king  replied, 
"  Nice  tourney  rules  are  set  aside. 
— Still  must  the  rebel  dare  our  wrath' 
Set  on  him — sweep  him  from  our  path!"— 
And,  at  king  Edward's  signal,  soon 
D.tshed  from  the  ranks  sir  Henry  Boune. 

XV. 

Of  Hereford's  high  blood  he  came, 

A  race  renowned  for  knightly  fame. 

He  burned  before  his  monarch's  eye — 

To  do  some  deed  of  chivalry. 

He  spurred  his  steed,  he  couched  his  lance, 

And  darted  on  the  Hi-uce  at  once. 

As  motioidess  as  rocks,  that  bide 

The  wrath  of  the  advancing  tide. 

The  Bruce  stood  fast. — Each  breast  beat  high, 

And  dazzled  was  each  gazing  eye — 

The  heart  had  hartlly  time  to  think. 

The  ejelid  scarce  had  time  to  wink, 

While  on  the  king,  like  flash  of  flame. 

Spurred  to  full  speed  the  war-horse  came ! 

The  partridge  may  the  falcon  mock. 

If  that  slight  palfrey  stand  the  shock — 

But,  swerving  from  the  knight's  career. 

Just  as  they  met,  Bruce  shunned  the  spear. 

Onward  the  baflled  warrior  bore 

His  course — but  soon  his  course  was  o'er! 

High  in  his  stirrups  stood  the  king, 

And  gave  his  battle-axe  the  swing. 

Right  on  De  Boime,  tlie  whiles  he  passed, 

Fell  that  stern  dint — the  first — the  last! 

Such  strength  upon  the  blow  was  put. 

The  helmet  crashed  like  hazel-nut; 

The  axe-shaft,  with  its  brazen  clasp. 

Was  shivered  to  the  gauntlet  grasp. 

Springs  from  the  blow  the  startled  horse. 

Drops  to  the  plain  the  lifeless  corse; 

First  of  that  fatal  field,  how  soon. 

How  sudden,  fell  the  fierce  De  Boune ! 

XVI. 
One  pitying  glance  the  monarch  sped, 
Where  on  the  field  his  foe  lay  dead; 
Then  gently  turned  his  palfrey's  head. 
And,  pacing  back  his  sober  way, 
Slowly  he  gained  his  own  array. 
There  round  their  king  the  leaders  crowd, 
And  blame  his  recklessness  aloud. 
That  risked  'gainst  each  adventurous  spear 
A  life  so  valued  and  so  dear. 
His  broken  weapon's  shaft  surveyed 
The  king,  and  careless  answer  made, — 
"  My  loss  may  pay  my  folly's  tax; 
I've  broke  my  trusty  battle-axe." 
'Twas  then  Fitz-Louis,  bending  low. 
Did  Isabel's  commission  show; 
Edith,  disguised,  at  distance  stands, 
And  hides  her  blushes  with  her  hands. 
The  monarch's  brow  has  changed  its  hue, 
Away  the  gory  axe  he  threw, 
While  to  the  seeming  page  he  drew. 

Clearing  war's  terrors  from  his  eye. 
Her  hand  with  gentle  ease  he  took. 
With  such  a  kind  protecting  look. 

As  to  a  weak  and  timid  boy 
Might  speak,  that  elder  brother's  care 
And  elder  brother's  love  were  there. 

XVll. 
"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  young  Amadine!" 
Then  whispered,  "  Still  that  name  be  thine. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


281 


Fate  plays  her  wonted  fantasy, 

Kind  Amadine,  with  thee  and  me, 

And  sends  thee  here  in  doubtful  hour. 

But  soon  we  are  beyond  her  power; 

For  on  this  chosen  battle-plain, 

Victor  or  vanquished,  I  remain. 

Do  thou  to  yonder  hill  repair; 

The  followers  of  our  host  are  there, 

And  all  who  may  not  weapons  bear. 

Fitz-Louis  have  iiim  in  thy  care. 

Joyful  we  meet,  if  all  go  well: 

If  not,  in  Arran's  holy  cell 

Thou  must  take  part  with  Isabel; 

For  brave  lord  Ronald,  too,  hath  swoni, 

Not  to  regain  the  maid  of  Lorn, 

(The  bliss  on  earth  he  covets  most,) 

Would  he  forsake  his  battle-post, 

Or  shun  the  fortune  that  may  fall 

To  Bruce,  to  Scotland,  and  to  all. 

But,  hark!  some  news  these  trumpets  tell; 

Forgive  my  haste — farewell — farewell." 

And  in  a  lower  voice  he  said, 

"Be  of  good  cheer — farewell,  sweet  maid!" 

XVIII. 
""What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet-sound 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  left- ward  flank '"'■• — the  monarch  cried 
To  Moray's  earl,  who  rode  beside. 
"  Lo!  round  thy  station  pass  the  foes! 
Randolph,  thy  wreath  has  lost  a  rose." — 
The  earl  his  visor  closed,  and  said, 
"  My  wreath  shall  bloom,  or  life  shall  fade.— 
Follow,  my  household!" — And  they  go 
Like  lightning  on  the  advancing  foe. 
"  My  liege,"  said  noble  Douglas  then, 
"Earl  Randolph  has  but  one  to  ten: 
Let  me  go  forth  his  band  to  aid!" — 
— "  Stir  mt.    The  error  he  hath  made, 
Let  him  amend  it  as  he  may; 
I  will  not  weaken  mine  array." 
Then  loudly  rose  the  conflict-cry. 
And  Douglas's  brave  heart  swelled  high, — 
"  My  liege,"  he  said,  "  with  patient  ear 
I  must  not  Moray's  death-knell  hear!" — 
"  Then  go — but  speed  thee  back  again. " — 
Forth  sprung  the  Douglas  with  his  train; 
But,  when  they  won  a  rising  hill. 
He  bade  his  followers  hold  them  still. — 
"  See,  see!  the  routed  southern  fly! 
The  earl  hath  won  the  victory. 
Lo!  where  yon  steeds  run  masterless, 
His  banner  towers  above  the  press. 
Rein  up;  our  presence  would  impair 
The  fame  we  come  too  late  to  share."  ■ 
Back  to  the  host  the  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  glad  tidings  are  abroad, 
That,  Dayncourt  by  stout  Randolph  slain, 
His  followers  fled  with  loosened  rein. 
That  skirmish  closed  the  busy  day. 
And,  couched  in  battle's  prompt  array. 
Each  armv  on  their  weapons  lav. 

XiX. 
It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 
High  rode  in  cloudless  bine  the  moon,. 

Deraayet  smileil  beneath  her  ray; 
Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light, 
And,  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright, 

Her  winding  river  lay. 
Ah,  gentle  planet!  other  sight 
Shall  greet  thee  next  returning  night. 
Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore, 
And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore, 


And  piles  of  slaughtered  men  and  horse, 
And  Forth  that  floats  the  frequent  corse, 
And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 
Beneath  tiiy  silver  light  in  vain ! 
But  now,  from  England's  host,  the  cry 
Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 
AV'hile  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 
The  murmured  prayer,  the  early  mass! 
Here,  numbers  had  presumption  given; 
There,  bands  o'ermatch'd  sought  aid  from  heaven. 

XX. 

On  Gillie's  hill,  whose  height  commands 

The  battle-field,  fair  Edith  stands, 

Witli  serf  and  page  unfit  for  war. 

To  eye  the  conflict  from  afar. 

O!  with  what  doubtful  agony 

She  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky  ! 

Now  on  the  Ochils  gleams  the  sun, 

.\nd  glistens  now  Demayet  dun; 

Is  it  the  lark  that  carols"  shrill. 
Is  it  the  bittern's  early  hum? 

No! — distant,  but  increasing  still. 

The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill, 
With  the  deep  murmur  of  the  drum. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 

Pipe  clang  and  bugle-sound  were  tossed, 'S 

His  breast  and  brow  each  soldier  crossed. 
And  started  from  the  ground; 

Armed  and  arrayed  for  instant  fight. 

Rose  archer,  spearman,  squire,  and  knight. 

And  in  the  pomp  of  battle  bright 
The  dread  battalia  frowned. 
•     XXI. 

Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew  is 

Dark  rolling  like  the  ocean-tide. 

When  the  rough  west  hath  chafed  his  pride. 

And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 
To  all  that  bars  his  way! 

In  front  the  gallant  archers  trode, 

The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode, 

And  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 

The  monarch  held  his  sway. 
Beside  him  many  a  war-horse  fumes. 
Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes, 

Where  many  a  knight  in  battle  known. 
And  some  who  spurs  had  first  braced  on. 
And  deemed  that  fight  should  see  them  won 
King  Edward's  hests  obey.  * 

De  Argentine  attends  his  side, 
With  stout  De  Valance,  Pembroke's  pride. 
Selected  champions  from  the  train 
To  wait  upon  his  bridle-rein. 
Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed — 
— At  once  before  his  sight  amazed, 

Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield; 
Each  weapon-point  is  downward  sent, 
Each  warrior  to  the  ground  is  bent 
"  The  rebels,  Argentine,  repent! 

For  pardon  they  have  kneeled." — 
"  Ay! — but  they  bend  to  other  powers, 
And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours! 
See  where  yon  liarefoot  abbot  stands, 
And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands!" 
Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneeled, 
These  men  will  die,  or  win  the  field." — 
— "  Then  prove  we  if  they  die  or  win ! 
Bid  Gloster's  earl  the  fight  begin." — 

XXII. 

Earl  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high, 
Just  as  the  northern  ranks  arose, 


282 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Sisjiial  for  Ensl:*nil's  archery 

To  halt  and  bend  their  bows. 
Then  ^tc-piK-d  each  yeoman  forth  a  pace, 
Glanced  at  the  intervening  space, 

And  raised  his  left  hand  high; 
To  the  right  ear  the  cords  they  bring— 
—At  once  ten  tliousand  bow-strings  ring. 

Ten  tliousand  arrows  fly! 
Nor  naused  on  the  <levoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot; 

As  fierctlv  ami  as  fast, 
Fortli  whisiiiny;  came  the  sfray-goose  wing. 
As  the  wild  hail  stones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast. 
Nor  mountain  targe  of  tough  bull-hide, 
Nor  lowland  mail,  that  storm  may  bide? 
Wo,  wo  to  Scotland's  bannered  pride, 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last ! 
Upon  the  right,  behind  tiie  wood, 
Each  by  bis  steed  dismounted,  stood 

Tbe  Scottish  chivalry; — 
—With  foot  in  stirrup,  hand  on  mane. 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  train. 
Until  the  archers  gained  the  plain; 

Then,  "  mount,  ye  gallants  free!  ' 
He  cried;  and,  vaulting  from  the  ground. 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found. 
On  high  their  glittering  crests  they  toss, 
As  springs  the"wild-fire  from  the  moss; 
The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast. 
Each  ready  lance  is  in  the  rest. 

And  loud  shouts  Edward'Bruce,- 
"  Forth,  marshal,  on  the  peasant  toe! 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow. 
And  cut  the  bow-string  loose!"—'" 
XXIll. 
Then  spurs  were  dashed  in  chargers'  flanks, 
They  rushed  among  the  archer  ranks. 
No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let. 
No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set, 
And  how  shall  yeoman's  armour  slight 
Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might. 
Or  what  may  "their  short  swords  avail, 
'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail? 
Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung. 
High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swung. 
And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengetul  shout 
Give  note  of  triumph  and  of  rout! 
Awhile,  with  stubborn  hardihood, 
Their  English  hearts  the  strife  made  good; 
Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side, 
Compelled  to  flight,  they  scatter  wide.— 
Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee. 
And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom-Lee ! 
The  broken  bows  of  Bannock's  shore 
Shall  in  the  green-wood  ring  no  more! 
Round  Wakefield's  merry  may-pole  now. 
The  maids  may  twine  the  summer  bough. 
May  northward  look  with  longing  glance. 
For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 
J'or  the  blith  archers  look  in  vain ! 
Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'erta'en, 
Pierced  through,  trod  down,  by  thousands  slain, 
They  cumber  Bannock's  bloody  plain. 

XXIV. 
The  king  with  scorn  beheld  their  flight. 
"  Are  th.se,"  he  said,  "  our  yeomen  wight? 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  borel'S 
Fitter  to  plunder  chase  or  park. 
Than  make  a  manly  foe  their  mark. — 


Forward,  each  gentleman  and  knight! 
Let  gentle  blood  show  generous  might. 
And  chivahy  redeem  the  fight!"— 
To  right-ward  of  the  wild  aflray. 
The  field  showed  fair  and  level  way; 

But,  in  mid  space,  the  Bruce's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  many  a  pit. 
With  turf  and  brusliwood  hidden  yet, 

Tiiat  formed  a  ghastly  snare. 
Rushing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came. 
With  spears  in  rest,  and  hearts  on  flame. 

That  panted  for  the  shock ! 
With  blazing  crests  and  banners  spread. 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamour  dread. 
The  wide  plain  thundered  on  their  tread, 

As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 
Down!  down!  in  headlong  overthrow. 
Horseman  and  horse,  tlie  foremost  go,20 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field! 
The  first  are  in  destruction's  gorge. 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge;— 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield. 
The  mail,  tbe  acton,  and  the  spear. 
Strong  hand,  higb  heart,  are  useless  here! 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  warriors  swells  on  high. 
And"  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony  I-' 
They  came  like  mountain-torrent  red. 
That  thunders  o'er  its  rocky  bed; 
They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave, 
When  swallowed  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil, 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil. 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own! 

XXV. 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet,  to  yield  tlie  fight. 

Her  noblest  all  are  here; 
Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known, 
Bold  Norfolk's  earl  De  Brotherton, 

And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vcre. 
There  Gloster  plied  the  bloody  sword, 
And  Berkley,  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetourt  and  Sauzavere, 
Ross,  Montague,  and  Mauley,  came. 
And  Courtenay's  pride,  and  Percy's  fame- 
Names  known  too  well  in  Scotland's  war, 
At  Falkirk,  Metliven,  and  Dunbar, 
1      Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  years, 
At  Cressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these,  and  Argentine, 
Brought  up  the  rearw  ard  battle-line. 
With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread. 
Slippery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead. 
Till  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set, 
The  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met. 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side. 
Raged  the  fiiU  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  tried. 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride. 
And  well  did  Stewart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race ! 
Firmly  they  kept  their  ground; 
As  firmly  England  onward  pressed, 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest, 
And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast. 
And  slaughter  revelled  round. 
XXVI. 
Unflinching  foot  'gainst  foot  was  set, 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met; 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


383 


The  groans  of  those  who  fell 
Were  drowned  amid  the  shriller  clang, 
That  from  the  blades  and  harness  rang, 

And  in  the  battle-yell. 
Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot, 
Both  southern  fierce  and  hard}-  Scot; — 
And  O!  amid  that  waste  of  life, 
What  various  motives  fired  the  strife! 
The  aspiring  noble  bled  for  fame. 
The  patriot  for  his  country's  claim; 
This  knight  his  youthful  strength  to  prove, 
And  that  to  win  his  lady's  love; 
Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood, 
From  habit  some,  or  hardihood. 
But  ruffian  stern,  and  soldier  good, 

The  noble  and  the  slave. 
From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road, 
On  the  same  bloo<ly  morning,  trode, 

To  that  dark  inn,  the  grave ! 

XX  VII. 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins. 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins. 
High  rides  the  sun,  thick  rolls  the  dust. 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thrust. 
Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now. 
And  Randolph     ipes  his  blood)'  brow. 
Nor  less  had  toiled  each  southern  knight. 
From  morn  till  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  air  must  gasp, 
Beaucharap  undoes  his  visor-clasp. 
And  Montague  must  quit  his  spear. 
And  sinks  thy  falchion,  bold  De  Vera! 
The  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fast. 
And  gallant  Pembroke's  bugle-blast 

Hath  lost  its  lively  tone; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-word. 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heard, 

*'  Aly  merry-men,  light  on!" — 

XXVI  [I. 

Bruce,  with  the  pilot's  warj'  eye. 
The  slackening  of  the  storm  could  spy. 
"  One  effort  more,  and  Scotland's  free! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  mj'  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  rock. 
Rush  on  with  highland  swonl  and  targe, 
1,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge;-^ 

Now,  forward  to  the  shock!" — 
At  once  the  spears  were  forward  thrown. 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone; 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone. 
And  loud  king  Robert's  voice  was  known — 
"  CaiTick,  press  on — they  fail,  they  fail! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  Innisgail, 

The  foe  is  fainting  fast! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife. 
For  Scotland,  liberty,  and  life, — 

The  battle  cannot  last!" — 

XXIX. 

The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 
The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more. 
Leaving  their  noblest  in  their  gore. 

Alotie,  De  Argentine 
Yet  bears  on  high  his  red  cross  shield. 
Gathers  the  relics  of  the  field. 
Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reeled, 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 
Brief  strife,  but  fierce,  his  effiDrts  raise 
A  bright  but  momentary  blaze. 
Fair  Edhh  heard  I  be  southern  shout. 
Beheld  them  turning  from  the  rout. 


Heard  the  wild  call  their  trumpets  sent. 
In  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 
That  rallying  force,  combined  anew. 
Appeared,  in  her  distracted  view, 

To  hem  the  isles-men  round; 
"  O  God !  the  combat  they  renew, 

And  is  no  rescue  found! 
And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on. 
And  see  your  native  land  o'erthrown, 
O!  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone?" — 

XXX. 
The  multitude  that  watched  afar, 
Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war. 
Had  not  unmoved  beheld  the  fight, 
When  strove  the  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right; 
Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot's  spark. 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk, 
Bondsman  and  serf;  e'en  female  hand 
Stretched  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand; 
But,  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard 
Give  to  their  zeal  his  signal-word, 

A  frenzy  fired  the  tiirong: — 
"  Portents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth — the  dumb  our  duties  teach 
And  he  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech, 

Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  are  given 
A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven; 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  belongs 
The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs. 
The  choice,  'twixt  death  or  freedom,  warms 
Our  breasts  as  theirs — To  arms,  to  arms!" 
To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear, 2^ 
And,  like  a  bannered  host  afar. 
Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  war. 

XXXI. 
Already  scattered  o'er  the  plain. 
Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain, 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain. 

Or  made  but  doubtful  stay; — 
But  when  the\'  marked  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  marshalled  foe, 

The  boldest  broke  array. 
O!  give  their  hapless  prince  his  duc!^ 
In  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 

His  person  'mid  the  spears, 
Cried  "  Fight!"  to  terror  and  despair, 
Menaced,  and  wept,  and  tore  his  hair. 

And  cursed  their  caitiff*  fears; 
Till  Pembroke  turned  his  bridle  rein. 
And  forced  him  from  tlie  fatal  plain. 
Willi  them  rode  Argentine,  until 
They  gained  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

But  quitted  there  the  traiti: 
"  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left, — 
I  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft; 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 
Speed  hence,  my  liege,  for  on  your  trace 
The  fiery  Douglas  takes  the  chase, 

I  know  his  banner  well. 
God  send  my  sovereign  joy  and  bliss. 
And  many  a  happier  field  thau  this! — 

Once  more,  my  liege,  farewell." — 
XXXII. 
Again  he  faced  the  battle-field, — 
Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield. 
"Now  then,"  he  said,  and  couched  his  spear, 
"  My  course  is  i-un,  the  goal  is  near; 
One  effort  more,  one  brave  career, 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine. " 


284 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then,  in  his  stirrups  rising  high, 
He  shouted  loud  liis  battle-cry, 

"  Saint  James  for  Argentine!" 
And,  of  the  bold  pursuers,  four 
Tiie  gallant  knight  from  saiUile  bore; 
But  not  unharmed — a  lance's  point 
Has  found  his  breast-plate's  loosened  joint. 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest; 
Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  lord. 
Who  pressed  the  chase  with  gory  sword. 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest, 
And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored, 

And  through  his  gallant  breast. 
Nailed  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 
Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear. 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round! 
— Stirrup,  steel-boot,  and  cuish  gave  way, 
Beneath  that  blow's  tremendous  sway. 

The  blood  gushed  from  the  wound; 
And  the  grim  lord  of  Colonsay 

Hath  turned  him  on  the  ground. 
And  laughed  in  death-pang,  that  his  blade 
The  mortal  thrust  so  well  repaid. 

XXXIIT. 

Now  toiled  the  Bruce,  the  battle  done, 
To  use  his  conquest  boldly  won; 
And  gave  command  for  horse  and  spear 
To  press  the  southern's  scattered  rear, 
Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 
— When  the  war-cry  of  Argentine 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear! 
"Save,  save  his  life,"  he  cried,  "  O  save 
The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave!" — 
The  squadrons  round  free  passage  gave. 

The  wounded  knight  drew  near. 
He  raised  his  red-cross  shield  no  more. 
Helm,  cuis'a,  and  breast-plate  streamed  with 

gore; 
Yet,  as  he  saw  the  king  advance. 
He  strove  e'en  then  to  couch  his  lance — 

The  effort  was  in  vain ! 
The  spur-stroke  failed  to  rouse  the  horse; 
Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  course, 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 
Tlien  foremost  was  the  generous  Bruce 
To  raise  his  head,  his  helm  to  loose; — 

"Lord  earl,  the  day  is  thine! 
My  sovereign's  charge,  and  adverse  fate. 
Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late; 

Yet  this  may  Argentine, 
As  boon  from  ancient  comrade,  crave — 
A  christian's  mass,  a  soldier's  grave."- 

XXXI V, 

Bruce  pressed  his  dying  hand — its  grasp 
Kindly  replied;  but,  in  his  clasp, 

It  stiffened  and  grew  cold — 
And,  "  O  farewell!"  the  victor  cried, 
"  Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride. 

The  arm  in  battle  bold. 
The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race, 
TIk"  stainless  faith,  the  manly  face!- 
Bid  Ninian's  convent  light  their  shrine,  . 
For  late  wake  of  De  Argentine.  ^ 

O'er  better  knight  on  death  bier  laid. 
Torch  never  gleamed  nor  mass  was  said!" — 

XXXV. 
Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone, 
Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone. 
And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone.^' 
That  \eUow  lustre  glimmered  pale. 
On  broken  plate  and  bloodied  mail. 


Rent  crest  and  shattered  coronet, 

Of  baron,  carl,  and  banneret; 

And  the  best  names  that  Engl.ind  knew. 

Claimed  in  the  death-prayer  dismal  due. 

Yet  mourn  not,  land  of  fame! 
Though  ne'er  the  leopards  on  thy  shield 
Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field. 

Since  Norman  William  came. 
Oft  may  thine  annals  justly  boast 
Of  battles  stern  by  Scotland  lost; 

Grudge  not  her  victory, 
When  for  her  freeborn  rights  she  strove; 
Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love, 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee ! 

XXX  VL 

Turn  we  to  Bruce,  whose  curious  ear 
Must  from  Fitz-Louis  tidings  hear; 
With  him  an  hundred  voices  tell 
Of  prodigy  and  miracle, 

"  For  the  mute  page  had  spoke." — ■ 
"  Page!"  said  Fitz-Louis,  "  rather  say, 
An  angel  sent  from  realms  of  day, 

To  burst  the  English  yoke. 
I  saw  his  plume  and  bonnet  drop, 
When  hurrying  from  the  mountain  top; 
A  lovely  brow,  dark  locks  that  wave, 
To  his  bright  ej'es  new  lustre  gave, 
A  step  as  light  upon  the  green. 
As  if  his  pinions  waved  unseen." — 
"Spoke  he  with  none?" — "With  none — one 

word 
Burst  when  he  saw  the  Island  lord, 
Returning  from  the  battle-field." — 
"What  answer  made  the  chief?" — "He  kneeled. 
Durst  not  look  up,  but  muttered  low. 
Some  mingled  sounds  that  none  might  know, 
And  gi-eeted  him  'twixt  joy  and  fear, 
As  being  of  superior  sphere." — 

XXXVIL 

E'en  upon  Bannock's  bloody  plain. 
Heaped  then  with  thousands  of  the  slain, 
'Mid  victor  monarch's  musings  high. 
Mirth  laughed  in  good  king  Robert's  eye. 
"  And  bore  he  such  angelic  air. 
Such  noble  front,  such  waving  hair' 
Hath  Ronald  kneeled  to  him?"  he  said, 
"  Then  must  we  call  the  church  to  aid — 
Our  will  be  to  the  abbot  known, 
Ere  these  strange  news  are  wider  blown, 
To  Caml)us-Kenneth  straight  he  pass. 
And  deck  the  church  for  solemn  mass. 
To  pay,  for  high  deliverance  given, 
A  nation's  thanks  to  gracious  heaven. 
Let  him  array,  besides,  such  state. 
As  should  on  princes'  nuptials  wait. 
Ourself  the  caiise,  through  fortune's  spite, 
That  once  broke  short  that  spousal  rite, 
Ourself  will  grace,  with  early  morn. 
The  bridal  of  the  maid  of  Lorn." 

cojrci.usiojf. 

Go  forth,  my  song,  upon  thy  venturous  way; 

Go  boldly  forth;  nor  yet  thy  master  blame, 
Who  chose  no  patron  for  his  humble  lay. 

And  graced  thy  numbers  with  no  friendly  name. 
Whose  partial  zeal  might  smooth  thy  path  to  fame. 

There  -was — and  O!  how  many  sorrows  crowd 
Into  these  two  brief  words!  there  -was  a  claim 

By  generous  friendship  given — had  fate  allowed, 
It  well  had  bid  thee  rank  the  proudest  of  the  proud ! 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


285 


All  angel  now — yet  little  less  than  all, 

While  still  a  pilgrim  in  our  world  below ! 
What  'vails  it  us  that  patience  to  recal, 

Which  hid  its  own,  to  sooth  all  other  wo; 
What  'vails  to  tell,  how  virtue's  purest  glow 

Shone  yet  more  lovely  in  a  form  so  fair; — 
And,  least  of  all,  what  "vails  the  world  should  know. 

That  one  poor  garland,  twined  to  deck  thy  hair. 
Is  hung  upon  thy  hearse,  to  droop  and  wither 
there ! 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  I. 

1.  Thy  rugg^ed  halls,  Artoi-nish!  rung.— P.  251. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Artornish  are  situated 
upon  a  promontory,  on  the  Morven,  or  mainland 
side  of  the  sound  of  Mull,  a  name  given  to  the 
deep  arm  of  the  sea  which  divides  ttiat  island  from 
the  continent.  The  situation  is  wild  and  romantic 
in  the  highest  degree,  having  on  the  one  hand  a 
high  and  precipitous  chain  of  i-ocks  overhanging 
the  sea,  and  on  the  other  the  narrow  entrance  to 
the  beautiful  salt-water  lake,  called  Loch-Alline, 
which  is  in  many  places  finely  fringed  with  copse- 
wood.  The  ruins  of  Artornish  are  not  now  very 
considerable,  and  consist  chiefly  of  the  remains  of 
an  old  keep,  or  tower,  with  fragments  of  outward 
defences.  But,  in  former  days,  it  was  a  place  of 
great  consequence,  being  one  of  the  principal 
strong-holils  which  the  lords  of  the  Isles,  during 
the  period  of  their  stormy  independence,  possess- 
ed upon  the  mainland  of  Ai-gylesliirc.  Here  they 
assembled  what  popular  tradition  calls  their  par- 
liaments, meaning,  I  suppose,  their  cour  plerdere, 
or  asseml)lv  of  feudal  and  patriarchal  vassals  and 
dependents.  From  this  castle  of  Artornish,  upon 
the  19th  day  of  October,  1461,  John  de  Yle,  de- 
signing himself  earl  of  Ross  and  lord  of  the  Isles, 
granted,  in  the  style  of  an  in<lepen<lent  sovereign, 
a  commisaion  to  his  tru>;t\  and  well  beloved  cou- 
sins, Ronald  of  tlie  Isles,  and  Duncan,  archdean 
of  the  Isles,  for  empowering  them  to  enter  into  a 
treaty  with  the  most  excellent  prince  Edward,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  king  of  France  and  England,  and 
lord  of  Ireland.  Edward  IV,  on  his  part,  named 
Laurence  bishop  of  Durham,  the  earl  of  Worces- 
ter, the  prior  of  St.  John's,  lord  \\'enlock,  and 
Mr.  Robert  Stillington,  keeper  of  the  privy  seal, 
his  deputies  and  commissioners,  to  confer  with 
those  named  by  the  lord  of  liie  Isles.  Tiie  confe- 
rence terminated  in  a  treaty,  by  which  the  lord  of 
the  Isles  agreed  to  become  a  vassal  to  the  crown 
of  England,  and  to  assist  Edward  IV  and  James 
earl  of  Douglas,  then  in  banishment,  in  subduing 
the  realm  of  Scotland. 

The  first  article  provides,  that  John  de  Isle,  earl 
of  Ross,  with  his  son  Donald  Balloch,  and  his 
'•randson  John  de  Isle,  with  all  their  subjects,  men, 
people,  and  inhabitants,  become  vassals  and  liege- 
men to  Edward  IV  of  England,  and  assist  him  in 
his  wars  in  Scotland  or  Ireland;  and  then  follow 
tiie  allowances  to  be  made  to  the  lord  of  the  Isles, 
in  recompense  of  liis  military  service,  and  the  ])ro- 
visious  for  dividing  such  concjuests  as  tiieir  united 
arms  should  make  upon  the  inaiidand  of  Scotland 
among  the  confederates.  These  appear  such  curi- 
ous illustrations  of  tlie  period,  that  they  are  here 
subjoined: 

"  Item,  The  seid  John  erle  of  Itossc,  shall,  from 
the  seid  fest  of  Whittesontyde  next  comyng,  yere- 
ly,  durying  his  lyf,  have  and  take,  for  fees  and 
wages  in  tym  of  peas,  of  the  seid  most  high  and 
christien  prince  c.  marc  Bterlyng  of  Englysh  mo- 


ney; and  in  time  of  werre,  as  long  as  he  shall  en- 
tende  with  his  myght  and  power  in  the  seid  werres, 
in  maner  and  fourme  aboveseid,  he  shall  have 
wages  of  cc.  lib.  sterlyng  of  English  money  yearly; 
and  after  the  rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be  oc- 
cupyed  in  the  seid  werres. 

"  7<ewj,  The  seid  Donald  shall,  from  the  seid 
feste  of  Whittesontide,  have  and  take,  during  his 
lyf,  yerly,  in  tyme  of  peas,  for  his  fees  and  wages, 
XX  1.  sterlyng  of  English  money;  and,  when  he 
shall  be  occupied  and  intend  to  the  werre,  with  his 
myght  and  power,  and  in  manner  and  fourme 
aboveseid,  he  shall  have  and  take,  for  his  wages 
yearly,  xl  I.  sterlynge  of  Englysh  money;  or  for 
the  rate  of  the  tyme  of  werre 

"  Item,  The  seid  Joim,  sonn  an<l  heire  apparent 
of  the  said  Donald,  shall  iiave  and  take,  yerely, 
from  the  seid  fest,  for  his  fees  and  wages,  in  the 
tyme  of  peas,  x  1.  sterlynges  of  Englysh  money; 
and  for  tyme  of  werre,  and  his  intendyng  there- 
to, in  maner  and  fourme  aboveseid,  he  shall  have, 
for  his  fees  and  wages,  yerely  xx  1.  sterlynges  of 
Englysh  money;  or  after  tlie  rate  of  the  tyme  that 
he  siiall  be  occupied  in  the  werre:  And  the  seid 
John,  th'erle  Donald  and  John,  and  eche  of  them, 
shall  have  good  and  sufficiaunt  paimentof  the  seid 
fees  and  wages,  as  wel  for  tyme  of  pees  as  of  werre, 
according  to  these  ai-ticules  and  appoynteraents. 
Item,  It  is  appointed,  accorded,  concluded,  and 
finally  determined,  that,  if  it  so  be  that  hereafter 
the  seid  reaume  of  Scotlande,  or  the  more  part 
therof,  be  conquered,  subdued,  and  brought  to  the 
obeisance  of  the  seid  most  high  and  christien  prince, 
and  his  heires,  or  successoures,  of  the  seid  Lio- 
nell,  in  fourme  aboveseid  dcscendyng,  be  the  as- 
sistance, hel|ie,  and  aide  of  tiie  seid  Jolin  erle  of 
Rosse,  and  Donald,  and  of  James  erle  of  Douglas, 
then,  the  seid  fees  and  wages  for  the  tyme  of  peas 
cessyng,  the  same  erles  and  Donald  shall  have,  by 
the  granule  of  the  same  most  christien  prince,  all 
the  possessions  of  the  seid  reaume  beyond  Scottishe 
see,  they  to  be  departed  equally  betwix  them;  eche 
of  them,  his  heires  and  successours,  to  liolde  his 
parte  of  the  seid  most  christien  prince,  his  heires, 
and  successours,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  his 
croune  of  England,  by  homage  and  feaute  to  be 
done  therefore. 

"■^  Item,  If  so  be  that,  by  the  aide  and  assistance 
of  the  seid  James  erle  of  Douglas,  the  said  reaume 
of  Scotlande  be  conquered  and  subdued  as  above, 
then  he  sliall  have,  enjoie,  and  inherite  all  his  own 
possessions,  landes,  and  inlieritance,  on  this  syde 
the  seid  Scottishe  see;  that  is  to  save,  betwixt  the 
seid  Scottishe  see  and  England,  such  lie  hath  en- 
joied  and  be  possessed  of  betore  this;  there  to  holde 
them  of  the  seid  most  high  and  christien  prince, 
his  heires,  and  successours,  as  is  aboveseid,  for 
evermore  in  right  of  the  croune  of  Englande,  a^ 
weel  the  seid  erle  of  Douglas,  as  his  heires  and 
successours,  by  homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  there- 
fore."— Riimer''s  Fceclera,  Conventions,  Literz  ct 
ciijiiscunqrte generis  Acta  Publica,  fol.  vol.  v,  1741. 

Such  was  the  treaty  of  Artornish;  but  it  does  not 
appear  that  the  allies  ever  made  any  very  active 
effort  to  realize  their  ambitious  designs.  It  will 
serve  to  sliow  both  the  i)ower  of  these  I'eguli,  aad 
their  independence  of  the  crown  of  Scotland. 

It  is  only  farther  necessary  to  say  of  the  castle 
of  Artornish,  that  it  is  almost  opposite  to  the  bay 
of  Aros,  in  the  island  of  Mull,  v  here  there  was 
another  castle,  the  occasional  residence  of  the  lord 
of  the  Isles. 


286 


SCOTT'S  I'OETICAI.  WORKS. 


2.  Rude  Heisl<:ii"s  seal  ihroiip-lt  ^nrfri"  dark 
V.ill  loiiif  imrsui  tlii"  niilisuvl'i!  I'-.ik.— I'.  251. 

The  senl  ili«iil;iys  a  taste  for  niu.sic,  which  coiihl 
scarcplybe  c-xij^xied  from  his  habits  and  local  (iri'- 
•iilectioiis.  They  will  lonj;  follow  a  boat  in  «  hicli 
any  luusicul  instrument  is"i)laye<l,  anil  even  a  tune 
simply  whistled  has  attractions  for  ituiii.  The 
tieaii  of  the  IsK'S  says  of  llciskar,  a  small  uninha- 
liitetl  rock,  about  twelve  (Scottish)  miles  from  the 
isle  of  Uist,  thidan  infinite  slaughter  of  seals  takes 
Ijlace  there 

3. dark  Mull!  thy  miphty  soinul.— P.  252. 

Tho  sound  of  Mull,  which  divides  that  island 
from  the  continent  of  Scotland,  is  one  of  the  most 
strikina;  scenes  which  the  Hebrides  afford  to  the 
traveller.  Sailinsj  from  Oban  to  Aros,  or  Tober- 
mory, through  a  narrow  channel,  );et  deep  enough 
to  bear  vessels  of  the  largest  burthen,  he  has  on 
his  left  the  bold  and  mountainous  shores  of  Mull; 
on  the  right  those  of  that  district  of  Argylcshire, 
called  Morven,  or  Morvern,  successively  indented 
by  deep  salt-water  lochs,  running  up  many  miles 
inland.  To  the  south-eastward  arises  a  prodigious 
range  of  mountains,  among  which  Cruachan-Ben 
is  pre-eminent.  And  to  the  north-east  is  the  no  less 
huge  and  picturesque  range  of  the  Ardnaraurchan 
hills.  Many  ruinous  castles,  situated  generally 
upon  cliffs  overhanging  the  ocean,  add  interest  to 
the  scene.  Those  of  DunoUy  and  Dunstaftnage 
are  first  passed,  then  that  of  Duart,  formerly  be- 
longing to  the  chief  of  the  vvarlike  and  powerful 
sept  of  Macleans,  and  the  scene  of  Miss  Baillie's 
beautiful  tragedy,  entitled  the  Family  Legend. 
Still  passing  on  to  the  northward,  Artornish  and 
Aros  become  visible  upon  the  opposite  shores, 
and,  lastly,  Mingarry,  and  other  ruins  of  less  dis- 
tinguished note.  In  fine  weather,  a  grander  and 
more  impressive  scene,  both  from  its  natural  beau- 
ties, and  associations  with  ancient  history  and  tra- 
dition, can  hardly  be  imagined.  When  the  wea- 
ther is  rough,  the  passage  is  both  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous, from  the  narrowness  of  the  channel,  and 
in  part  from  the  number  of  inland  lakes,  out  of 
M'hich  sally  forth  a  number  of  conflicting  and 
thwarting  tides,  making  the  navigation  perilous  to 
open  boats.  The  sudden  flaws  and  gusts  of  wind 
which  issue  without  a  moment's  warning  from  the 
mountain  glens  are  eiiually  formidable.  So  that 
in  unsettled  weather,  a  stranger,  if  not  much  ac- 
customed to  the  sea,  may  sometimes  add  to  the 
other  sublime  sensations  excited  by  the  scene,  that 
feeling  of  dignity  which  arises  from  a  sense  of 
danger. 

4.  From  Hirt 

To  the  fjreen  Ilay'3  fertile  shore.— P.  252. 
The  number  of  the  western  isles  of  Scotland  ex- 
ceeds two  hundred,  of  which  St.  Ivildais  the  most 
northerly,  anciently  called  Hirth,  or  Hirt,  pro- 
bably from  ^'  earth,"  being  in  fact  the  whole  globe 
to  its  inhabitants,  llay,  wiiieh  now  belongs  almost 
entirely  to  Walter  Camplxdl,  esq.  of  Shawfield. 
is  by  far  the  most  fertile  of  the  Hebrides,  and  has 
been  greatly  imjiroved  under  the  spirited  and  sa- 
gacious management  of  the  present  i)ro])rietor. 
This  was  in  ancient  times  the  principal  abode  of 
the  lords  of  the  Isles,  being,  if  not  the  largest,  the 
most  important  island  of  their  archipelago.  In 
Martin's  time,  some  relics  of  their  grandeur 
were  yet  extant.  "  Loch-Finlagan,  about  three 
miles  in  circumference,  aflbrds  salmon,  Irouts,  and 
eels:  lliis  lake  lies  in  the  centre  of  the  isje-     The 


isle  Finlagan,  from  which  this  lake  hath  its 
name,  is  in  it.  It  is  famous  for  being  once  the  court 
in  «  hich  the  great  Mack-Donald,  king  of  the  Isles, 
hail  bis  residence;  his  houses,  chaiiel,  Ike.  are  now 
ruinous.  His  guards  de  corps,  called  Luch-tach, 
kept  guaril  on  the  lakeside  nearest  to  the  isle:  the 
walls  of  their  houses  are  still  to  be  seen  there. 
'I'he  high  court  of  judicature,  consisting  of  four- 
teen, sat  always  here;  and  there  was  an  ajjpeal  to 
them  from  all  the  com-ts  in  the  Isles:  the  eleventh 
share  of  the  sum  in  debate  was  due  to  the  princi- 
pal judge.  There  was  a  big  stone  of  seven  foot 
s(|uare  in  which  there  was  a  deep  impression  made 
to  receive  the  feet  of  Mack-Donald;  for  he  was 
crowned  king  of  the  Isles  standing  in  this  stone, 
and  swore  that  he  would  continue  his  vassals  in 
the  possession  of  their  lands,  aiul  do  exact  justice 
to  all  his  subjects:  and  then  his  father's  sword  was 
put  into  his  hands.  The  bishop  of  Argyle  and  se- 
ven priests  anointed  him  king,  in  presence  of  all 
the  heads  of  the  tribes  in  the  Isles  and  continent, 
and  were  his  vassals:  at  which  time  the  orator  re- 
hearsed a  catalogue  of  his  ancestors,  8tc. " — Mar- 
tin's Account  of  the  Western  Isles,  octavo,  London, 
1716,  p.  240,  i. 

5.  Mins^.arry,  sternly  placed, 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste.— P.  252. 

The  castle  of  Mingarry  is  situated  on  the  sea- 
coast  of  the  district  of  Ardnamurchan.  The  ruins, 
which  are  tolerably  entire,  are  surrounded  by  a 
very  high  wall,  forming  a  kind  of  polygon,  for  the 
purpose  of  adapting  itself  to  the  projecting  angles 
of  a  precipice  overhanging  the  sea,  on  wliich  the 
castle  stands.  It  was  anciently  the  residence  of 
the  Mac-Ians,  a  clan  of  Mack-Donalds  descended 
from  Ian,  or  John,  a  grandson  of  Angus  Og,  lord 
of  the  Isles.  The  last  time  that  Mingarry  was  of 
militar)'  importance,  occurs  in  the  celebrated  Lea- 
bhar  dearg,  or  Red-book  of  Clanronald,  a  MS.  re- 
nowned in  the  Ossianic  controversy.  Allaster 
Mac-Donald,  cominonly  called  Colquitto,  who 
conuuanded  tiie  Irish  auxiliaries,  sent  over  by  the 
earl  of  Antrim  during  the  great  civil  war  to  the 
assistance  of  Montrose,  began  his  enterprize  in 
1644,  by  taking  the  castles  of  Ivinloch-Alline  and 
Mingarry,  the  last  of  which  made  considerable 
resistance,  as  might,  from  the  strength  of  the  si- 
tuation, be  expected.  In  the  meanwhile,  Allaster 
Mac-Donald's  ships,  which  had  brought  him  over, 
were  attacked  in  Loch  Eisord,  in  Skye,  by  an  ar- 
mament sent  round  by  the  covenanting  parliament, 
and  his  own  vessel  was  taken.  This  circumstance 
is  said  chiefly  to  have  induced  him  to  continue  in 
Scotland,  where  there  seemed  little  prospect  of 
raising  an  army  in  behalf  of  the  king.  He  had  no 
sooner  moved  eastward  to  join  Montrose,  a  junc- 
tion which  he  effected  in  the  braes  of  Athole,  than 
the  marquis  of  Argyle  besieged  the  castle  of  Min- 
garry, but  without  success.  Among  other  war- 
riors and  chiefs  whom  Argyle  summoned  to  his 
camp  to  assist  upon  this  occasion,  was  John  of 
Moidart,  the  captain  of  Clanronald.  Clanronald 
appeared;  but,  far  from  yielding  effectual  assistance 
to  Arg3'le,  he  took  the  opportunity  of  being  in 
arms  to  lay  waste  the  district  of  Sunart,  then  be- 
longing to  the  adherents  of  Argyle,  and  sent  part 
of  the  spoil  to  relieve  the  castle  of  Mingariy.  Thus 
the  castle  was  maintained  until  relieved  bj'  Allas- 
ter Mac-Donald  (Colquitto,)  who  had  been  de- 
tache<i  for  the  purpose  by  Montrose.  These  par- 
ticulars are  hardly  worth  mentioning,  were  they 


k 


THE  LORD  OF   THE  ISLES. 


287 


not  connected  with  the  memorable  successes  of 
Montrose,  related  by  an  ej'e-witness,  and  hither- 
to unknown  to  Scottish  historians. 

6.  The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled.— P.  2S2. 

Somerled  was  thane  of  Argvle  and  lord  of  the 
Isles,  about  the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century.  He 
seems  to  have  exercised  his  authority  in  both  ca- 
pacities, independent  of  the  crown  of  Scotland, 
against  which  he  often  stood  in  hostilit}'.  He  made 
various  incursions  upon  the  western  lowlands  dur- 
ing; the  reign  of  Malcolm  lY,  and  seems  to  have 
made  peace  with  him  upon  the  terms  of  an  inde- 
pendent prince,  about  the  year  1157.  In  1164,  he 
resumed  the  war  against  Malcolm,  and  invaded 
Scotland  with  a  large,  but  probably  a  tunmltuaiy 
army,  collected  in  the  Isles,  in  the  maitdand  of 
Argvleshire,  and  in  the  neighbouring  provinces  of 
Ireland.  He  was  defeated  and  slain  in  an  engage- 
ment with  a  very  inferior  force,  near  Renfrew. 
His  son  Gillicolane  fell  in  the  same  battle.  This 
mighty  chieftain  married  a  daughter  of  Olaus,  king 
of  Man.  From  him  our  genealogists  deduce  two 
dynasties,  distinguished  in  the  stormy  history  of 
the  middle  ages;  the  lords  of  the  Isles  descended 
from  his  elder  son  Ronald,  and  the  lords  of  Lorn, 
who  took  their  surnattie  of  M'Dougal,  as  descend- 
ed of  his  second  son  Dougal.  That  Somerled's  ter- 
ritories upon  the  mainland,  and  upon  the  islands, 
should  have  been  thus  divided  between  his  two 
sons,  instead  of  passing  to  the  elder  exclusively, 
may  illustrate  the  uncertainl)'  of  descent  among 
the  great  highland  families,  which  we  shall  pre- 
sently notice. 

7.  Lordofthelsles.— P.  252. 

The  representative  of  this  independent  princi- 
pality, for  such  it  seems  to  have  been,  though  ac- 
knowleding  occasionally  the  pre-eminence  of  the 
Scottish  crown,  was,  at  the  period  of  the  poem, 
Angus,  called  Angus  Og;  but  the  name  has 
been,  atphomx  gratia,  exchanged  for  that  of  Ro- 
nald, which  frequently  occurs  in  the  genealogy. 
Angus  was  a  protector  of  Robert  Bruce,  whom  he 
received  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  during  the 
time  of  his  greatest  distress.  As  I  shall  be  equally 
liable  to  censure  for  attempting  to  decide  a  con- 
troversy which  has  long  existed  between  three  dis- 
tinguished chieftains  of  this  family,  who  have  long 
disputed  the  representation  of  the  lord  of  the  Isles, 
or  for  leaving  a  question  of  such  importance  alto- 
gether untouched,  I  choose,  in  the  first  place,  to  give 
such  information  as  I  have  been  able  to  derive  from 
highland  genealogists,  and  which,  for  those  ^»  ho 
have  patience  to  investigate  such  subjects,  really 
contains  some  curious  information  concerning  the 
history  of  the  Isles.  In  the  second  place,  I  shall  of- 
fer a  few  remarks  upon  the  rules  of  succession  at 
that  period,  without  pretendingto  decide  their  bear- 
ing upon  the  question  at  issue,  which  must  depend 
upon  evidence  wliich  1  have  had  no  opportunity  to 
examine. 

"  Angus  Og,"  says  an  ancient  manuscript  trans- 
lated from  the  G.-ielic,  "  son  of  Angus  Mor,  son  of 
Donald,  son  of  Ronald,  son  of  Somerled,  high  chief 
and  superior  lord  of  Innisgall,  (or  the  Isles  of  the 
Gael,  the  general  name  given  to  the  Hebriiies,)  he 
married  a  daughter  of  Cunbui,  namely,  Cathan; 
she  was  mother  to  John,  son  of  Angus,  and  with 
her  came  an  unusual  portion  from  Ireland,  viz. 
twenty-four  clans,  of  whom  twenty-four  families 
in  Scotland  are  descended.  Angus  had  another 
son,  namely,  young  John  Fraoch,  whose  descend- 1 


ants  are  called  Clan-Ean  of  Glencoe,  and  the  M 
Donalds  of  Fraoch.  Tiiis  Angus  Og  died  in  Isla, 
where  his  body  was  interred;  his  son  John  succeed- 
ed to  the  inheritance  of  Lmisgall.  He  had  good  de- 
scendants, namely,  three  sons  procreate  of  Ann, 
daughter  of  Rodric,  high  chief  of  Lorn,  and  one 
daugliter,  Mar}",  married  to  John  Maclean,  laird 
of  Duart,  and  Lauchlan,  his  brother,  laird  of  GoU; 
she  was  inteiTed  in  the  church  of  the  Black  Nuns. 
The  eldest  sons  of  John  were  Ronald,  Godfrej', 

and  Angus. He  gave  Ronald  a  great  inheritance. 

These  were  the  lands  which  he  gave  him,  viz. 
from  Kilcumin  in  Abertarf  to  the  river  Seil,  and 
from  thence  to  Beilli,  north  ot  Eig  and  Rum,  and 
the  two  Uists,  and  from  thence  to  the  foot  of  the 
river  Glaichan,  and  threescore  long  ships.  John 
maixied  afterwai'ds  Margaret  Stewart,  daughter  to 
Robert  Stewart,  king  of  Scotland,  called  John 
Fernyear;  she  bore  him  three  good  sons,  Donald 
of  tlie  Isles,  the  heir,  John  the  Tainister  (/.  e. 
Thane,)  the  second  son,  and  Alexander  Carrach. 
John  had  another  son  called  Marcos,  of  whom  the 
clan  Macdonald  of  Cnoc,  in  Tirowen,  are  descend- 
ed. This  John  lived  long,  and  made  donations  to 
Icolumkill;  he  covered  tlie  chapel  of  Eorsay-Elan, 
the  chapel  of  Finlagan,  anil  the  chapel  of  the  Isle 
of  Tsuibhne,  and  gave  the  proper  furniture  for  the 
service  of  God,  upholding  the  clerg)'  and  monks; 
he  built  or  repaired  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cioss 
immediately  before  his  death.  He  died  at  liisown 
castle  of  Ardtorinish;  many  priests  and  monks 
took  the  sacrament  at  his  funeral,  and  they  em- 
balmed the  body  of  this  dear  man,  and  brought 
it  to  Icolumkill;  llie  abbot,  monks,  and  vicar, 
came  as  they  ought  to  meet  the  king  of  Fiongal,* 
and  out  of  great  respect  to  his  memory  mourned 
eight  days  and  niglits  over  it,  and  laid  it  in  the 
same  grave  with  his  father,  in  the  chm-ch  of  Oi-an, 
1380. 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  was  chief  ruler  of  tlie 
Isles  in  his  father's  life-time,  and  was  old  in  llie 
government  at  his  father's  death. 

"  He  assembled  thegentiy  of  the  Isles,  brought 
the  sceptre  from  Kildonan  in  Eig,  and  delivered  it 
to  his  brother  Donald,  who  was  thereupon  called 
M'Donaid,  and  Donald  lord  of  the  Isles,t  contrary 
to  the  opinion  of  the  men  of  the  Isles. 

"Ronald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  -was  .■» 
great  supporter  of  the  church  and  clergj-;  his  de- 
scendants are  called  Clanronald.  He  gave  the  lands 
of  Tiruma,  in  t'ist,  to  the  minister  of  it  for  ever, 
for  the  honour  of  God  and  Columkill;  he  was  pro- 
prietor of  all  the  lands  of  the  north  along  the  coast 
and  the  Isles;  he  died  in  the  year  of  Christ,  1386, 
in  his  own  mansion  of  Castle  Tirim,  leaving  five 
children.  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John,  son  of 
Angus  Og,  the  brother  of  Ronald,  took  possession 
of  Innisgall  by  the  consent  of  his  brother  and  the 
gentry  thereof:  they  were  all  obedient  to  him;  he 
married  Mary  Lesly,  daughter  to  the  earl  of  Ross, 
and  by  her  came  the  earldom  of  Ross  to  the  M' 
Donalds.  After  his  succession  to  that  eai-ldom,  he 
was  called  M'Donaid,  lord  of  the  Isles,  and  earl 
of  Ross.  There  are  many  things  written  of  him  in 
other  places. 

"  He  fought  the  battle  of  Garioch,  [i.  e.  Harlaw,) 
against  duke  Murdock,  the  governor:  the  earl  of 
Mar  commanded  the  army,  in  support  of  his  claim 
to  the  earldom  of  Ross;  which  was  ceded  to  him 
by  king  James  the  First,  after  his  release  from  the 

*  Western  isles  anU  adjacent  coast,        t  Iiuiisg^all. 


288 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


king  of  En-^land,  nnd  duke  Murdoch,  his  two  sons 
and  retainers,  were  beheaded:  he  p;ave  lands  in 
Mull  and  Isla  to  the  minister  of  Hi,  and  every 
priviles;e  which  the  minister  of  lona  had  formerly, 
besides  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  to  Columkill,  for 
the  monastery,  and  bcL-anie  liimself  one  of  the  fra- 
ternity. He  left  issue,  a  lawful  heir,  to  Innisgall 
and  lioss,  namely,  Alexander,  tlie  son  of  Uonald: 
lie  died  in  Isla,  and  his  body  was  interred  in  the 
soutli  side  of  llie  temple  of  Oran.  Alexander,  call- 
ed John  of  the  isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles, 
son  of  Uonald  of  the  Isles.  Angus,  the  third  son 
of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  married  the  daughter 
of  John,  the  sou  of  Allan,  wliich  connexion  caused 
some  disagreement  lietwixt  tiie  two  families  about 
their  marches  and  division  of  lands,  the  one  party 
adliering  to  Angus,  and  the  other  to  John:  the  dif- 
ferences increased  so  much,  that  Joiin  obtained 
from  Allan  all  the  lands  betwixt  .ibha/i  Fahda, 
(i.  c.  the  long  river)  and  aid  na  sioiuiuch  (^i.  e.  the 
tox-burn  brook),  in  the  xipper  ])art  of  Cantyre. 
Allan  went  to  the  king  to  complain  of  his  son-in- 
law;  in  a  sliort  time  thereafter,  there  happened  to 
be  a  great  meeting  about  this  young  Angus's  lands 
to  the  north  of  Inverness,  wliere  lie  was  murdered 
by  his  own  harper,  Mac-Cairbre,  by  cutting  his 
throat  with  a  long  knife.  He*  lived  a  year  there- 
after, and  maay  of  those  concerned  were  deliver- 
ed up  to  the  king.  Angus's  wife  was  pregnant  at 
the  time  of  his  murder,  and  she  bore  him  a  son, 
■who  was  named  Donald,  and  called  Donald  Du. 
He  was  kept  in  confinement  until  he  was  thirty 
years  of  age,  when  he  was  released  by  tlie  men  of 
Glencoe,  by  the  strong  hand.  After  this  enlarge- 
inent,  he  came  to  the  Isles,  and  convened  the  gen- 
try thereof.  There  happened  great  feuds  bet«ixt 
these  families  while  Donalit  Du  was  in  confinement, 
insomuch  that  Mac-Cean  of  Anlnamurchau  destroy- 
ed the  greatest  part  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor, 
of  tlie  Isles  and  Cantyre.  For  John  Catlianach, 
son  of  Jolin,  son  of  Donald  Ballach,  son  of  J  nhn  Mor, 
son  of  Jolin,  son  of  Angus  Og,  (the  chief  of  the  de- 
scendants of  John  Mor,)  and  John  Mor,  son  of 
John  Cathanach,  and  young  John,  son  of  John  Ca- 
thanach,  and  young  Donald  Ballach,  son  of  John 
Cathanach,  were  treacherously  taken  by  ]Mac-Cean 
in  the  islimd  of  Finlagan,  in  Isla,  and  carried  to  Ed- 
inburgh, where  he  got  them  hanged  at  the  Burrow- 
inuir,  and  their  botlies  were  buried  iii  tlie  church  of 
St.  Anthony,  called  the  Xew  Church.  There  were 
none  left  alive  at  that  time  of  tlie  children  of  John 
Cathanach,  except  Alexander,  the  son  of  John  Ca- 
thanach, and  Agnes  Flach,  who  concealed  them- 
selves in  the  glens  of  Ireland.  Mac-Cean,  hearing 
of  their  hiding-places,  went  to  cut  down  the  woods 
of  these  glens,  in  order  to  destroy  Alexander  and 
extirpate  the  v  hole  race.  At  length  Mac-Cean 
and  Alexander  met,  were  reconciled,  and  a  mar- 
riage alliance  took  place;  Alexander  married  Mac- 
Cean's  daughter,  and  she  brought  him  good  chil- 
dren. The  Mac-Donalds  of  tlie  north  had  also  de- 
scendants; for,  after  the  death  of  John,  lord  of  the 
Isles,  and  earl  of  Ross,  and  the  murder  of  Angus, 
Alexander,  the  sou  of  Archibald,  the  son  of  Alex- 
ander of  the  Isles,  took  possession,  and  John  was 
in  possession  of  the  earldom  of  Ross,  and  the 
north  bordering  country;  he  married  a  daughter  of 
the  earl  of  Moray,  of  whom  some  of  the  men  of 
the  north  had  descended.  The  Mac-Kenzies  rose 
against  Alexander,  and  fought  the  battle  called 


•  The  murderer  I  presume,  not  the  miin  nho  was  mur- 
Jcred. 


Blur  fia  Paire.  Alexander  had  only  a  few  of  the 
men  of  Ross  at  the  battle.  He  went  after  that  bat- 
tle to  take  possession  of  the  Isles,  and  sailed  in  a 
ship  to  the  south  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  of  the 
posterity  of  John  Mor  alive,  to  rise  along  with  him, 
but  Mac-Cean  of  Ardnamurchan  watched  him  as 
he  sailed  past,  followed  him  to  Oransav,  and  Co- 
lonsay,  went  to  the  house  where  he  was,  and  he 
and  Alexander,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  murdered 
him  there. 

"A  good  while  after  these  things  fell  out,  Donald 
Galda,  son  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  be- 
came major;  he,  with  the  advice  and  direction  of 
the  earl  of  Moray,  came  to  the  Isles,  and  Mac- 
Leod of  the  Lewis,  and  many  of  the  gentry  of  the 
Isles,  rose  with  him:  they  went  by  the  promontory 
of  Ardnamurchan,  where  they  met  Alexander,  the 
son  of  John  Cathanach,  were  reconciled  to  him, 
he  joined  his  men  with  theirs  against  Mac-Cean 
of  Ardnamurchan,  came  upon  him  at  a  place  call- 
ed the  Silver  Craig,  where  he  and  his  three  sons, 
and  a  gi-eat  number  of  his  people,  were  killed,  and 
Donald  Galda  was  immediately  declared  Mac-Do- 
nald: and,  after  the  affair  of  Ardnamurchan,  all 
the  men  of  the  Isles  yielded  to  him,  but  he  did  not 
live  above  seven  or  eight  weeks  after  it;  he  died 
at  Carnaborg,  in  Mull,  without  issue.  He  had  three 
sisters,  daughters  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald, 
who  were  portioned  in  the  north  upon  the  conti- 
nent, but  the  earlilom  of  Ross  was  kept  for  them. 
Alexander  the  son  of  Archibald,  had  a  natural  son, 
called  John  Cam,  of  whom  is  descended  Achnacoi- 
chan,  in  Raniocli,  and  Donald  Gorm,  son  of  Ro- 
nald, son  of  Alexan<ler  Duson,  of  John  Cam.  Do- 
nald Du,  son  of  Angus,  sou  of  John  of  the  Isles, 
son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Angus  Og, 
namely,  the  true  heir  of  the  Isles  and  Ross,  came 
after  his  release  from  captivity  to  the  Isles,  and 
convened  the  men  thereof,  and  he  and  the  earl 
of  Lennox  agreed  to  raise  a  great  army  for  the 
purpose  of  taking  possession,  and  a  ship  came  from 
England  with  a  supjjly  of  money  to  carry  on  the 
war,  which  landed  at  Mull,  and  the  money  was 
given  to  Mac-Lean  of  Duart  to  be  distributed  among 
the  commanders  of  the  ai-my,  which  they  not  re- 
ceiving in  proportion  as  it  should  have  been  dis- 
tributed among  them,  caused  the  army  to  disperse, 
which,  when  the  earl  of  Lennox  heard,  he  disband- 
ed his  own  men,  and  made  it  up  with  the  king: 
Mac-Donald  went  to  Ireland  to  raise  men,  but  he 
died  on  his  way  to  Dublin,  at  Drogheda,  of  a  fever, 
without  issue  of  either  sons  or  daughters." 

In  this  iiistory  may  be  traced,  though  the  bard 
or  seannachie  touches  such  a  delicate  discussion 
with  a  gentle  hand,  the  point  of  ditferetice  between 
the  three  principal  septs  descended  from  the  lords 
of  the  Isles.  The  first  question,  and  one  of  no  easy 
solution,  where  so  little  evidence  is  produced,  re- 
spects the  nature  of  the  connexion  of  John,  called 
by  the  archdean  of  the  Isles  "the  good  John  of 
Ila,"  and  "  tlie  last  lord  of  the  Isles,"  with  Anne, 
daughter  of  Roderick  Mac-Dougal,  high  chief  oi 
Lorn.  In  the  absence  of  positive  evidence,  pre- 
sumptive must  be  resorted  to,  audi  own  it  appears 
to  render  it  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that 
this  connexion  was  otherwise  than  legitimate.  In 
the  wars  between  David  H  and  Edward  Baliol, 
John  of  the  Isles  espoused  the  Ualiol  interest,  to 
which  he  was  probably  determined  by  his  alliance 
with  Roderick  of  Lorn,  who  was,  from  every  fa- 
mily predilection,  friendly  to  Baliol  and  hostile  to 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


289 


Bruce.  It  seems  absurd  to  suppose,  that  between 
two  chiefs  of  the  same  descent,  and  nearly  equal 
power  and  rank  (though  the  Mac-Dougals  had 
been  much  crushed  by  Robert  Bruce,)  such  a  con- 
nection should  have  been  that  of  concubinage;  and 
it  appears  more  likely  that  tl»e  tempting  offer  of 
an  alliance  with  the  Bruce  family,  when  they  had 
obtained  the  decided  superiority  in  Scotland,  in- 
duced "the  good  John  of  11a"  to  disinherit  to  a 
certain  extent  his  eldest  son  Ronald,  who  came  of 
a  stock  so  unpopular  as  the  Mac-Dougals,  and  to 
call  to  his  succession  his  younger  family,  born  of 
Margaret  Stuart,  daughter  of  Robert,  afterwards 
king  of  Scotland.  The  setting  aside  of  this  elder 
branch  of  his  family  was  most  probably  a  condition 
of  his  new  alliance,  and  his  being  received  into 
favour  with  the  dynasty  he  had  always  opposed. 
Nor  were  the  laws  of  succession  at  this  early  pe- 
riod so  clearly  understood  as  to  bar  such  transac- 
tions. The  numerous  and  strange  claims  set  up  to 
the  crown  of  Scotland,  when  vacant  by  the  death 
of  Alexander  111,  make  it  manifest  how  very  little 
the  indefeasible  hereditary  right  of  primogeniture 
was  valued  at  that  period.  In  fact,  the  title  of  the 
Bruces  themselves  to  the  crown,  though  justly  the 
most  popular,  when  assumed  with  the  determina- 
tion of  asserting  the  independence  of  Scotland, 
was,  upon  pure  principle,  greatly  inferior  to  that 
of  Baliol.  For  Bruce,  the  competitor,  claimed  as 
son  of  Isabella,  seco«f/ daughter  of  David,  earl  of 
Huntingdon,  and  John  Baliol,  as  grandson  of  Mar- 
garet, tlie  elder  daughter  of  that  same  earl.  So  that 
the  plea  of  Bruce  was  founded  upon  the  very  loose 
idea,  that,  as  the  great  grandson  of  David  1,  king 
of  Scotland,  artd  the  nearest  collateral  relation  of 
Alexander  III,  he  was  entitled  to  succeed,  in  ex- 
clusion of  the  great  great  grandson  of  the  same 
David,  though  by  an  elder  daughter.  This  maxim 
savoured  of  the  ancient  practice  of  Scotland,  \\  hich 
often  called  a  brother  to  succeed  to  the  crown  as 
nearer  in  blood  than  a  grand-child,  or  even  a  son 
of  a  deceased  monarch.  But,  in  truth,  the  maxims 
of  inheritance  in  Scotland  were  sometimes  de- 
parted from  at  periods  when  they  were  much 
more  distinctly  understood.  Such  a  transposition 
took  place  in  the  family  of  Hamilton,  in  1513, 
when  the  descendants  of  James,  3d  lord,  by  lady 
Janet  Home,  were  set  aside,  with  an  appanage  of 
great  value  indeed,  in  order  to  call  to  the  succes- 
sion those  which  he  had  by  a  subsequent  marriage 
with  Janet  Beaton.  In  short,  many  other  examples 
might  be  quoted  to  show  that  the  question  of  le- 
gitimacy is  not  always  determined  by  the  fact  of 
succession;  and  there  seems  reason  to  believe  that 
Ronald,  descendant  of  "  John  of  11a,"  by  Ann  of 
Lorn,  was  legitimate,  and  therefore  lord  of  the 
Isles  de  jure,  though  de  facto  his  younger  half 
brother,  Donald,  son  of  liis  father's  second  mar- 
riage with  the  princess  of  Scotland,  superseded 
him  in  his  right,  and  apparently  by  his  own  con- 
sent. From  this  Donald  so  preferred  is  descended 
the  family  of  Sleale,  now  lords  Mac-Donald.  On 
the  other  hand,  from  Ronald,  the  excluded  heir, 
upon  whom  a  very  large  appanage  was  settled,  de- 
scended the  chiefs  of  Glengary  and  Clanronald, 
each  of  whom  had  large  possessions,  and  a  nume- 
rous vassalage,  and  boasted  a  long  descent  of  war- 
like ancestrj'.  Their  common  ancestor,  Ronald, 
was  murdered  by  the  earl  of  Ross  at  the  monaste- 
ry of  Elcho,  A.  D.  134G.  I  believe  it  has  been 
subject  of  fierce  dispute,  whether  Donald,  who 
carried  on  the  line  of  Glengarj",  or  Allan  of  Moi- 


dart,  the  ancestors  of  the  captains  of  Clanronald, 
was  the  eldest  son  of  Ronald,  the  son  of  John  of 
11a.  A  humble  lowlander  may  be  permitted  to 
waive  the  discussion,  since  a  seannachie  of  no 
small  note,  who  wrote  in  the  ICtli  centuiy,  ex- 
presses himself  upon  this  delicate  topic  in  the  fol- 
lowing words: — 

"  1  have  now  given  you  an  account  of  every- 
thing )-ou  can  expect  of  the  descendants  of  the  clan 
CoUa,  [i.  e.  the  Mac-Donalds,)  to  the  death  of 
Donald  Du  at  Droglieda,  namely,  the  true  line  of 
those  who  possessed  the  Isles,  Ross,  and  the  moun- 
tainous countries  of  Scotland.  It  was  Donald,  the 
son  of  Angus,  that  was  killed  at  Inverness,  by  his 
own  harper  (Mac-i'Cuirbre,)  son  of  John  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  Alexander,  son  of  Donald,  son  of  John, 
son  of  Angus  Og.  And  I  know  not  which  of  his 
kindred  or  relations  is  the  true  heir,  except  these 
five  sons  of  John,  the  son  of  Angus  Og,  whom  I 
here  set  down  for  you,  namel)-,  Ronald  and  God- 
frey, the  two  sons  of  the  daughter  of  Mac-Donald 
of  Lorn,  and  Donald  and  John  Mor,  and  Alexan- 
der Carracli,  tlie  three  sons  of  Margaret  Stewart, 
daughter  of  Robert  Stewart,  king  of  Scotland." — 
Leabhar  Deavg. 

8.  the  house  of  Lorn.— P.  252. 

The  house  of  Lorn,  as  we  observed  in  a  former 
note,  was,  like  the  lords  of  the  Isles,  descertded 
from  a  son  of  Somerled,  slain  at  Renfrew,  in  1164. 
This  son  obtained  the  succession  of  his  mainland 
territories,  comprehending  the  greater  part  of  the 
three  districts  of  Lorn,  in  Argyleshire,  and  of 
course  might  rather  be  considered  as  petty  princes 
than  feudal  barons.  Tliey  assumed  the  patronymic 
appellation  of  Mac-Dougal,  by  which  they  are  dis- 
tinguished in  the  histoiy  of  the  middle  ages.  The 
lord  of  Lorn,  who  flourished  during  tiie  wars  of 
Bruce,  was  Allaster  (or  Alexander)  Mac-Dougal, 
called  Allaster  of  Argyle.  He  had  married  the 
third  daughter  of  John,  called  the  Red  Comyn,* 
who  was  slain  by  Bruce  in  the  Dominican  church 
at  Dumfries,  and  hence  he  was  a  mortal  enemy  of 
that  prince,  and  more  than  once  reduced  him  to 
great  straits  during  tlie  early  and  distressed  period 
of  his  reign,  as  we  shall  have  repeated  occasion 
to  notice.  Bruce,  when  he  began  to  obtain  an  as- 
cendency in  Scotland,  took  the  first  opportunity 
in  his  power  to  requite  these  injuries.  He  march- 
ed into  Argyleshire  to  lay  waste  the  countrj'.  John 
of  Lorn,  son  of  the  chieftain,  was  posted  with  his 
followers  in  the  formidable  pass  between  Dalraally 
and  Bunawe.  It  is  a  narrow  path  along  the  verge 
of  the  huge  and  precipitous  mountain,  called  Cru- 
achan  Ben,  and  guarded  on  the  other  side  by  a 
precipice  overhanging  Loch  Awe.  The  pass  seems 
to  the  eye  of  a  soldier  as  strong,  as  it  is  wild  am) 
romantic  to  that  of  an  ordinary  traveller.  But  the 
skill  of  Bruce  had  anticipated  this  difficulty.  While 
his  main  body,  engaged  in  a  skirmish  with  the 
men  of  Lorn,  detained  their  attention  to  the  front 
of  their  position,  James  of  Douglas,  witii  sir  Alex- 
ander Fraser,  sir  William  Wiseman,  and  sir 
Andrew  Gre) ,  ascended  the  mountaii   with  a  se- 


*  The  aunt,  according  to  lord  Hailes.    But  the  genea- 
logy' is  distinctly  given  by  Wiiitoun: — 

The  third  daughter  of  Red  ComjTi, 
Alysauder  of  Argjle  syne, 
Took  and  wedded  til  his  wife. 
And  on  her  he  gat  until  his  life, 
John  of  Lorn,  the  whilk  gat 
Ewcn  of  Lorn  after  that. 

fVirttaun'i  Chronicle,  Book  viii,  c,  vi,  line  206, 


290 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


lect  body  of  archery,  and  olitaiiu-d  possession  of 
the  heights  uhich  c'oininaiulcd  the  pass.  A  volley 
of  arrows  descending  upon  them  dircclly  warned 
the  Argyleshire  men  of  tluir  perilous  situation, 
and  their  resistance,  which  had  hitherto  hcen  bold 
and  maulv,  was  changed  into  a  i)rceipitatc  flight. 
The  deep' and  rapid  river  of  Awe  was  then  (we 
learn  the  tact  from  15arl)onr  with  some  surprise) 
crossed  by  a  bridge.  This  bridge  the  mountaineers 
attempteil  to  demolish,  but  Brucc's  followers  were 
too  close  upon  their  rear:  they  were,  therefore, 
•without  refuge  and  defence,  and  were  dispersed 
with  great  slaughter.  John  of  Lorn,  suspicious  of 
the  event,  had  early  betaken  himself  to  the  galleys 
■which  he  had  upon  the  lake;  but  the  feelings  which 
Barbour  assigns  to  him,  while  witnessing  the  rout 
and  slaughter  of  his  followers,  exculpate  liim  from 
the  charge  of  cowardice. 

"  To  John  of  Loi-n  it  should  displease, 
I  trow,  when  he  his  men  mii^ht  see 
Hi-  slain  and  ch-ised  in  thi-  hill. 
That  he  ini^lil  stt  no  help  theretill. 
But  it  unuptis  as  g;ivatumty 
To  i^ood  hearts  tliat  are  worthy. 
To  see  thiir  foes  fulfill  tlitir  will 
As  to  tlunistlves  to  ihoU  tlie  ill." 

After  this  decisive  engagement,  Bruce  laid  waste 
Argyleshire,  and  besieged  Dunstaffnage  castle,  on 
the  v'estern  shore  of  Lorn,  compelled  it  to  surren- 
der, and  placed  in  that  principal  stroug-tiold  of 
the  Mac-l)ongals  a  garrison  and  governor  pf  his 
own.  The  elder  Mac-Doiigal,  now  wearied  with 
the  contest,  submitted  to  the  victor:  but  his  son, 
•'rebellious,"  says  Barbour,  "as  he  wont  to  be," 
fled  to  England  by  sea.  When  the  wars  between 
the  Bruce  and  Baliol  factions  again  broke  out  in 
the  reign  of  David  II,  the  lords  of  Lorn  were  again 
found  upon  the  losing  side,  owing  to  their  heredita- 
ry enmity  to  the  house  of  Bruce.  Accordingly, 
upon  the  issue  of  that  contest,  they  were  deprived 
by  David  II  and  his  successor  of  by  far  the  greater 
part  of  their  extensive  territories,  w  hich  were  con- 
ferred upon  Stewart,  called  the  knight  of  Lorn. 
The  house  of  iMac-Dougal,  continued,  however, 
to  survive  the  loss  of  power,  and  aflxirds  a  very 
rare,  if  not  an  unique,  instance  of  a  family  of  such 
unlimited  power,  and  so  distinguished  during  the 
middle  ages,  siu'viving  the  decay  of  their  grandeur 
and  flourishing  in  a  private  station.  The  castle  ot 
DunoUy,  near  Oban,  with  its  dependencies,  was 
the  principal  part  of  w  hat  remained  to  them,  with 
their  rightof  chieftainship  over  the  families  of  their 
uame  and  blood.  These  they  continued  to  enjoy 
until  the  year  1715,  when  the  representative  in 
curred  the  penalty  of  forfeiture,  for  his  accession 
to  the  insurrection  of  that  period;  tlms  losing  the 
remains  of  his  inheritance,  to  re[ilace  upon  the 
throne  the  descendants  of  those  princes,  whose 
accession  his  ancestors  had  opposed  at  the  expense 
of  their  feudal  grandeur.  The  estate  was,  how  ever, 
restored  about  1745,  to  the  father  of  the  present 
proprietor,  whom  family  experience  had  taught 
the  hazard  of  interfering  with  the  established  go- 
vernment, and  who  remained  ([uiet  upon  that  oc- 
casion. He  therefore  regained  his  property  when 
many  highland  chiefs  lost  theirs. 

Nothing  can  be  more  wildly  beautiful  than  the 
eituation  of  Dunolly.  The  ruins  are  situated  u|)on 
a  bold  and  precipitous  promontory,  overhanging 
Loch  Etive,  and  distant  about  a  mile  from  the  vil- 
lage and  port  of  Oban.  The  principal  part  which 
remains  is  the  donjon  or  keep;  but  fragments  of 
other  buildings,  overgrown  with  ivy,  attest  that  it 


had  once  been  a  place  of  importance,  as  large  ap- 
parently as  Artornish  or  Dunstaflnage.  'I'liese 
fragments  inclose  a  court-yard,  of  which  the  keep 
probably  formed  one  side;  the  entrance  being  by 
a  steep  ascent  from  the  neck  of  the  isthmus,  for- 
merly cut  across  by  a  moat,  and  defended  doubt- 
less by  outworks  and  a  draw-bridge.  Beneath  the 
castle  stands  the  present  mansion  of  the  family, 
having  on  the  one  hand  Loch  Etive,  with  its  islands 
and  mountains,  on  the  other  two  romantic  emi- 
nences tufted  with  copse-wood.  There  are  other 
accompaniments  suited  to  the  scene,  in  particular 
a  huge  upright  pillar,  or  detached  fragment  of  that 
sort  of  rock  called  plum-pudding  stone,  upon  the 
shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle. 
It  is  called  clach-im-cari,  or  the  dog's  pillar,  be- 
cause Fingal  is  said  to  have  used  it  as  a  stake  to 
which  he  bound  his  celebrated  dog  Bran.  Others 
say,  that  when  the  lord  of  the  Isles  came  upon  a 
visit  to  the  lord  of  Lorn,  the  dogs  brought  for  his 
sport  were  kept  beside  this  pillar.  Upon  the  whole, 
a  more  deliglittul  and  romantic  spot  can  scarce  be 
conceived;  and  it  receives  a  moral  interest  from 
the  considerations  attached  to  the  residence  of  a 
family,  once  powerful  enough  to  confront  and  de- 
feat Robert  Bruce,  and  now  sunk  into  the  shade 
of  private  life.  It  is  at  present  possessed  by  Pat- 
rick M'Dougal,  esq.,  the  lineal  and  undisputed  re- 
presentative of  the  ancient  lords  of  Lorn.  The 
heir  of  Dunolly  fell  lately  in  Spain,  fighting  under 
the  duke  of  Wellington, — a  death  well  becoming 
his  ancestry. 

9.  Those  lightnings  of  the  wave. — P.  254. 
The  phenomenon  called  by  sailors  Sea-fire,  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  antl  interesting  which  is 
witnessed  in  the  Hebrides:  at  times  the  ocean  ap- 
pears entirely  illuminated  around  the  vessel,  and 
a  long  train  of  lambent  coruscations  are  perpetu- 
ally bursting  upon  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  or  pur- 
suing her  wake  llirongh  the  darkness.  These  phos- 
phoric appearances,  concerning  the  origin  of  which 
naturalists  are  not  agreed  in  opinion,  seem  to  be 
called  into  action  by  the  rapid  motion  of  the  ship 
through  the  water,  and  are  probably  owing  to  the 
water  being  saturated  with  fish-spawn,  or  other 
animal  substances.  They  remind  one  strongly  of 
the  description  of  the  sea-snakes  in  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge's wild,  but  highly  poetical  ballad  of  Uie  An- 
cient Mariner: — 

"  Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 
1  watched  the  v.ater-snakcs, 
Thty  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  vhen  they  reared,  the  elvish  light 
Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes." 

10.   Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  jiassage  there 
Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair 

So  straight,  so  high,  so  steep. 
With  peasant's  staff  one  valiant  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  liave  manned, 
'Gainst  hundreds  armed  with  spear  and  brand, 
And  plunged  them  in  tlie  deep.— P.  254. 

The  fortress  of  a  Hebridean  chief  was  almost  al- 
ways on  the  sea-shore,  for  the  facility  or  commu- 
nication wliich  the  ocean  afforded.  Nothing  can 
be  more  wild  than  the  situations  which  they  chose, 
and  the  devices  by  which  the  ai'chitects  endeavour- 
ed to  defend  them.  Narrow  stairs  and  arcfied 
vaults  were  the  usual  mode  of  access,  and  the  draw- 
bridge appears  at  Dunstafi'na^e,  and  elsewhere,  to 
have  fallen  from  the  gate  of  the  building  Xo  the  top 
of  such  a  staircase;  so  that  any  one,  advancing  with 
hostile  purpose,  found  himself  in  a  state  of  expos- 
ed and  precarious  elevation,  with  a  gulf  between 
him  and  the  object  of  his  attack. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


291 


raance  in  real  life."  So  observes  the  excellent  lord 
Hailes. 

2.  "  Fill  me  the  mighty  cupl"  he  said, 

"  Erst  owned  by  royal  Soraerled.'"— P.  256. 

A  Hebridean  drinking-cup,  of  the  most  ancient 
and  curious  workmanship,  has  been  long  preserv- 
ed in  the  castle  of  Dunvegan,  in  Skye,  the  romantic 
seat  of  Mac-Leod,  of  !Mac-Leod,  the  chief  of  that 
ancient  and  powerful  clan.  The  horn  of  Rorie 
More,  preserved  in  the  same  familj",  and  recorded 
by  Dr.  Johnson,  is  not  to  be  compared  with  this 
piece  of  antiquity,  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  cu- 
riosities in  Scotland.  The  following  is  a  pretty 
accurate  description  of  its  shape  and  dimensions, 
but  cannot,  I  fear,  be  perfectly  understood  without 
a  drawing. 

This  very  curious  piece  of  antiquity  is  nine 
inches  and  three-quarters  in  inside  depth,  and  ten 
and  a  half  in  height  on  the  outside,  the  extreme 
measure  over  tlie  lips  being  four  inches  and  a  half. 
The  cup  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  wrought 
ledge,  beautifully  ornamented,  about  three-fourths 
of  an  inch  in  breadth.  Beneath  tliis  ledge  the  shape 
of  the  cup  is  rounded  oft",  and  terminates  in  a  flat 
circle,  like  that  of  a  tea-cup;  four  short  feet  sup- 
port the  whole.  Above  the  projecting  ledge  the 
shape  of  the  cup  is  nearly  square,  projecting  out- 
ward at  the  brim.  The  cup  is  made  of  wood,  (oak 
to  all  appearance, )  but  most  curiously  wrought  and 
embossed  with  silver  work,  which  projects  from 
the  vessel.  There  are  a  number  of  regular  pro- 
jecting sockets,  which  appear  to  have  been  set  with 
stones;  two  or  three  of  thera  still  hold  pieces  of 
coral,  the  rest  are  empty.  At  the  four  corners  of 
the  projecting  ledge  or  cornice,  are  four  sockets, 
much  larger,  probably  for  pebbles  or  precious 
stones.  The  workmanship  of  the  silver  is  extreme- 
ly elegant,  and  appears  to  have  been  highly  gilded. 
The  ledge,  brim,  and  legs  of  the  cup,  are  of  sil- 
ver. The  family  tradition  bears  that  it  was  the 
property  of  Neil  Ghlune-dhu,  or  Black-knee.  But 
who  this  Xeil  was,  no  one  pretends  to  say.  Around 
the  edge  of  the  cup  is  a  legend,  perfectly  legible, 
in  the  Saxon  black  letter,  which  may  be  read  at 
length  thus: — 

tifo  Johanis  JYlich  Magrd  Prindpis  de  Hrjyia- 
?tae  Vich  Lialtia  JMagryneil  et  sperat  Doimno  Ihe- 
su  dari  clementiam  illonim  opera.  Fecit  Anno  Do- 
mini 993  Otiili  Oimi.  Which  may  run  in  English: 
Ufo,  the  son  of  John,  the  son  of  Magnus,  prince 
of  Man,  the  grandson  of  Liahia  Macgi-yneil,  trusts 
in  the  Lord  ]jesus  that  their  works  (/.  e.  his  own 
and  those  of  his  ancestors)  will  obtain  mercy.  Oneil 
Oimi  made  this  in  the  year  of  God  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-three. 

But  this  version  does  not  include  the  puzzling 
letters  hr  before  the  word  Manae.  Within  the 
mouth  of  the  cup  the  woi-d  Jesus  is  repeated  four 
times.  From  this  and  other  circumstances  it  would 
seem  to  have  been  a  chalice.  This  circumstance 
may  perhaps  account  for  the  use  of  two  Arabic 
numerals,  93.  These  figures  were  introduced  by 
pope  Sylvester,  A.  D.  991,  and  might  be  used  in  a 
vessel  formed  for  church  service  so  early  as  993. 
The  workmanship  of  the  whole  cup  is  extremely 
elegant,  and  resembles,  I  am  told,  antiques  of  the 
same  nature  preserved  in  Ireland. 

The  cups  thus  elegantly  formed,  and  highly  va- 
lued, were  by  no  means  utensils  of  mere  show. 
Martin  gives  "the  following  account  of  the  festivals 
of  his  time,  and  1  have  heard  similar  instances  of 
brutality  in  the  lowlands  at  no  very  distant  period 


These  fortresses  were  guarded  with  equal  care. 
The  duty  of  the  watch  devolved  chiefly  upon  an 
officer  called  the  Cockman,  who  had  the  charge  of 
challenging  all  who  approached  the  castle.  The 
very  ancient  family  of  ^lacneil  of  Barra  kept  this 
attendant  at  their  castle  about  an  hundred  years  ago. 
Martin  gives  the  following  account  of  the  difficulty 
which  attended  his  procuring  enti-ance  there: — 

"The  little  island  Kisraul  lies  about  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  south  of  this  isle,  (Barra;)  it 
is  the  seat  of  Macneil  of  Barra;  there  is  a  stone- 
wall round  it  two  stories  high,  reaching  the  sea; 
and  within  the  wall  there  is  an  old  tower  and  an 
hall,  with  other  houses  about  it.  There  is  a  little 
magazine  in  the  tower,  to  which  no  stranger  has 
access.  I  saw  the  officer  called  the  Cockman,  and 
an  old  cock  he  is;  when  I  bid  him  ferry  me  over 
the  water  to  the  island,  he  told  me  that  he  was  but 
an  inferior  officer,  his  business  being  to  attend  in 
the  tower;  but  if  (says  he)  the  constable,  who  then 
stood  on  the  wall,  will  give  you  access,  I'll  ferry 
you  over.  I  desired  him  to  procure  me  the  con- 
stable's permission,  and  I  would  reward  him;  but 
having  waited  some  hours  for  the  constable's  an- 
swer, and  not  receiving  any,  1  was  obliged  to  re- 
turn without  seeing  this  famous  fort.  Macneil  and 
his  lady  being  absent,  was  the  cause  of  this  diffi- 
culty, and  of  my  not  seeing  the  place.  I  was  told, 
some  weeks  after,  that  the  constable  was  very  ap- 
prehensive of  some  design  I  might  have  in  view- 
ing the  fort,  and  thereby  to  expose  it  to  the  con- 
quest of  a  foreign  power;  of  which  I  supposed  there 
was  no  great  cause  of  fear." 

KOTES  TO  CASTO  II. 


1.  Be  Argentine.— P.  256. 

Sir  Egidius,  or  Giles  de  Argentine,  was  one  of 
the  most  accomplished  knights  of  the  period.  He 
had  served  in  the  wars  of  Henry  of  Luxemberg 
with  such  high  reputation,  that  he  was,  in  popular 
estimation,  the  third  worthy  of  the  age.  Those  to 
whom  fame  assigned  precedence  over  him  were, 
Henry  of  Luxemberg  himself,  and  Robert  Bruce. 
Argentine  had  warred  in  Palestine,  encountered 
thrice  with  the  Saracens,  and  had  slain  two  anta- 
gonists in  each  engagement.  An  easy  matter,  he 
said,  for  one  christian  knight  to  slay  two  pagan 
dogs.  His  death  corresponded  with  his  high  cha- 
racter. With  Aymer  de  Valence,  earl  of  Pem- 
broke, he  was  appointed  to  attend  immediately 
upon  the  person  of  Edward  II.  When  the  day  was 
utterly  lost,  they  forced  the  king  from  the  field. 
De  Argentine  saw  the  king  safe  from  immediate 
danger,  and  then  took  his  leave  of  him:  "dlod  be 
with  you,  sir,"  he  suid,  '•  it  is  not  my  wont  to  fly. " 
So  saying,  he  turned  his  horse,  cried  his  war-cr)', 
plunged  into  the  midst  of  the  combatants,  and  was 
slain.  Baston,  a  rhyming  monk  who  had  been 
brought  by  Edward  to  celebrate  his  expected  tri- 
umph, and  who  was  compelled  by  the  victors  to 
compose  a  poem  on  his  defeat,  mentions  with  some 
feeling  the  death  of  sir  Giles  de  Argentine: — 
Nobilis  Argenten,  pugil  inclyte,  duleis  Egidi, 
Vix  scieram  mentem  cum  te  suecumbere  vidi. 

"  The  first  line  mentions  the  three  chief  requi- 
sites of  a  true  knight — noble  birth,  valor,  and  cour- 
teousness.  Few  Leonine  couplets  can  be  produced 
that  have  so  much  sentiment.  I  wish  that  I  couid 
have  collected  more  ample  memorials  concerning 
a  character  altogether  different  from  modern  man- 
ners.    Sir  Giles  de  Argentine  was  a  hero  of  ro- 


292 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  The  manner  of  drinking  used  by  the  chief  men 
of  the  Islis  is  called  in  tiieir  langiiapje  Streah,  i.  e. 
a  Roun<l;  for  the  company  sat  in  a  circle,  the  cup- 
bearer filled  the  drink  round  to  them,  and  all  was 
drank  out,  whatever  the  lii|Uor  was,  whetlier  strong 
or  weak;  they  continued  drinking  sometimes  twen- 
ty-four, sometimes  forty-eight  hours.  It  was  reck- 
one<l  a  piece  of  manhood  to  drink  until  they  be- 
came drunk,  and  there  were  two  men  with  a  bar- 
row attending  punctually  on  such  occasions.  Tliey 
stood  at  the  c^oor  until  some  became  drunk,  and 
thev  carryed  them  upon  the  barrow  to  bed,  and 
returned  again  to  their  post  as  long  as  any  conti- 
nued fresh,  and  so  carried  off  the  whole  company, 
one  by  one,  as  they  became  drunk.  Several  of  my 
acquaintance  have  been  witnesses  to  this  custom 
of  drinking,  but  it  is  now  abolished." 

This  savage  custom  was  not  entirely  done  away 
within  the  last  generation.  1  have  heard  of  a  gentle- 
nan  who  haijpened  to  be  a  water-drinker,  and  was 
permitted  to  abstain  from  the  strong  potations  of  the 
company.  The  bearers  carried  away  one  man  after 
another,  till  no  one  was  left  but  this  Scottish  mirg- 
lij).  They  then  came  to  do  him  the  same  good 
office,  which,  however,  he  declined  as  unnecessary, 
and  proposed  to  walk  to  his  bed-room.  It  was  a 
permission  he  could  not  obtain.  Never  such  a  thing 
had  happened,  they  said,  in  the  castle!  that  it  was 
impossible  but  he  must  require  their  assistance, 
at  any  rate  he  must  submit  to  receive  it;  and  car- 
ried him  off  in  the  barrow  accordingly.  A  classi- 
cal penalty  was  sometimes  imposed  on  those  who 
baulked  the  rules  of  good  fellowship  by  evading 
their  share  of  the  banquet.  The  same  author  con- 
tinues:— 

"  Amongst  persons  of  distinction  it  was  reckon- 
ed an  affront  put  upon  any  company  to  broach  a 
piece  of  wine,  ale,  or  aquaviiie,  and  not  to  see  it 
all  drank  out  at  one  meeting.  If  any  man  chance 
to  go  out  from  the  company,  though  but  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  is  obliged,  upon  his  return,  and  be- 
fore he  take  his  seat,  to  make  an  apology  for  his 
absence  in  rhyme;  which  if  he  cannot  perform,  he 
is  liable  to  such  a  share  of  the  reckoning  as  the 
company  thinks  fit  to  impose:  which  custom  ob- 
tains in  many  places  still,  and  is  called  bianchiz 
bard,  which,  in  their  language,  signifies  the  poet's 
congratulating  the  company." 

Few  cups  were  better,  at  least  more  actively, 
employed  in  the  rude  hospitality  of  the  period, 
than  those  of  Dunvegan;  one  of  which  we  have 
just  described.  There  is  in  the  Leabhar  Dearg, 
a  song,  intimating  the  overflowing  gratitude  of  a 
bard  of  Clan-Ronald,  after  the  exuberance  of  a 
Hebridean  festival  at  the  patriarchal  fortress  of 
Mac-Leod.  The  translation  being  obviously  ver}' 
literal,  has  greatly  flattened,  as  1  am  informed, 
the  enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  ancient  bard;  and 
it  must  be  owned  that  the  works  of  Homer  or  Vir- 
gil, to  say  nothing  of  IMac-Vuirich,  might  have 
suffered  by  their  transfusion  through  sucii  a  me- 
dium. It  is  pretty  plain,  that  when  tiie  tribute  of 
poetical  praise  was  bestowed,  the  horn  of  Rorie 
More  had  not  been  inactive. 


Upon  sir  Rodnc  Mor  JSJacleod,  by  A'iall  Jlor 
JMac-Viiiric/i. 

"  The  six  nights  I  remained  in  llie  Dunvegan, 
it  was  not  a  show  of  hospitality  I  met  with  there, 
but  a  plentiful  feast  in  thy  fair  hall  among  thy  nu- 
merous host  of  heroes. 


"The  family  placed  all  around  under  the  pro- 
tection of  their  great  chief,  raised  by  his  prospe- 
rity and  respect  for  his  warlike  feats,  now  enjoy- 
ing the  company  of  his  friends  at  the  feast, — 
amidst  the  sound  of  harps,  overflowing  cups,  and 
happy  youth  unaccustomed  to  guile,  or  feud,  par- 
taking of  the  generous  fare  by  a  flaming  fire. 

"  Mighty  chief,  liberal  to  all  your  jjrineely  man- 
sion, filled  with  your  numerous  warlike  host, 
whose  generous  wine  would  overcome  the  hardiest 
heroes,  yet  we  continued  to  enjoy  the  feast,  so 
happy  our  host,  so  generous  our  fare." — Trans- 
lated by  D.  Mac-hitosh. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  in  a  modern  bard, 
who  has  experienced  the  hospitalilj'  ot  Dimvegan 
castle  in  the  present  day,  to  omit  paying  his  own 
tribute  of  gratitude  for  a  reception  more  elegant 
indeed,  but  not  less  kindly  sincere,  than  sir  Ro- 
derick More  himself  could  have  afforded.  But 
Johnson  has  already  described  a  similar  scene  in 
the  same  ancient  patriarchal  residence  of  the  lords 
of  Mac-Leod. 

"  Whatever  is  imaged  in  the  wildest  tales,  if 
giants,  dragons,  and  enchantment  be  excepted, 
would  be  felt  by  him,  who,  wandering  in  the 
mountains  without  a  guide,  or  upon  the  sea  with- 
out a  pilot,  should  be  carried,  amidst  his  terror 
and  uncertainty,  to  the  hospitality  and  elegance  ot 
Raasay  or  Dunvegan." 

3.  With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand. 
The  seneschal  the  presence  scanned 
Of  these  strange  guests.— P.  256. 
The  sewer,  to  whom,  rather  than  the  seneschal, 
the  office  of  arranging  the  guests  of  an  island  chief 
appertained,  was   an  officer  of  importance  in  the 
family  of  an  Hebridean  chief. 

"Every  family  had  commonly  two  stewards, 
which,  in  their  language,  were  called  marischall 
tach:  the  first  of  these  served  always  at  home,  and 
was  obliged  to  be  versed  in  the  pedigree  of  all  the 
tribes  in  the  Isles,  and  in  the  highlands  of  Scotland; 
for  it  was  his  province  to  assign  every  man  at  ta- 
ble his  seat  according  to  his  quality;  and  this  was 
done  without  one  word  speaking,  only  by  drawing 
a  score  with  a  white  rod,  which  this  marischall 
held  in  his  hand,  before  the  person  who  was  bid 
by  him  to  sit  down:  and  this  was  necessary  to  pre- 
vent disorder  and  contention;  and  though  the  ma- 
rischall might  sometimes  be  mistaken,  the  master 
of  the  family  incurred  no  censure  by  such  an  es- 
cape; but  this  custom  has  been  laid  aside  of  late. 
They  had  also  cup-bearers,  who  always  filled  and 
carried  the  cup  round  the  company,  and  he  him- 
self always  drank  off  the  first  dr.iught.  They  had 
likewise  purse-masters,  who  kept  their  money. 
Both  these  officers  had  an  hereditary  right  to  their 
office  in  writing,  and  each  of  them  had  a  town  and 
land  for  his  service;  some  of  those  rights  1  have 
seen  fairly  written  on  good  parchment." — Jilar- 
thi's  Western  Isles. 

■  the  rebellious  Scottish  crew, 


Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew, 
With  Carrick's  outlawed  chief. — P.  256. 
It  must  be  remembered  by  all  who  have  read 
the  Scottish  history,  th.it  .tfter  he  had  slain  Comyn 
at  Dumfries,  and  asserted  his  right  to  the  Scottish 
crown,  Robert  Bruce  was  reduced  to  the  greatest 
extremity  by  the  English  and  their  adherents.  He 
was  crowned  at  Scone  by  the  general  consent  of 
the  Scottish  barons,  but  his  authoritj' endured  but 
a  short  time.  According  to  the  phrase  said  to  have 
been  used  by  his  wife,  he  was  for  that  year  "a 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


293 


summer  king,  but  not  a  winter  one."  On  the  29th 
March,  1306,  he  was  crowned  king  at  Scone.  Upon 
the  19th  June,  in  the  same  year,  he  was  totally 
defeated  at  Methven,  near  Perth;  and  his  most 
important  adherents,  with  a  few  exceptions,  either 
executed,  or  compelled  to  embrace  the  English 
interest,  for  safety  of  their  lives  and  fortunes.  Af- 
ter this  disaster,  his  life  was  that  of  an  outlaw, 
rather  than  a  candidate  for  monarchy.  He  sepa- 
rated himself  from  the  females  of  his  retinue, 
whom  he  sent  for  safety  to  the  castle  of  Kildrum- 
mie,  in  Aberdeenshire,  where  they  afterward  be- 
came captives  to  England.  From  Aberdeenshire, 
Bruce  retreated  to  the  mountainous  parts  of  Brea- 
dalbane,  and  approached  the  borders  of  Arg)le- 
shire.  There,  as  mentioned  in  a  preceding,  and 
more  fully  in  a  subsequent  note,  he  was  defeated 
b)'  the  lord  of  Lorn,  who  had  assumed  arms  against 
him  in  revenge  of  the  death  of  his  relative,  John 
the  Red  Comyn.  Escaped  from  this  peril,  Bruce, 
with  his  few  attendants,  subsisted  by  hunting  and 
fishing,  until  the  weather  compelled  them  to  seek 
better  sustenance  and  shelter  than  the  highland 
mountains  afforded.  With  great  difficulty  they 
crossed,  from  Rowardennan  probably,  to  the  west- 
ern banks  of  Loch  Lomond,  partly  in  a  miserable 
boat,  and  partly  by  swimming.  The  valiant  and 
loyal  earl  of  Lennox,  to  whose  territories  they 
had  now  found  their  way,  welcomed  them  with 
tears,  but  was  unable  to  assist  them  to  make  an 
effectual  head.  The  lord  of  the  Isles,  then  in  pos- 
session of  great  part  of  Cantyre,  received  the  fu- 
gitive monarch  and  future  restorer  of  his  country's 
independence,  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaveity,  in  that 
district.  But  treason,  says  Barbour,  was  so  gene- 
ral, that  the  king  durst  not  abide  there.  Accord- 
ingly, with  the  remnant  of  his  followers,  Bruce 
embarked  for  Rath-Erin,  or  Rachrine,  the  Recina 
of  Ptolemy,  a  small  island,  lying  almost  opposite 
to  the  shores  of  Bally  castle,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland. 
The  islanders  at  first  fled  from  their  new  and 
armed  guests,  but  upon  some  explanation  submit- 
ted themselves  to  Bruce 's  sovereignty.  He  resided 
among  them  until  the  approach  of  spring,  (1.306,) 
when  he  again  returned  to  Scotland,  with  the  des- 
perate resolution  to  reconquer  his  kingdom,  or 
perish  in  the  attempt.  The  progress  of  his  suc- 
cess, from  its  commencement  to  its  completion, 
forms  the  brightest  period  in  Scottish  historj'. 
5.  The  Broath  of  Lorn.— P.  257. 
It  has  been  generally  mentioned  in  the  preced- 
ing notes,  that  Robert  Bruce,  after  his  defeat  at 
Methven,  being  hard  pressed  by  the  English,  en- 
deavoured, with  the  dispirited  remnant  of  his  fol- 
lowers, to  escape  from  Breadalbane  and  the  moun- 
tains of  Perthshire  into  the  Argyleshire  highlands. 
But  he  was  encountered  and  repulsed,  after  a  very 
severe  engagement,  by  the  lord  of  Lorn.  Bruce's 
personal  strength  and  courage  were  never  displav- 
ed  to  greater  advantage  than  in  this  contiict.  There 
is  a  tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Mac-Dougals  of 
Lorn,  that  their  chieftain  engaged  in  personal  bat- 
tle with  Bruce  himself,  while  the  latter  was  em- 
ployed in  protecting  the  retreat  of  his  men;  that 
Mac-Dougal  was  struck  down  by  the  king,  whose 
strength  of  body  was  equal  to  his  vigour  of  mind, 
and  would  have  been  slain  on  the  spot,  had  not 
two  of  Lorn's  vassals,  a  father  and  son,  whom 
tradition  terms  Mac-Keoch,  rescued  him,  by  seiz- 
ing the  mantle  of  the  monarch,  and  dragging  him 
from  above  his  adversary.  Bruce  rid  himself  of 
these  foes  by  two  blows  of  his  redoubted  battle- 


axe,  but  was  so  closely  pressed  by  the  other  fol- 
lowers of  Lorn,  that  he  was  forced  to  abandon  the 
mantle,  and  broach  which  fastened  it,  clasped  in 
the  dying  grasp  of  the  Mac-Keochs.  A  studded 
broach,  said  to  have  been  that  which  king  Robert 
lost  upon  this  occasion,  was  long  preserved  in  the 
family  of  Mac-Dougal,  and  was  lost  in  a  fire  which 
consumed  their  temporary  residence. 

The  metrical  history  of  Barbour  throws  an  air 
of  credibility  upon  the  tradition,  although  it  does 
not  entirely  coincide  either  in  the  names  or  num- 
ber of  the  vassals  by  whom  Bruce  was  assailed, 
and  makes  no  mention  of  the  personal  danger  of 
Lorn,  or  of  the  loss  of  Bruce's  mantle.  The  last  cir- 
cumstance, indeed,  might  be  warrantably  omitted. 

According  to  Barbour,  the  king,  with  his  hand- 
ful of  followers,  not  amounting  probably  to  three 
hundred  men,  encountered  Lorn  with  about  a  thou- 
sand Argjleshire  men  in  Glen-Douchart,  at  the 
head  of  Breadalbane,  near  Teyndrum.  The  place 
of  action  is  still  called  Dairy,  or  the  king's  lield. 
The  field  of  b.attle  was  unfavourable  to  Bruce's 
adherents,  who  were  chiefly  men-at-arms.  Many 
of  the  horses  were  slain  by  the  long  pole-axes,  of 
which  the  Argyleshire  Scottish  had  learned  the 
use  from  the  Norwegians.  At  length  Bruce  com- 
manded a  retreat  up  a  narrow  and  difficult  pass, 
he  himself  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  repeatedly 
turning  and  driving  back  the  more  venturous  as- 
sailants. Lorn,  observing  the  skill  and  valour  used 
by  his  enemy  in  protecting  the  retreat  of  his  fol- 
lowers, "  Methinks,  Murthokson,"  said  he,  ad- 
dressing one  of  his  followers,  "  he  resembles  Gol- 
mac-morn,  protecting  his  followers  from  Fingal." 
— A  most  unworthy  comparison,  observes  the  arch- 
deacon of  Aberdeen,  unsuspicious  of  the  future 
fame  of  these  names;  he  might  with  more  proprie- 
ty have  compared  the  king  to  sir  Gaudefer  de 
Larys,  protecting  the  foragers  of  Gadyrs  against 
the  attacks  of  Alexander.*  Two  brothers,  the 
strongest  among  Lorn's  followers,  whose  names 
Barbour  calls  Mackyn-Drosser  (interpreted  Dur- 
ward,  or  Porterson,)  resolved  to  rid  their  chief  of 
this  formidable  foe.  A  third  person  (perhaps  the 
Mac-Keoch  of  the  family  tradition)  associated 
himself  with  them  for  this  purpose.  'I'hey  watched 
their  opportunity  until  Bruce's  party  had  entered 
a  pass  between  a  lake  (Loch-Doch'art  probably) 
and  a  precipice,  where  the  king,  who  was  the  last 
of  the  party,  had  scarce  room  to  manage  his  steed. 
Here  his  three  foes  sprung  upon  him  at  once. 
One  seized  his  bridle,  but  received  a  wound  which 
hewed  off  his  arm;  a  second  grasped  Bruce  by  the 
stirrup  and  leg,  and  endeavoured  to  dismount  "him, 
but  the  king,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  threw 
him  down,  still  holding  by  the  stiiTup.  The  third, 
taking  advantage  of  an  acclivity,  sprung  up  behind 
him  upon  his  horse.  Bruce,  however,  whose  per- 
sonal strength  is  uniformly  mentioned  as  exceed- 
ing that  of  most  men,  extricated  himself  from  his 
grasp,  threw  him  to  the  ground,  and  cleft  his  skull 
with  his  sword.  By  similar  exertion  he  drew  the 
stirrup  from  his  grasp  whom  he  had  overthrown. 


•This  is  a  very  curious  passage,  and  has  been  often 
quoted  in  the  Ossianic  eontrovei-sy.  That  it  refers  to  an- 
cient Celtic  tradition,  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and  as  little 
that  it  refers  to  no  incident  in  the  poems  published  by 
Mr.  Macphersonasfromthe  Gaelic.  I'he  hero  of  romance, 
whom  Barbour  thinks  a  moi-e  proper  prototj  pe  for  the 
Bruce,  occurs  intheromanceof  Alexander,  of  which  there 
is  an  unique  translation  into  Scottish  verse  in  the  library 
of  the  honourable  Mr.  Maule,  of  Pamnure.— See  IVeberU 
Romances,  voL  i.  Appendix  to  Introduction,  p.  Ixsiii. 


294 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


and  killed  hi  in  also  Milh  his  sword  as  he  lay  amou!» 
the  horse's  foot.  The  story  seems  romaolic,  but 
this  was  ihe  age  of  romunlic  exi>loit;  ijiid  it  must 
be  renieiubei-ed  that  Bruce  was  armed  cap-a-pie, 
and  the  assailants  were  half-clad  moiuUaiiieers. 
Harbour  adds  the  foUowinp;  circumstance,  highly 
characteristic  of  the  sentiments  of  chivalry.  Mac- 
Naughton,  a  baron  of  Cowal,  pointed  out  to  the 
lord  of  Lorn  tlie  deeds  of  valour  which  Ih'uce  per- 
formed in  this  memorable  retreat,  with  the  hioh- 
est  expressions  of  admiration.  "  It  seems  to  give 
thee  pleasure,"  said  Lorn,  "that  he  makes  such 
havoc  among  our  friends." — "  Not  so,  by  my  faith," 
replied  .Mac-Naughton;  "  but  be  he  friend  or  foe 
Mho  achieves  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  men  should 
hear  faitid'ul  witness  to  his  valour;  and  never  have 
1  heard  of  one,  who,  by  his  knightly  feats,  has  ex- 
tricated himself  from  such  dangers  as  have  this  day 
surrounded  Bruce." 

6.  Wi-oii)jln  and  chiised  with  rare  device. 
Studded  fair  with  gx;ms  of  price.— P.  257. 

Great  art  and  expense  was  bestowed  upon  the 
Jibuhi,  or  broach,  which  secured  the  plaid,  when 
the  wearer  was  a  person  of  importance.  Martin 
mentions  having  seen  a  silver  broach  of  an  hundred 
marks  value. 

"  It  was  broad  as  any  ordinary  pewter  plate,  the 
whole  curiously  engraven  with  various  animals,  &c. 
There  was  a  lesser  buckle,  which  was  more  in  the 
middle  of  the  larger,  and  above  two  ounces  weight; 
it  had  in  the  centre  a  large  piece  of  crystal,  or  some 
finer  stone,  and  this  was  set  all  round  with  several 
finer  stones  of  a  lesser  size." — Western  hlamls. 

Pennant  has  given  an  engr.aving  of  such  a  broach 
as  Martin  describes,  and  theworkmansbipof -ivhich 
is  very  elegant.  It  is  said  to  have  belonged  to  the 
family  of  tochbuy.— See  Pbunakt's  Tour,  vol. 
iii,  p.  14. 

7.  Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand, 

Vain  tlie  Carapbeirs  vaunted  hand.— P.  257. 
The  gallant  sir  James,  called  the  good  lord 
Douglas,  the  most  faithful  and  valiant  of  Bruce's 
adherents,  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Dalrj'. 
Sir  Nigel,  or  Nicl  Campbell,  was  also  in  that  un- 
fortunate skirmish.  He  married  Marjorie,  sister 
to  Robert  Bruce,  and  was  among  his  most  faithful 
followers.  In  a  manuscript  account  of  the  house 
of  Argyle,  supplied,  it  would  seem,  as  materials 
for  archbishop  Spottiswoode's  History  of  the 
Church  of  Scotland,  1  find  the  following  passage 
concerning  sir  Niel  Campbell: — "  Moreover,  when 
all  the  noiiles  in  Scotland  had  left  king  Robert  af- 
ter his  hard  success,  yet  this  noble  knight  was 
most  faithful,  and  shrinked  not,  as  it  is  to  be  seen 
in  an  indenture  bearing  these  words: — '  Memoran- 
dum quod  cum  ab  incarnatione  Domini  130S  con- 
ventuiu  fuit  rt  concordatum  inter  nobiles  viros 
Dorainum  Alexandrum  de  Seatoun  militem  et  Do- 
minum  Cilbertum  de  Haye  militem  et  Dominum 
Nigellum  Campbell  militem  apud  monasterium  de 
Cambuskennelh  9"  Septembris  qui  tacta  sancta 
eucharista,  magnoque  juraniento  facto,  jurarunt  se 
debere  libertatem  regni  et  llobcrtum  nuper  regem 
coronatum  contra  omnes  nujrtalcs,  Francos,  An- 
glos, Scotos,  defendere  usque  ad  nltimum  terini- 
num  vitai  ipsorum.'  Their  seales  are  appended  to 
the  indenture  in  greeue  wax,  togilhir  willi  the  s(  :d 
of  Gulfrid,  abbot  of  Cambuskenneth." 

R.  Vain  Kirkpatrick's  Woody  dirk, 

Making  sure  of  murdi  r"s  work.-  P.  257. 

Every  reader  must  recollect  that  tiie  proximate 


cause  of  Bruce's  asserting  his  rigiit  to  tiie  crown 
of  Scotland,  was  the  death  of  John,  called  the  Red 
Comyn.  The  cause  of  this  act  of  violence,  equally 
extraordinary  from  the  high  rank  both  of  the  per- 
petrator and  sufterer,  aiul  from  the  place  where 
the  slaughter  was  conmiitted,  are  variously  relat- 
ed by  the  Scottish  and  English  historians,  and  can- 
not now  be  ascertained.  The  fact  that  they  met  at 
the  high  altar  of  the  Minorites  or  Crey-Friars' 
church  in  Dumfries,  that  their  difierence  broke 
out  into  high  and  insulting  language,  and  that 
Bruce  drew  his  dagger  and  stabbed  Comyn,  is  cer- 
tain. Rushing  to  tiie  door  of  the  church,  Bruce 
met  two  powerful  barons,  Kirkpatrick  of  Close- 
burn,  and  .lames  de  Lindsaj',  who  eagerly  asked 
him  what  tidings?  "  Bad  tidings,"  answered  Bruce, 
"  1  doubt  I  have  slain  Comyn."  "  Doubtest  tliou '" 
said  Kirkpatrick;  "I  make  sicker,"  (  /.  e.)  sure. 
With  these  words,  he  and  Lindsay  rushed  into  the 
church,  and  despatched  the  wounded  Comyn.  The 
Kirkpatricks  of  Closeburn  assumed,  in  memory 
of  this  deed,  a  hand  holding  a  dagger,  with  the 
memorable  words,  "I  make  sicker."  Some  doubt 
having  been  started  by  the  late  lord  Ilailes  as  to 
the  identity  of  the  Kirkpatrick,  who  completed 
this  day's  work,  with  sir  Roger,  then  representa- 
tive of  the  ancient  fomily  of  Closeburn,  my  kind 
and  ingenious  friend,  Air.  Charles  Kirkpatrick 
Sliarpe,  has  furnished  me  with  the  following  me- 
morandum, which  appears  to  fix  the  deed  with  his 
ancestor: — 

"  The  circumstances  of  the  regent  Cummin's 
murder,  from  which  the  family  of  Kirkpatrick,  in 
Nithsdale,  is  said  to  have  derived  its  crest  and 
motto,  ai-e  well  known  to  all  convei-sant  with  Scot- 
tish  history;  but  lord  Hailes  has  started  a  doubt 
as  to  the  authenticity  of  this  tradition,  when  re- 
cording the  murder  of  Roger  Kirkpati'ick,  in  his 
own  castle  of  CaerlaA  erock,  by  sir  James  Lindsay. 
'  Fordun,'  says  his  lordship,  'remarks  that  Lind- 
say and  Kirkpatrick  were  the  heirs  of  the  two  men 
who  accompanied  Robert  Brus  at  the  fatal  confe- 
rence with  Comyn.  If  Fordun  was  rightly  inform- 
ed as  to  this  particidar,  an  argument  arises  in  sup- 
port of  a  notion  which  I  have  long  entertained, 
that  the  person  who  struck  his  dagger  in  Comyn's 
heart  was  not  the  representative  of  the  honourable 
family  of  Kirkpatrick,  in  Nithsdale.  Roger  de  K, 
was  made  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Durham,  in 
1346.  Roger  de  Kirkpatrick  was  alive  on  the  6th 
of  August,  1357,  for,  on  that  day,  Humphry,  the 
son  and  heir  of  Roger  de  K.  is  proposed  as  one  of 
the  young  gentlemen  who  were  to  be  hostages  for 
David  Bruce.  Roger  de  K.  Miles  was  present  at 
the  parliament  held  at  Edinburgh,  2Dth  Septem- 
ber, 1357;  and  he  is  mentioned  as  alive  3d  Octo- 
ber, 1357;  [Fccdera;)  it  follows,  of  necessary  con- 
sequence, that  Roger  de  K.  murdered  in  June, 
1357,  must  have  been  a  difierent  person.' — Annals 
of  Scotland,  vol.  ii,  p.  24'2. 

'  To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  at  the  period  of 
the  regent's  murder,  there  were  only  iu-o  families 
of  the  name  of  Kirkpatrick  (nearly  allied  to  each 
other)  in  existence — Stephen  Kirkpatrick  styled 
n  the  Chartulai-)'  of  Kelso  (1278,)  Dominus  villx 
le  CloKbvrn,  fiiitts  et  hicres  jtomhd  Ade  de  Kirk- 
patrirt,  JMiUtis  (whose  father,  Ivone  de  Kirkpa- 
trick, witnesses  a  charter  of  Robert  Brus,  lord  of 
Annandale,  before  the  year  1141,)  had  two  sons,  sir 
Roger,  who  carried  on  the  line  of  Closeburn,  and 
Duncan,  who  married  Isobel,  daughter  and  heiress 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


295 


ofsir  David  Torthorwaldofthat  ilk;  they  had  a  char-  among  the  small  number  of  Bruce's  adherents, 
ter  of  the  lands  of  Torthorwald  from  king  Robert  |  who  remained  in  arms  with  him  after  the  battle  of 
Brus,  dated  the  10th  August,  the  year  being  omit-  Melhven. 
ted — Umphray,  the  son  of  Duncan  and  Isobel,  got 
a  charter  of  Torthorwald  from  the  king,  16th  July, 
13'2'2 — his  son,  Roger  of  Torthorwald,  got  a  charter 


from  John  the  Cirahame,  son  of  sir  John  Grahame 
of  Mosskessen,  of  an  annual  rent  of  40  shillings, 
out  of  the  lands  of  Overdr}-ft,  1355 — his  son,  Wil 


"  With  him  was  a  bold  baron, 
Schyr  William  the  Baroundoun, 

Schyr  Gilbert  de  la  Haye  alsua." 


There  were  more  than  one  of  the  noble  family  of 


liam  Kirkpatrick,  grants  a  charter  to  John  of  Hay  engaged  in  Bruce's  cause;  but  the  principal 
Garroch,  of  the  twa  merk  land  of  Glengip  and  ^*as  Gilbert  de  la  Haye,  lord  of  Errol,  a  staunch 
Garvellgill,  within  the  tenement  of  Wamphray,  adlierent  to  king  Robert's  interest,  and  whom  he 
22d  April,  13r2.  From  this,  it  appears  that  the  [rewarded  by  creating  him  hereditary  lord  high 
Torthorwald  branch  was  not  concerned  in  the  affair  i  constable  of  Scotland,  a  title  which  he  used  16th 
of  Comyn's  murder,  and  the  inflictions  of  Provi-  |  March,  1308,  where,  in  a  letter  from  the  peers  of 
dence  which  ensued;  Duncan  Kirkpatrick,  if  we  I  Scotland  to  Philip  the  Fair  of  France,  he  is  design- 
are  to  believe  the  blind  minstrel,  was  the  firm   ed  Gilbevtus  de  Nai/,  C'onstabiilarhis  Scotiss.    He 

^vas  slain  at  the  battle  of  Halidon-hill.  Hugh  de 
la  Haye,  his  brother,  was  made  prisoner  at  the 
battle  of  Methven, 


friend  of  Wallace,  to  whom  he  was  related. 
("  Kirkpatrick,  that  cnifl  was  and  kepie, 
In  Esdaill  wod  that  half  zer  he  had  bci-n; 
With  Inglismen  he  couth  nocht  « till  accord, 
Of  Torthorwald  he  barou  was  and  lord, 
Of  kjTi  he  was  to  Wallace  modyr  ner,'")  &c. 

But  this  baron  seems  to  have  had  no  share  in  the 


10.  Well  hast  thou  framed,  old  man,  thy  strains, 
To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains.— P.  257. 


adventures  of  king  Robert;  the  crest  of  his  family,  I  ^^f  character  of  the  highland  bards,  however 
as  it  still  remains  on  a  carved  stone  built  into  a  i  "'S^  '"  »"  earlier  period  ot  society,  seems  soon 
cottage  wall,  in  the  village  of  Torthorwald,  bears  j  *°  ."'*J'':  regenerated.  The  Irish  affirm,  that  in 
some  resemblance,  savs  (Grose,  to  a  rose.  '"'^'^  kinth-ed  tribes  severe  laws  became  necessary 

«  Universal  tradition,  and  all  our  later  bistort-  j  *°  restrain   their  avarice.    In  the  highlands  they 
ans,  have  attributed  the  regent's  death-blow  to  sir   ^^^^  gradually  to   have  sunk   into  contempt,  as 


lloger  K.  of  Closeburn.  The  author  of  the  MS. 
History  of  the  Presbytery  of  Penpont,  in  the  Ad- 
vocates' Library,  affirms,  that  the  crest  and  motto 
were  given  by  the  king  on  that  occasion;  and  pro- 
ceeds to  relate  some  circumstances  respecting  a 
grant  to  a  cottager  and  his  wife  in  the  vicinity  of 
Closeburn  castle,  which  are  certainlv  authentic 


well  as  the  orators,  or  men  of  speech,  with  whose 
office  that  of  family  poet  was  often  united. 

"The  orators,  in  their  language  called  Isdane, 
were  in  high  esteem  both  in  these  islands  and  the 
continent;  until  within  these  forty  years,  they  sat 
always  among  the  nobles  and  chiefs  of  families  in 
the  streah,  or  circle.    Their  houses  and  little  vil- 


and  strongly  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  other  report.  ^^S^^''Y'^,^»"'=tuaries,  as  well  as  churches,  and 
"  '  The  steep  hill,  (savs  he,)  called  the  Dune  of  ^^"^^  ^°.?^  ^^^^^  httiove  doctors  of  physic.  The  ora- 
Tvnron,  of  a  considerable  height,  upon  the  top  of  ?°''^'  '*"*^''  ^"^  armAs  were  extinct,  were  brought 
which  there  hath  been  some  habitation  or  fort.    *"  *°  preserve  the  genealogy  ot  lamihes,  and  to 
There  have  been  in  ancient  times,  on  all  hands  of  ""^P*^^*  V^^  ®^™*^  ^^  ^""'^^  succession  of  chiefs;  and 
it,  verv  thick  woods,  and  gre:tt  about  that  place,   "I'°"  ^"*:  occasion  of  marriages  and  births,  they 
which'made  it  the  more  inaccessible,  into  which  ™'"''^  epithalamiums  and  panegyrics,  which  the 
K.   Ro.   Bruce  is  said  to  have  been  conducted  bv  Y°'^^  "r  u  ■      ,P'"onounced.    The  orators,  by  the 
Roger  Kirkpatrick  of  Closeburn,  after  thev  hail  ^^"^"'^  f  ^'>^""  eloquence,  had  a  powerful  ascendant 
killed  the  Cumin  at  Dumfries,  which  is  nine  miles  over  t  tie  greatest  men  in  their  time;  tor  if  any  ora- 
from  this  place,  whereabout  it  is  probable  that  he  \°r  ''"    °"^  ask  the  habit,  arras,  horse,  or  any  other 
did  abide  for  sometime  thereafter;  and  it  is  re-   J'""S  belonging  to  the  greatest  men  in  these  is- 
ported,  that,  during  his  abode  there,- he  did  often   '""'^^'  "  "'^^  readily  granted  them,  sometimes  out 
divert  to  a  poor  man's  cottage,  named  Brownrig,    ^\  aspect,  and  sometimes  for  fear  ot  being  ex- 
situate  in  a  small  parcel  of  stone y  ground,  incom-  claimed  against  by  a  satire,  which,  lu  those  days, 
passed  with  thick  woods,  where  he  was  content  '!^^  reckoned  a  great  dishonour.     But  these  gen- 
somelimes  with  such  mean  accommodation  as  the  Clemen,  becoming  msolent,  lost  ever  since  both  the 
place  could  afford.    The  poor  man's  wife  being  I'^'"'^'  ^"^  ^^eem  which  was  formerly  due  to  their 
advised  to  petition  the  king  for  somewhat,  was  so   character;  tor  neither  their  panegyrics  nor  satires 
modest  in  her  desires,  that  she  sought  no  more   "'"''  regarded  to  what  they  have  been,  and  they  are 
but  security  for  the  croft  in  her  husband's  posses-   "°'''  flowed  but  a  small  salary.    I  must  not  omit 
sion,and  a'liberty  of  pasturage  for  a  very  few  cat-   \°  ''^J^f^  ^^eir  way  of  study,  which  is  very  singu- 
Ue  of  different  k'inds  on  the  hill,  and  the  rest  of  '?^=    1  hey  shut  their  doors  and  windows  for  a  day's 
the  bounds.   Of  which  privilege  that  ancient  family,  '"V,*^'  ^"''  ,'"^.°"  ^^f »'  ^^'r''^'  ''\'""  ^  ^'°"^  "P°"  ^'^^'^^ 
by  the  injury  of  time,  hath  a  long  time  been,  and   r"'"'  ''"''  P'ads  ^bout  their  heads,  and  their  eyes 
is  deprived:  but  the  croft  continues  in  the  posses-   ^'e'Mg  covered,  they  pump  their  brains  tor  rheto- 
sion  of  the  heirs  and  successors  lineally  descend-   "cal  encomium,   or  panegyric;  and  indeed  they 
ed  of  this  Brownrig  and  his  wife:  so  tiiat'his  familv,   'u™'sh  such  a  style  from  this  dark  cell,  as  is  uu- 
being  more  ancient  than  rich,  doth  vet  continue   derstood  by  very   ew:  and  if  they  purchase  a  cou- 
in  the  name,  and,  as  they  sav,  retains  t'he  old  char-   ^}^  of  horses  as  the  reward  of  their  meditation, 
ter.'  "—MS.  Historij  of't/ie  PvesbitttrijofFenpoiU,   ^^^y  '^'"'^  '^ey  have  done  a  great  matter.    The 
in  the  Advocates'  Libmry  of  Ebinburgh.  ;  Poet,  or  bard,  had  a  title  to  the  bridegroom's  up- 

''  per  garb,  that  is,  the  plad  and  bonnet;  but  now 

I  he  is  satisfyed  with  what  the  bridegroom  pleases 
1  to  give  him  on  such  occasions." — Mahtis's  Wea- 
These    knights    are  enumerated    by   Barbcur  ^  tern  Jales. 


9.  Barendown  fled  fast  away. 
Fled  the  fiery  de  la  Haye.— P.  257. 


21 


296 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


11.  Wa.i'l  not  enouch  to  Hoimlil's  bower 

1  brouglii  tlur,  like  a  paramour.— P.  259. 

It  was  ancienllv  customary  in  the  hij^hlands  to 
bring  llie  bride  to  the  house"  otlhe  husband.  Nay, 
ill  some  cases,  llie  complaisance  was  stretched  so 
far,  that  she  remained  tiiere  ui)on  trial  tor  a  twelve- 
monlii;  and  the  bridegroom,  even  after  this  period 
of  coliabitalion,  retained  an  option  of  refusing  to 
fulfil  his  ensjagemenl.  It  is  said  that  a  desperate 
feud  ensueii  between  the  clans  of  Mac-Donald  of 
Slcate  and  Mac-Leod,  owing  to  the  former  chief 
haviug  availed  himself  of  this  license  to  send  back 
to  DuUvegan,  a  sister,  or  daughter,  of  the  latter. 
Mac-Leod,  resenting  the  indignity,  observed,  that 
since  there  was  no  wedding  bonfire,  there  should 
be  one  to  solemnize  the  divorce.  Accordingly, 
be  burned  and  laid  waste  the  territories  of  Mac- 
Donald,  who  retaliated,  and  a  deadly  feud,  with 
all  its  accompaniments,  took  place  in  form. 

12.  Since  matchless  WalLiee  first  had  been 

111  mock'ry  crowned  with  wreaths  of  green.— P.  259. 

Stowe  gives  the  following  curious  account  of  the 
trial  and  execution  of  this  celebrated  patriot:  — 
"  William  Wallace,  who  had  oft-times  set  Scot- 
land in  great  trouble,  was  taken  and  brought  to 
London,  with  great  numbers  of  men  and  women 
wondering  upon  him.  He  was  lodged  in  the  house 
of  William  Delect,  a  citizen  of  London,  in  Fen- 
church-street.  On  the  morrow,  being  the  eve  of 
St.  Bartholomew,  he  was  brought  on  horseback  to 
Westminster.  John  Legrave  and  Geffrey,  knights, 
the  mayor,  sheriffs,  and  aldermen  of  London,  and 
many  others,  both  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  accom- 
panying him;  and  in  the  great  hall  at  Westminster, 
he  being  placed  on  the  south  bench,  crowned  w  ilh 
laurel,  for  that  he  had  said  in  times  past  that  he 
ought  to  bear  a  crown  in  that  hall,  as  it  was  com- 
monly reported:  and  being  appeached  for  a  traitor 
by  sir  Peter  Malorie,  the  king's  justice,  he  an- 
swered, that  he  was  never  traitor  to  the  king  of 
England;  but  for  other  things  whereof  he  was  ac- 
cused, he  confessed  them;  and  was  after  headed 
and  quartered." — Stowe,   Chr.  p.  209. 

There  is  something  singularly  doubtful  about 
the  mode  in  which  Wallace  was  taken.  That  he 
was  betrayed  to  the  English  is  indubitable;  and 
popular  fame  charges  sir  John  Menteith  with  the 
indelible  infamy.  "  Accursed,"  says  Arnold  Blair, 
"  be  the  day  of  nativity  of  John  de  Menteith,  and 
may  his  name  be  struck  out  of  the  book  of  life." 
But  John  de  Menteith  was  all  along  a  zealous  fa- 
vourer of  the  English  interest,  and  was  governor 
of  Dumbarton  castle  by  commission  from  Edward 
the  first;  and  therefore,  as  the  accurate  lord  Hailes 
has  observed,  could  not  be  the  friend  and  confidant 
of  Wallace,  as  tradition  states  him  to  be.  The 
truth  seems  to  be,  that  Menteith,  thoroughly  en- 
gaged in  the  English  interest,  pursued  Wallace 
closely,  and  made  him  prisoner  through  the  trea- 
chery of  an  attendant,  whom  Peter  Langtoft  calls 
Jack  Short. 

William  Waleis  is  nomen  that  master  was  of  thevos. 
Tiding  to  the  king  is  comtn  that  robbery  luischtivs, 
Sir  John  of  Menttcsl  sued  William  so  Iiis'ii 
He  tok  him  when  he  weened  Itast,  on  uiglit,  his  leman  him 

bv, 
That  was  through  treason  of  Jack  Short  his  man. 
He  was  the  cnchiso..  tliat  sir  John  so  him  ran, 
Jack's  brollur  had  hi'  slain,  the  Walieis  tliat  is  .said. 
The  more  Jack  was  fain  to  do  William  that  braid. 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  infamy  of 
jiezing  Wallace  must  leol  between  a  degenerate 


Scottish  nobleman,  the  vassal  of  England,  and  a 
domestic,  the  obsciu'c  agent  of  his  treachery;  be- 
tween sir  John  Menteith,  son  of  Walter,  earl  ot 
Menteith,  and  the  traitor  Jack  Short. 

13.  Where's  Nigel  Bruce?  and  De  la  Haye, 
And  valiant  Seton — where  are  they? 
Where  Somervillr,  the  kind  and  free? 
And  Fiaser,  flower  of  chivalry? — P.  259. 

When  these  lines  were  written,  the  author  was 
remote  from  the  means  of  correcting  his  indistinct 
recollection  concerning  the  individual  fate  of 
Bruce's  followers,  after  the  battle  of  Methven. 
Hugh  de  la  Haye  and  Thomas  Somcrville  of  Lin- 
toun  and  Cowdally,  ancestor  of  lord  Somerville, 
were  both  made  [irisoners  at  that  defeat,  but  nei- 
ther was  executed. 

Sir  Xi;^el  Bruce  was  the  younger  brother  of  Ro- 
bert, to  whom  he  committed  the  charge  of  his 
wife  and  daughter,  Marjorie,  and  the  defence  of 
his  strong  castle  of  Kildrummie,  near  the  head  of 
the  Don,  in  Aberdeenshire.  Kildrummie  long  re- 
sisted the  arms  of  the  earls  of  Lancaster  and  Here- 
ford, until  the  magazine  was  treacherously  burnt. 
The  garrison  was  then  compelled  to  surrender  at 
discretion,  and  Nigel  Bruce,  a  youth  remarkable 
for  personal  beauty,  as  well  as  for  gallantry,  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  unrelenting  Edward.  He  was 
tried  by  a  special  commission  at  Berwick,  was 
condemned,  and  executed. 

Christopher  Seatoun  shared  the  same  unfortu- 
nate fate.  He  also  was  distinguished  by  personal 
valour,  and  signalized  himself  in  the  fatal  battle  of 
Mctiiven.  Robert  Bruce  adventured  his  person  in 
that  battle  like  a  knight  of  romance.  He  dismount- 
ed Aymer  de  Valence,  earl  of  Pembroke,  but  was 
in  his  turn  dismounted  by  sir  Philip  Mowbray. 
In  this  emergence  Seatoun  came  to  his  aid,  and 
remounted  him.  Langtoft  mentions,  that  in  this 
battle  the  Scottish  wore  white  surplices,  or  shirts, 
over  their  armour,  that  those  of  rank  miglit  not 
be  known.  In  this  manner  both  Bruce  and  Sea- 
toun escaped.  But  the  latter  was  afterwards  be- 
trayed to  the  English,  througli  means,  according 
to  Barbour,  of  one  Mac-Nab,  "a  disciple  of  Ju- 
das," in  whom  the  unfortunate  knight  reposed 
entire  confidence.  There  was  some  peculiarity 
respecting  his  punishment;  because,  according  to 
Matthew  of  Westminster,  he  was  considered  not 
as  a  Scottish  subject,  but  an  Englishman.  He  was 
therefore  taken  to  Dumfries,  where  he  was  tried, 
condemned,  and  executed,  for  the  murder  of  a 
soldier  slain  by  him.  His  brother,  John  de  Seton, 
had  the  same  fate  at  Newcastle:  both  were  con- 
sidered as  accomplices  in  the  slaughter  of  Comyn, 
but  in  what  manner  they  were  particularly  acces- 
sary to  that  deed  does  not  appear. 

The  fate  of  sir  Simon  Eraser,  or  Frizel,  ances- 
tor of  the  family  of  Lovat,  is  dwelt  upon  at  great 
length,  and  with  savage  exultation,  by  the  English 
historians.  This  knight,  who  was  renowned  for 
personal  gallantry  and  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  was 
also  made  prisoner,  after  a  gallant  defence,  in  the 
battle  of  Methven.  Some  stanzas  of  a  ballad  of 
the  times,  which,  for  the  sake  of  rendering  it  in- 
telligible, 1  have  translated  out  of  its  rude  ortho- 
graphy, give  minute  particulars  of  his  fate.  It  was 
wrilleu  immediately  at  the  period,  for  it  mentions 
the  earl  of  Athole  as  not  yet  in  custody.  It  was 
first  published  by  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Ritson, 
but  with  80  many  contractions  and  peculiarities  of 
character,  as  to  render  it  illegible,  excepting  bj 
antiquaries. 


THE  LORD  OF   THE  ISLES. 


297 


This  was  before  saint  Bartholomew's  mass, 
That  Frizel  was  y-taken,  were  it  more  other  less, 
To  sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  gtriitil  baron  aiid  free, 
And  to  sir  John  Jose  be-take  tho  was  he 
To  hand, 
He  was  y-fettered  wele 
Both  with  iron  and  steel 

To  bringen  to  Scotland. 

Soon  after  the  tiding  to  the  king;  come, 
He  sent  him  to  London,  with  mony  armed  (rroom. 
He  came  in  at  Newgate,  I  tell  you  it  on  a-plighl, 
A  garland  of  leaves  on  his  head  y-dight 
Of  green. 
For  he  should  be  y-know 
Both  of  high  and  of  low. 

For  the  traitour  I  ween. 

T-fettered  were  his  legs  under  his  horses  wombe. 
Both  witli  iron  and  with  steel  mancled  were  his  nond, 
A  garland  of  pervink*  set  up  his  hLVed,+ 
Much  was  the  power  that  him  was  bereved. 
In  land. 
So  God  rae  amend, 
Little  he  wecn'd 

So  to  be  brought  in  hand. 
This  was  upon  our  lady's  even,  forsooth  I  understand. 
The  justices  sate  for  the  knights  of  Scotland, 
Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  an  kinde  knyght  and  wise. 
And  sir  Ralph  of  Sandwich  that  mickle  is  hold  in  price, 
And  sir  John  Abel, 
Moe  I  might  tell  by  tale 
Both  of  great  and  small 

Ye  know  sooth  well. 
Then  said  the  justice,  that  gentil  is  and  free. 
Sir  Simond  Frizel  the  king's  traiter  hast  thou  be; 
In  water  and  in  land  that  mouy  niigliten  see. 
What  sayst  thou  thereto  how  will  thou  quite  be, 
Do  say. 
So  foul  he  him  wist, 
Nede  war  on  trust 

For  to  say  nay. 

With  fetters  and  with  ginsj  y-hot  he  was  to  draw 
From  the  tower  of  London  that  many  men  might  know. 
In  a  kirtle  of  Burel^  a  selcouth  wise. 
And  a  garland  in  his  head  of  the  new  guise. 
Through  Cheape. 
Many  men  of  England 
For  to  see  Symoiid 

Thitherward  can  leap. 

Though  he  cam  to  the  gallows  first  he  was  on  hung, 
All  quick  beheaded  that  him  thought  long; 
Then  he  was  j -opened,  his  bowels  y-breiid,} 
The  heved  to  London-bridge  «  as  send 
To  shende. 
So  evermore  mote  I  the, 
Some  while  weened  he 

Thus  little  to  stand.|i 

He  rideth  through  the  city,  as  I  tell  may. 
With  garaen  and  with  solace  that  was  tlieir  play, 
To  London-bridge  he  took  the  way, 
Mony  was  the  wives  child  that  thereon  laclCeth-a-day,^ 
And  said,  alasl 

That  he  was  y-bom 

And  so  vilely  forlorn 

So  fair  man  he  was.** 

Now  standeth  the  heved  above  the  tu-brigge, 
Fast  by  Wallace  sooth  for  to  segge; 
After  succour  of  Scotland  long  may  he  pry. 
And  after  help  of  France  what  halt  it  to  lie, 
I  ween. 
Better  him  were  in  Scotland, 
With  his  axe  in  his  hand. 

To  play  on  the  green,  &c. 

The  preceding  stanzas  contain  probably  as  mi- 
nute an  account  as  can  be  found,  of  the  trial  and 
execution  of  state  criminals  of  the  period.  Super- 
stition mingled  its  horrors  with  those  of  a  ferocious 

•  Periw  inckle.  t  Head. 

}  He  was  condenun-d  to  be  drawn.  J  Burned. 

H  Meaning  at  one  time  he  little  thought  to  stand  thus. 

^  Saith  laek-a-day. 

*•  The  gallant  knight,  like  others  in  the  same  situation, 
■was  pitied  by  the  female  spectators,  as  "  a  proper  young 
man." 


state  policy,  as  appears  from  the  following  singu- 
lar narrative. 

"  The  Friday  next,  before  the  assumption  of  our 
lad)-,  king  Edward  met  Robert  the  Bruce  at 
saint  Johiistoune,  in  Scotland,  and  with  his  com- 
pany, of  which  company  king  Edward  quelde  se- 
ven thousand.  When  Robert  the  Bruce  saw  this 
mischief,  and  gan  to  flee,  and  hov'd  him  that  men 
might  not  him  find ;  but  S.  Simond  Frisell  pursued 
was  so  sore,  so  tliat  he  turned  again  and  abode  ba- 
taille,  for  he  was  a  worthy  knight  and  a  bolde  of 
bodye,  and  the  Englishmen  pursuede  him  sore  on 
every  side  and  quelde  the  steed  that  sir  Simond 
Frisell  rode  upon,  and  tlien  loke  him  and  led  him 
to  the  host.  And  S.  Symond  began  for  to  flatter 
and  speke  fair,  and  saide,  lordys,  I  shall  give  you 
four  thousand  niarkes  of  silver,  and  myne  horse 
and  harness,  and  all  niv  armoure  and  income. 
Tho' answered  Thobaude  of  Pevenes,  that  was  the 
kinges  arclier.  Now,  God  me  so  helpe,  it  is  for 
nought  that  thou  s]ieakest,  for  all  the  gold  of  En- 
gland 1  would  not  let  thee  go  without  command- 
ment of  king  Edward.  And  tho'  he  «  as  led  to  the 
king,  and  the  king  would  not  see  him,  but  com- 
manded to  Ifad  him  awav  to  his  doom  in  London, 
on  our  lady's  even  nativity.  And  he  was  hung  and 
drawn,  and  his  head  smitten  off,  and  hanged  again 
with  chains  of  iron  upon  the  gallows,  anil  his  head 
was  set  at  London-bridge  upon  a  spear,  and  against 
Christmas  the  body  was  burnt,  for  encheson  (rea- 
sonj  that  the  men  that  keeped  the  body  saw  many 
devils  ramping  with  iron  crooks,  running  upon  the 
gallows,  and  horribly  tormenting  the  body.  And 
many  that  them  saw,  anon  thereatler  died  for  dread, 
or  waxen  mad,  or  sore  sickness  they  had." — J\IS. 
Chronicle  in  tJie  British  ^Museum  quoted  by  Rit- 
son. 

14.  Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed, 

To  sooth  the  tyrant's  sickened  bed?— P.  259. 

John  de  Strathbogie,  earl  of  Athole,  had  attempt- 
ed to  escape  out  of  the  kingdom,  but  a  storm  cast 
him  upon  the  coast,  when  he  was  taken,  sent  to 
London,  and  executed,  with  circumstances  of  great 
barbarity,  being  first  half  strangled,  then  let  down 
from  the  gallows  while  yet  alive,  barbarously  dis- 
membered, and  his  body  burned,  it  may  surprise 
tlie  reader  to  learn,  that  this  was  a  mitiffated  pun- 
ishment; for,  in  respect  thai  his  mother  was  a 
grand-daughter  of  king  John,  b)'  his  natural  son 
Richard,  he  w  as  not  draw  n  on  a  sledge  to  execu- 
tion, "  that  point  was  forgiven,"  and  he  made  the 
passage  on  horseback.  ^latthew  of  Westminster 
tells  us  that  king  Edward,  then  extremely  ill,  re- 
ceived great  ease  from  the  news  that  his  relative 
was  apprehended.  "  Quo  umlito,  RexAngUx,etsi 
gravissimo  morbo  time  lang-iierit,  levins  tanien  tulit 
dolorem. "  To  this  singular  expression  the  text  al- 
ludes. 

15.  And  must  his  word,  at  dying  day, 

Be  nought  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay.'— P.  259. 

TIlis  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Barbour,  singularly 
ex\)ressive  of  tlie  vindictive  spirit  of  Edward  i. 
The  prisoners  taken  at  the  castle  of  Kildrummie 
had  surrendered  upon  condition  that  they  should 
be  at  king  Edward's  disposal.  "  But  his  will," 
says  Barbour,  "  was  always  evil  towards  Scottish- 
men."  The  news  of  the  surrender  of  Kildrummie 
arrived  when  he  was  in  his  mortal  sickness  at 
Burgh-upon-Sands. 

"  .\nd  when  he  to  the  death  was  near, 
The  folk  that  at  Kyldromy  wer 


298 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Come  wiih  prisoners  ihat  Oiey  had  taiic, 
Ami  svne  to  tlit-  kiii^  an'  gaiie. 
And  (iirXQ  tumlbrt  him  Uiey  tauUl 
How  they  the  rastell  to  them  yaiilil; 
And  how  tliey  till  his  will  were  brought, 
To  do  offtlial  whatever  he  thoiiRht, 
And  ask'd  wliat  men  should  oH"tliera  do. 
Then  look'd  he  ani^nlv  'h^'ra  »"^ 
He  said,  grinninp;,  '  Hangs  and  draws.'' 
That  was  wonder  of  sic  saws. 
That  lie,  that  to  the  death  was  near, 
Should  answer  i\\  on  sic  manner; 
Foioiiii  II  iiKiaiiiiip  and  mercy. 
How  niiijlit  lie  trust  on  him  to  ei"y. 
That  south-lastly  dmims  all  things 
To  have  mercy  for  his  citing. 
Oft' him  tliat  through  his  felony, 
Into  sic  point  had  no  mercy?" 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  Leonine*  couplet, 
with  wliich  Matthew  of  Westminster  concludes 
his  encomium  on  the  first  Edward: 

"Scotos  Edwardus,  dum  vixit,  suppeditavit, 
Teiiuit,  afflixit,  depressit,  dilaniavil."— 

16.  By  Woden  wild,  (my  grandsire's  oath.)— P.  259. 

The  Mac-Leods,  and  most  other  distinguished 
Hebridean  families,  were  of  Scandinavian  extrac- 
tion, and  some  were  late  or  imperfect  converts  to 
Christianity.  The  family  names  of  Torquil,  Thor- 
mod,  &c.  are  all  Norwegian. 

17.  While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance, 
And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance. 

In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance.— P.  260. 
Bruce  uniformly  professed,  and  probably  felt, 
compunction  for  having  violated  the  sanctuary  ol 
the  chiu-ch  by  the  slaughter  of  Comyn;  and  final- 
ly, in  his  last  hours,  in  testimony  of  his  faith,  peni- 
tence, and  zeal,  he  requested  James  lord  Douglas 
to  carry  his  heart  to  Jerusalem,  to  be  there  depo- 
sited in  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

18.  De  Bruce!   I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head.— P.  260. 
So  soon  as  the  notice  of  Comyn's  slaughter 
reached  Rome,  Bruce  and  his  adherents  were  ex- 
comrnumcated.  It  was  published  first  by  the  arch- 
bishop of  York,  and  renewed  at  different  times, 
particidarly  by  Lambyrton,bishop  of  St.  Andrew's 
ill  1308:  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have  answered 
the  purpose  which  the  English  monarch  expected. 
Indeed,  for  reasons  which  it  may  be  ditticult  to 
trace  the  thunders  of  Rome  descended  upon  the 
Scottish  mountains  with  less  effect  than  in  more 
fertile  countries.  Probably  the  comparative  po- 
verty of  the  benefices  occasioned  that  fewer  foreign 
clei-y  settled  in  Scotland;  and  the  interest  of  the 
native  cliurchmeu  was  linked  with  that  of  their 
country.  Many  of  the  Scottish  prelates,  Lambyr- 
ton  the  primate  particularly,  declared  for  Bruce, 
■while  he  was  yet  under  the  ban  of  the  cliurch,  al- 
though he  afterwards  again  changed  sides, 
19.  I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  not  be  repressed.— P.  260. 
Bruce,  like  other  heroes,  observed  omens,  and 
one  is  recorded  by  tradition.  After  he  had  retreat- 
ed to  one  of  the  miserable  places  of  shelter  in 
which  he  could  venture  to  take  some  repose  after 
his  disasters,  he  lay  stretched  upon  a  handful  of 
straw,  and  abandoned  himself  to  his  melancholy 
meditations.  lie  had  now  been  defeated  four  times, 
and  was  upon  the  point  of  resolving  to  abandon  all 
hopes  of  further  opposition  to  his  fate,  and  to  go 
to  the  Holy  Land.  It  clianced  lus  eye,  while  he 
was  thus  pondering,  was  attracted  by  the  exer- 
tions of  a  spider,  who,  in  order  to  fix  his  web, 
endeavoured  to  swing  himself  from  one  beam  to 


another  above  his  head.  Involuntarily  lie  became 
interested  in  the  pertinacity  with  whicli  tlie  insect 
renewed  his  exertions,  after  failing  six  times;  and 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  decide  his  own 
course  according  to  the  success  or  failure  of  the 
spider.  At  the  seventh  effort  the  insect  gained  liis 
object;  and  Bruce,  in  like  manner,  persevered  and 
carried  his  oivn.  Hence  it  has  been  held  unlucky 
or  ungrateful,  or  both,  in  one  of  the  name  of  I3ruc'e 
to  kill  a  spider. 

The  arcli-deacon  of  Aberdeen,  instead  of  the 
abbot  of  this  tale,  introduces  an  Irish  pythoness, 
who  not  only  predicted  his  good  fortune  as  lie  left 
the  island  of  Rachriii,  but  sent  her  two  sons  along 
with  him,  to  ensure  her  own  family  a  share  in  it. 

"  Then  in  short  time  men  niiglit  them  see 

Shoot  all  their  galleys  to  the  sea. 

And  bear  to  sea  both  oar  and  steer. 

And  other  things  that  niistir*  were. 

And  as  the  king  upon  the  sand 

Was  ganging  uj)  and  down,  bidaiidf 

Till  that  his  nieii  ready  were, 

His  host  come  right  till  him  there. 

And  when  that  she  him  liaised  had. 

And  piivy  speech  till  him  she  made; 

And  said,  '  Take  good  keep  till  my  saw, 

For  of  ye  pass  I  will  ye  show, 

Off  your  fortoun  a  great  party. 

Kut  our  all  specially 

A  wittering  here  I  shall  you  ma. 

What  end  that  your  purposs  shall  ta. 

For  in  this  land  is  none  trewly 

Wots  things  to  eorae  so  well  as  I. 

Ye  pass  now  fuilh  on  your  voyage. 

To  avenge  the  harme,  and  the  outrage, 

That  Iiiglissnun  has  to  you  done; 

Kut  you  wot  not  what  kind  fortune 

Ve  mon  drey  in  your  warring. 

But  wyt  he  well,  without  lying, 

'that  from  ye  now  ha\e  taken  land. 

None  so  mighty,  no  so  strentlile  of  hand. 

Shall  make  you  pass  out  of  your  country 

Till  all  to  you  abandoned  be. 

Within  short  time  ye  shall  be  king. 

And  have  the  land  to  your  likeing. 

And  overcome  your  foes  all. 

Rut  many  anoj'is  thole  ye  shall. 

Or  tliat  your  purpose  end  have  tane; 

Rut  ye  shall  them  outdrive  ilkaiie. 

And,  that  ye  trow  this  sekyvly. 

My  two  sons  with  you  shall  I 

Send  to  take  part  of  your  labour; 

For  I  wote  well  they  shall  not  fail 

To  be  rewarded  well  at  right. 

When  ye  are  heyit  to  your  might.'  " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  iv,  p.  120,  edited  by 
J.  Pinkerton,  London,  1790. 
20.  .\  hunted  wanderer  on  the  w  ild.— P.  260. 
This  is  not  metaphorical.    The  echoes  of  Scot- 
land did  actually 

ring 

With  the  bloodhounds  that  bayed  for  her  fugitive  king. 
A  very  curious  and  romantic  tale  is  told  by  Bar- 
bour upon  this  subject,  which  may  be  abridged  as 
follows: 

■When  Bruce  had  again  got  footing  in  Scotland 
in  the  spring  of  1306,  he  continued  to  be  in  a  very 
weak  and  precarious  condition,  gaining,  indeed, 
occasional  advantages,  but  obliged  to  fly  before  his 
enemies  whenever  they  assembled  in  force.  L  pon 
one  occasion,  while  he  was  lying  with  a  small  par- 
ty in  the  wilds  of  Cumnock,  in  Ayrshire,  Aymer 
de  Valence,  earl  of  Pembroke,  with  his  inveterate 
foe  John  of  Lorn,  came  against  him  suddenly  with 
eight  hundred  highlaiulers,  besides  a  large  body 
of  men  at  arms.  They  brought  with  them  a  slough- 
dog,  or  bloodhound,   which,   some  say,  had  been 


t  .Abiding. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


299 


once  a  favourite  with  the  Bruce  himself,  and  there- 
fore was  least  likely  to  lose  the  trace. 

Bruce,  whose  force  was  under  four  hundred 
men,  continued  to  make  head  against  the  cavalry, 
till  the  men  of  Lorn  had  nearly  cut  off  his  retreat. 
Perceiving  the  danger  of  his  situation,  he  acted 
as  the  celebrated  and  ill-requited  Mina  is  said  to 
have  done  in  similar  circumstances.  He  divided 
his  force  into  three  parts,  appointed  a  place  of 
rendezvous,  and  commanded  them  to  retreat  by 
different  routes.  But  when  John  of  Lorn  arrived 
at  the  spot  where  they  divided,  he  caused  the  hound 
to  be  put  upon  the  trace,  which  immediatelj'  di- 
rected him  to  the  pursuit  of  that  party  which  Bruce 
headed.  This,  tlierefore,  Lorn  pursued  with  his 
whole  force,  jjaying  no  attention  to  the  others. 
The  king  again  subdivided  his  small  body  in 
three  parts,  and  with  the  same  result,  for  the  pur- 
suers attached  themselves  exclusively  to  that  which 
he  led  in  person.  He  then  caused  his  followers  to 
disperse,  and  retained  only  his  foster-brother  in 
his  company.  The  slough-dog  followed  the  trace, 
and,  neglecting  the  others,  attached  himselt  and 
his  attendants  to  pursuit  of  the  king.  Lorn  became 
convinced  that  his  enemy  was  nearly  in  his  power, 
and  detached  five  of  his  most  active  attendants  to 
follow  him,  and  interrupt  his  flight.  They  did  so 
with  all  the  agility  of  mountaineers.  "  What  aid 
wilt  thou  make?"  said  Bruce  to  his  single  attend- 
ant, when  he  saw  the  five  men  gain  ground  on 
him.  "  The  best  I  can,"  replied  his  foster-brother. 
"Then,"  said  Bruce,  "here  I  make  my  stand." 
The  five  piu-suers  came  up  fast.  The  king  took 
three  to  himself,  leaving  the  other  two  to  his  fos- 
ter-brother. He  slew  the  first  who  encountered 
him;  but  observing  his  foster-brother  hard  press- 
ed, he  sprung  to  his  assistance  and  despatched  one 
of  his  assailants.  Leaving  him  to  deal  with  the 
survivor,  he  returned  upon  the  other  two,  botli  of 
whom  he  slew  before  his  foster-brother  had  de- 
spatched his  single  antagonist.  When  this  hard 
encounter  was  over,  with  a  courtesy,  which  in  the 
whole  work  marks  Bruce's  character,  he  thanked 
his  foster-brother  for  his  aid.  "  It  likes  you  to  say 
so,"  answered  his  follower;  "but  you  yourself 
slew  four  of  the  five."  "  True,"  said  the  king, 
"  but  only  because  I  had  better  opportunity  than 
you.  They  were  not  apprehensive  of  me  when  they 
saw  me  encounter  three,  so  1  had  a  moment's  time 
to  spring  to  thy  aid,  and  to  return  equally  unex- 
pectedly upon  my  own  opponents." 

In  the  meanwhile  Lorn's  party  approached  ra- 
pidly, and  the  king  and  his  foster-brother  be- 
took themselves  to  a  neighbouring  wood.  Here 
they  sat  down,  for  Bruce  was  exhausted  by  fatigue, 
until  the  cry  of  the  slough-hound  came  so  near, 
that  his  foster-brother  entreated  Bruce  to  provide 
for  his  safety  by  retreating  farther.  "I  have  heard," 
answered  the  king,  "  that  whosoever  will  wade  a 
bow-shot  length  down  a  running  stream,  shall 
make  the  slough-hound  lose  scent. — Let  us  try  the 
experiment;  for  were  yon  devilish  hound  silenced, 
I  should  care  little  tor  t-he  rest." 

Lorn  in  the  meanwhile  advanced,  and  found  the 
bodies  of  his  slain  vassals,  over  whom  he  made  his 
moan,  and  threatened  the  most  deadly  vengeance. 
Then  he  followed  the  hound  to  the  side  of  the 
brook  down  which  the  king  had  waded  a  great  way. 
Here  the  hound  was  at  fault,  and  John  of  Lorn, 
after  long  attempting  in  vain  to  recover  Bruce's 
trace,  relinquished  the  pursuit. 

"Others,"  says  Barbour,  "affirm,  that  upon 


this  occasion  the  king's  life  was  saved  by  an  ex- 
cellent archer  who  accompanied  him,  and  who, 
perceiving  they  would  be  finally  taken  by  means 
of  the  bloodhound,  hid  himself  in  a  thicket,  and 
shot  him  with  an  arrow.  In  which  way,"  adds  the 
metrical  biographer,  "this  escape  happened  1  am 
uncertain,  but  at  that  brook  the  king  escaped  from 
his  pursuers." 

"  When  the  chasers  rallied  were. 
And  John  of  Lorn  had  met  them  there, 
He  told  sir  Aymer  all  the  case. 
How  that  the  kin^  escaped  was. 
And  how  that  he  his  five  men  slew, 
And  syne  to  the  wood  him  drew. 
When  sir  Apner  heard  this,  in  haste. 
He  sained  him  for  the  wonder: 
And  said,  '  He  is  greatly  to  prise, 
for  I  know  none  that  livings  is. 
That  at  mischief  can  help  him  so; 
I  ti-ow  he  should  be  hard  to  slay, 
And  he  were  bodjTi*  evenly.' 
On  this  wise  spake  sir  Aymeiy." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  p.  188. 

The  English  historians  agree  with  Barbour  as 
to  the  mode  in  M-hich  the  English  pursued  Bruce 
and  his  followers,  and  the  dexterity  with  which 
he  evaded  them.  The  following  is  the  testimony 
of  Harding,  a  great  enemy  to  the  Scottish  nation: 

"  The  king  Edward  with  host  hym  sought  full  sore. 
But  aye  he  fled  into  woodes  and  strayte  forest. 
And  slew  his  men  at  staytes  and  dangers  those. 
And  at  raarreys  and  mires  was  aye  full  prest. 
Englishmen  to  kyll  without  any  rest; 
In  the  mountayn'es  and  cragges  he  slew  ay  where. 
And  in  the  uyght  his  foes  he  frayed  full  sore: 

"  The  king  Edward  with  homes   and  houndes  hua 

sought. 
With  men  on  fote,  through  marris,  mosse,  and  myre. 
Through  wodes  also,  and  mountains  (whertliei  fought,^ 
And  euer  the  kyng  Edward  bight  men  great  hyre, 
Hym  for  to  take  and  by  myght  conquere; 
But  thei  myght  him  not  gette  by  force  ne  by  train, 
He  satte  by  the  fyre  when  thei  were  in  the  rain." 

Harding's  Chronicle,  p.  303,  4. 

Peter  Langtofl  has  also  a  passage  concerning  tlie 

extremities  to  which  king  Robert  was  reduced, 

which  he  entitles 

De  Roberto  Brus  etfuga  circum  circa  Jit. 
And  well  I  understood  that  the  king  Rob)Ti 
Has  drunken  of  that  blood  the  drink  of  Dan  Waryn. 
Dan  Warj-n  he  les  towns  that  he  held, 
With  he  made  a  res,  and  misben-ing  of  seheld. 
Sithen  into  the  forest  he  ged  naked  and  wode, 
ALs  a  wild  beast,  eat  of  the  grass  that  stood. 
Thus  Dan  Waiyn  in  his  Iwok  men  read, 
God  give  the  king  Hobyn,  that  all  his  kind  so  speed. 
Sir  Robynet  the  Brus  he  durst  none  abide. 
That  they  made  hiiu  restus,  bath  in  moor  and  wood- 
side. 
To  while  he  made  his  train,  and  did  unwMle  outrage. 

Peter  Langtoft's  Chronicle,  vol.  ii,  p.  336,  octavo,  London, 

1810. 

STOTES  TO  CASTO  III, 

1.  For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 

A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil.— P.  261. 

A  sort  of  persons  common  in  the  isles,  as  raay 
be  easilv  believed,  until  the  introduction  of  civil 
polity.  Witness  the  dean  of  the  Isles'  account  of 
Ronay.  "  At  the  north  end  ofKaarsay,  be  half 
myle  of  sae  frae  it,  layes  ane  ile  callit  Ronay,  mair 
then  a  mvle  in  lengthe,  lull  of  wood  and  heddir, 
with  ane  bavin  for  heiland  galleys  in  the  middis  of 
it,  and  the  same  liavein  is  guid  for  fostering  of 
thieves,  rugguairs,  and  revairs,  till  a  nail,  upon  the 
peilling  and  spulzeing  of  poor  pepil.  This  isle  per- 


300 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


liiiis  toMHrillvclmlhuiot  liaarsHj  hv  force,  audio 
llie  bisliopc  olllic  ik'S  be  luivliise."— Siii  Uonalii 
.MoMici's  I),:scriplion  of  the  li'esleni  Jslunih  of 
Scullaiid,  Ediiiburg;l»,  1805,  p.  2'i. 

2.  "  Alas!  ilfar  youth,  tin-  untuippy  time," 
Answiix-il  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  tlie  crime, 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you. 
E'en  I—"  he  paused;  for  Falkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose. — P.  261. 

1  huve  followed  the  vulg:ir  and  inaccurate  tradi- 
tion, that  Uriice  fought  against  Wallace,  and  the 
array  of  Scotland,  at  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk. 
The  story,  which  seems  to  have  no  better  authori- 
ty tbiiti  that  of  Ulind  Harry,  bears,  that  havin^made 
nuich  slaughter  during  the  engagement,  he  sat 
down  to  dine  with  the  conquerors  without  wash- 
ing the  filthy  witness  from  his  hands. 

"  Fasting  he  was,  and  had  been  in  great  need, 
Bloodied  were  all  his  weapons  and  liis  weed; 
Soulhern  lords  scorned  him  in  terms  rude. 
And  said.  Behold  yon  Scot  eats  his  own  blood. 
'  ■•rhen  rued  lie  sore,  for  reason  had  he  known, 
That  blood  and  land  alike  should  be  his  own; 
AVitli  them  he  long  was,  ere  he  got  away, 
But  contrair  Scots,  he  fought  not  from  tliat  day." 

The  account  given  by  most  of  our  historians,  of 
the  conversation  between  Bruce  and  Wallace  over 
the  Carron  river,  is  equally  apocryphal. 

There  is  full  evidence  that  Bruce  was  not  at  that 
time  on  the  English  side,  nor  present  at  the  battle  | 
of  Falkirk;  nay,  that  he  acted  as  a  guardian  of  Scot- 
land, along  with  John  Comyn,  in  the  name  of  Ba- 
liol,  and  in  opposition  to  the  Englisli.  He  was  the 
grandson  of  tlie  competitor,  with  whom  he  has 
been  sometimes  confounded.  Lord  Hailes  has  well 
described,  and  in  some  degree  apologized  for,  the 
earlier  part  of  his  life. 

"His  grandfather,  the  competitor,  had  patiently 
acquiesced  in  the  award  of  Edward.  His  father, 
yielding  to  the  times,  had  served  under  the  En- 
glish banners.  But  young  Bruce  had  more  ambi- 
tion and  a  more  restless  spirit.  In  his  earlier  years 
he  acted  upon  no  regular  plan.  By  turns  the  par- 
tizan  of  Edward,  and  the  vicegerent  of  Baliol,  he 
seems  to  have  forgotten  or  stifled  his  pretensions 
to  the  crown.  But  his  character  developed  itself 
by  degrees,  and  in  maturer  age  became  firm  and 
consistent." — .i/tna/s  of  Scotland,  p.  '290,  quarto, 
Loudon,  1776. 

3.  These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 

Korth  of  Strathnardill  and  Dunskye. — P.  262. 

Tlie  extraordinary  piece  of  scenery  which  I  have 
here  attempted  to  describe  is,  I  think,  unparallel- 
ed in  any  part  of  Scotland,  at  least  in  any  which  I 
have  happened  to  visit.  It  lies  just  upon  the  fron- 
tier of  tlie  laird  of  Mac-Leod's  country,  which  is 
tliereabouts  divided  from  the  estate  of  Mr.  Mac- 
Allister  of  Strathaird,  called  Strathnardill  by  the 
dean  of  the  Isles.  The  following  account  of  it  is 
extracted  from  a  journal  kept  during  a  tour  through 
tlie  Scottish  islands: — 

"  'I'lie  western  coast  of  Syke  is  highly  romantic, 
and  at  the  same  time  displays  a  vicimess  of  vege- 
tation in  the  lower  grounds  to  which  we  have  iiilh- 
erto  been  strangers.  We  passed  three  salt-water 
loclis,  or  deep  embavmenls,  calleil  Loch  Bracadale, 

Loch  Eiiiorl,  and  Loch •,  and  about  11  o'clock 

opened  Loch  Slavig.  We  were  now  under  tlie 
Western  termination  of  tlie  high  ridge  of  mountains 
culled  Cuillen,  or  Qiiillin,  or  Coolin,  whose  wea- 
ther-beaten and  serrated  peaks  we  had  admired  at 
a  distance  from  Uunxeijan.    They  sunk  here  upon 


the  sea,  but  with  the  same  hold  and  peremptory 
aspect  which  their  distant  appearance  indicated. 
They  apjieared  to  consist  of  precipitous  sheets  of 
naked  rock,  down  whicli  the  torrents  were  leaping 
in  a  hundred  lines  of  foam.  The  tops  of  the  ridge, 
apparently  inaccessible  to  human  foot,  were  rent 
anil  split  into  tlie  most  tremendous  pinnacles.  To- 
wards the  base  of  these  bare  and  precipitous  crags, 
the  ground,  enriched  by  the  soil  washed  down  from 
them,  is  comparatively  verdant  and  productive. 
Where  we  passed  within  the  small  isle  of  Soa,  we 
entered  Loch  Slavig,  under  the  shoulder  of  one 
of  these  grisly  mountains,  and  observed  that  the 
opposite  side  of  the  loch  was  of  a  milder  character, 
the  mountains  being  softened  down  into  steep 
green  declivities.  From  the  bottom  of  the  bay  ad- 
vanced ahead-land  of  higli rocks,  which  <livided  its 
depth  into  two  recesses,  from  each  of  which  a 
brook  issued.  Here  it  had  been  intimated  to  us 
we  would  find  some  romantic  scenery;  but  we  were 
uncertain  up  which  inlet  we  should  proceed  in 
search  of  it.  We  chose,  against  our  better  judg- 
ment, the  southerly  dip  of  the  bay,  where  we  saw 
a  house  which  might  aftbrd  us  information.  We 
found,  upon  inquiry,  that  there  is  a  lake  adjoining 
to  each  branch  of  the  liay;  and  walked  a  couple  of 
miles  to  see  that  near  the  farm-house,  merely  be- 
cause the  honest  highlander  seemed  jealous  of  thft 
honour  of  his  own  loch,  though  we  were  speedily 
convinced  it  was  not  that  which  we  were  recom- 
mended to  examine.  It  had  no  particular  merit 
excepting  from  its  neighbourhood  to  a  very  high 
cliff,  or  precipitous  movmtain,  otherwise  the  sheet 
of  water  had  nothing  differing  from  any  ordinary 
low-cotuitry  lake.  \Ve  returned  and  re-embarked 
in  our  boat,  for  our  guide  shook  his  head  at  our 
proposal  to  climb  over  the  peninsula,  or  rocky 
head-land  which  divided  the  two  lakes.  In  rowing 
round  the  head-land  we  were  surprised  at  the  in- 
finite number  of  sea-fowl,  then  busy  apparently 
with  a  shoal  of  fish. 

"  Arrived  at  the  depth  of  the  bay,  we  found 
that  the  discharge  from  this  second  lake  forms  a 
sort  of  water-fall,  or  rather  a  rapid  stream,  whicli 
rushes  down  to  the  sea  with  great  fury  and  preci- 
pitation. Round  this  place  were  assembled  hun- 
dreds of  trouts  and  salmon,  struggling  to  get  up 
into  the  fresh  water:  with  a  net  we  might  have  had 
twenty  salmon  at  a  haul;  and  a  sailor,  with  no  bet- 
ter hook  than  a  crooked  pin,  caught  a  dish  oftrouts 
duringourabsence.  Advancingupthishuddlingand 
riotous  brook,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  most  extra- 
ordinary scene;  we  lost  sight  of  the  sea  almost  im- 
mediately after  we  had  climbed  over  a  low  ridge 
of  crags,  and  were  surrounded  by  mountains  of 
naked  rock,  of  the  boldest  ahd  most  i)recipitous 
character.  The  ground  on  which  we  walked  was 
the  margin  of  a  lake,  which  seeins  to  have  sus- 
tained the  constant  ravage  of  torrents  from  these 
rude  neighbours.  The  shores  consisted  of  huge  strata 
of  naked  granite,  here  and  there  intermixed  with 
bogs,  and  heaps  of  gravel  and  sand  piled  in  the 
empty  water-courses.  Vegetation  there  was  little 
or  none;  and  the  mountains  rose  so  perpendicu- 
larly from  the  water  edge,  that  Borrodale,  or 
even  Glencoe,  is  a  jest  to  them.  We  proceeded  a 
mile  and  a  half  up  this  deep,  dark,  and  solitary 
lake,  wiiich  was  about  two  miles  long,  half  a  mile 
broad,  and  is,  as  we  learned,  of  extreme  depth. 
Tlie  murky  vapours  which  enveloped  the  moun- 
tain ridges  obliged  us  by  assuming  a  thousand 
varied  shapes,  changing  their  drapery  into  all  sort 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


SOI 


of  forms,  and  sometimes  clearing  oft"  all  togetlier. 
It  is  true,  the  mist  made  us  pay  the  peiialtv  by 
some  heavy  and  downright  showers,  from  the  fre- 
quency of  which,  a  highland  boy,  whom  we  brouglit 
from  the  farm,  told  us  the  lake  was  popularly 
called  the  Water-kettle.  The  proper  name  is  Loch 
Corriskin,  from  the  deep  corrie,  or  hollow,  in 
the  mountains  of  Guillen,  which  affords  the  basin 
for  this  wonderful  sheet  of  water.  It  is  as  exqui- 
site a  savage  scene  as  loch  Katrine  is  a  scene  of 
romantic  beauty.  After  having  penetrated  so  far 
as  distinctly  to  observe  the  termination  of  the  lake, 
under  an  immense  precipice,  which  arises  abrupt- 
ly from  the  water,  we  returned,  and  often  stopped 
to  admire  the  ravages  which  storms  must  have 
made  in  these  recesses,  where  all  human  witnesses 
M'ere  driven  to  places  of  more  shelter  and  secu- 
rity. Stones,  or  rather  large  masses  and  fragments 
of  rocks,  of  a  composite  kind,  perfectly  different 
from  the  strata  of  the  lake,  were  scattered  upon 
the  bare  rocky  beach,  in  the  strangest  and  most 
precarious  situations,  as  if  abandoned  by  the  tor- 
rents which  had  borne  them  down  from  above. 
Some  lay  loose  and  tottering  upon  the  ledges  of 
the  natural  rock,  with  so  little  security,  that  the 
slightest  push  moved  them,  though  their  weight 
might  exceed  many  tons.  These  detached  rocks, 
or  stones,  were  chiefly  what  is  called  plum-pud- 
ding stones.  The  bare  rocks,  which  formed  the 
shore  of  the  lakes,  were  a  species  of  granite. 
The  opposite  side  of  the  lake  seemed  quite  path- 
less and  inaccessible,  as  a  huge  mountain,  one  of 
the  detached  ridges  of  the  Guillen  Hills,  sinks  in 
a  profound  and  perpendicular  precipice  down  to 
the  water.  On  the  left-hand  side,  which  we  Ira- 
■versed,  rose  a  higher  and  equally  inaccessible 
mountain,  the  top  of  which  strongly  resembled 
the  shivered  crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano.  I 
never  saw  a  spot  in  which  there  was  less  appear- 
ance of  vegetation  of  any  kind.  The  eye  rested  on 
nothing  but  barren  and  naked  crags,  and  the  rocks, 
on  which  we  walked  by  the  side  of  the  loch,  were 
as  bare  as  the  pavements  of  Cheap-side.  There 
are  one  or  two  small  islets  in  the  locli,  which 
seem  to  bear  juniper  or  some  such  low  bushy 
shrub.  L'pon  tlie  whole,  though  I  have  seen  ma- 
ny scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation,  1  never 
witnessed  any  in  which  it  pressed  more  deeply 
upon  the  eye  and  the  heart  than  at  Loch  Corriskin; 
at  the  same  time  that  its  grandeur  elevated  and 
redeemed  it  from  the  w  ild  and  dreary  character 
of  utter  barrenness." 

4.  Men  were  they  all  of  ei-il  mien, 
Down-looked,  unwilling  to  be  seen. — P.  263. 

"the  story  of  Bruce's  meeting  the  banditti  is 
copied  with  such  alterations  as  tiie  fictitious  nar- 
rative rendered  necessary,  from  a  striking  incident 
in  the  monarch's  history,  told  bv  Barbour,  and 
which  I  will  give  in  the  words  of  the  hero's  bio- 
grapher, only  modernizing  the  orthography.  It  is 
the  sequel  lo  the  adventure  of  the  blood-hound, 
narrated  in  Note  '2U,  upon  Canto  II.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  the  narrative  broke  oft',  le  ving 
tlie  Bruce  escaped  from  liis  pursuers,  but  worn 
nut  with  fatigue,  and  having  no  other  attendant  but 
his  foster-brother. 

"  Anil  the  g^uod  km^  held  forth  his  way, 
Be'v-xt  him  and  his  man,  while  they 
Passcil  out  through  the  forest  were; 
Syne  in  the  moor  they  entered  there. 
It  was  both  high,  and  long,  and  broad: 
And  or  they  half  it  passed  had, 


They  saw  on  side  thi-ee  men  coming, 

Like  to  light  men,  and  wavering. 

Swords  they  had,  and  axes  also; 

.\iid  one  of  them,  upon  his  hals* 

A  mekiil  bounden  weather  bore. 

They  meet  the  king,  and  halsedt  him  there. 

And  the  king  them  their  haulsing  yauld;) 

And  asked  whether  they  would.' 

They  said,  Robert  the  Bruce  they  sought; 

For  meet  with  him  giffthat  they  might. 

Their  duelling  with  him  would  they  ma'.} 

The  king  said,  '  Giffthat  ye  will  see, 

Hold  furth  your  way  with  me. 

And  I  shall  make  you  soon  him  se.' — 

They  perceivt-d,  by  his  speaking. 

That  he  was  the  self-same  Robert  king. 

And  changed  countenance,  and  late;|| 

And  held  nought  in  the  first  state. 

For  they  were  foes  to  the  king. 

And  th(ju!^ht  to  come  into  skulking; 

And  dwell  with  him,  while  that  they  saw 

Their  point,  and  bring  him  thereof  daw.l 

They  granted  till  his  speech  forthy,'" 

But  the  king,  that  was  witty, 

Perceived  well,  by  tlieir  having. 

That  they  loved  him  nothing. 

And  said,  '  Fellows,  you  must  all  three. 

Further  acquaint  till  that  we  be, 

All  be  your  selven  furth  go. 

And  on  the  same  wish  we  two 

Shall  follow  behind,  well  near.' — 

Quoth  they,  '  Sir,  it  is  no  mistertt 

To  trow  in  us  any  ill.'— 

'  Xone  do  I,"  said  he;  '  but  I  will 

That  ye  go  forth  thus,  while  we 

Better  with  other  knowen  be.'— 

'  We  grant,'  they  said,  '  since  ye  will  «o,'— 

And  forth  upon  their  gate  gan  go. 

Thus  went  they  till  the  night  wai  near, 

And  then  the  foremost  coming  were 

Till  a  waste  husband-house;Jt  and  there 

They  slew  the  wether  that  they  bear, 

And  struck  fire  to  roast  their  meat; 

And  asked  the  king  if  he  would  eat. 

And  rest  him  lill  the  meat  wa«  dight. 

The  king,  that  hungry  was,  I  hignt. 

Assented  to  their  speech  in  ]iy. 

But  he  suid  he  would  anerlyfj 

At  a  fire,  and  they  all  three 

On  no  wise  with  them  together  be. 

In  the  end  of  the  house  they  should  ma' 

Aiiuthi-r  fire;  and  they  did  sua. 

They  drew  them  in  the  house  end. 

And  half  the  wether  till  them  send. 

And  they  roasted  in  haste  their  meat. 

And  fell  right  freshly  for  to  eat. 

For  the  king  well  long  fasted  had; 

And  had  right  much  travel  made; 

Therefore  he  eat  full  egrely. 

And  when  he  had  eaten  hastily, 

He  had  to  sleep  so  mekil  will. 

That  he  might  set  no  let  theretill. 

For  when  the  wames|l||  filled  are, 

Men  worthys^l  heavy  evermore; 

And  to  sleep  draws  hearyness. 

The  king,  tiiat  all  for-ti-a'velled"*  was; 

Saw  that  him  worthjt  sleep  need  was; 

Till  his  fostyr-brother  he  says, 

'  May  I  trust  in  thee,  me  to  awake, 

Till  I  a  little  sleeping  take?" — 

'  Ya,  sir,'  he  said,  'till  I  may  dree.'ttt— 

'I'he  king  then  winked  a  little  way. 

And  sleeped  not  full  entirely; 

But  glanced  up  oft  suddenly, 

Fur  he  had  dread  of  these  three  men, 

That  at  the  other  fire  were  then. 

That  they  his  foes  were  he  wyst: 

Therefore  he  sleeped,  as  fowll  on  twist.JJJ 

The  king  sleeped  but  a  little  than. 

When  sic  sleep  fell  on  his  man. 

That  he  might  not  hold  up  his  eye, 

But  fell  in  sleep  and  routed  high. 


■  Neck, 
i  Make. 
j  Kill  him. 


t  Saluted. 


t  Returned  their  salute 
II  Crcsture  or  manner. 
tt  There  is  no  nec^. 


XX  Husbandman's  house,  cottage.     (^  Alone. 
nil  Rt'Ilif-s.  **"  KreoiiifS.  •••  Futio'iifH. 


I  Bellies, 
ttt  Endure, 


Fatigued, 
itt  Bird  on  bough. 


302 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Now  is  the  king;  in  great  penile 

For  slfcp  he  so  a  little  while. 

He  shall  bf  lU-ad,  foroiiten  diriil. 

For  the  tlirtf  traitors  took  pood  need, 

That  he  on  sleep  was,  and  his  man: 

In  full  pix'at  haste  they  raisi'  up  than, 

And  di-e«-  tln-ir  swiinis  li:isiilj ; 

And  went  towards  llie  kiiii,'  in  liy, 

When  that  tiny  saw  liiin  sleep  sua. 

And  sleeping  tliouj,'hi  they  would  him  slay. 

The  kiiicf  upblinked  hastily. 

And  saw  his  man  sleeping  liini  hy. 

And  saw  eoniiiig;  tlit;  t"  oilier  three. 

Quiekly  on  foot  got  he; 

And  drew  his  sword  out,  and  them  met: 

And  as  he  went,  his  foot  he  set 

Upon  his  man  well  heavily. 

He  wakened  and  rose  dizzily, 

For  the  sleep  mastered  him  so. 

That  or  he  got  up  ane  of  tho 

That  came  for  to  slay  the  king, 

Gave  him  a  stroke  in  his  rising, 

So  that  he  might  help  him  no  more. 

The  king  so  straitly  stad*  was  there. 

That  he  was  never  yet  so  stad. 

Nor  were  the  armingf  that  he  had. 

He  had  been  dead,  forouten  mair. 

But  not  forthyt  on  such  manner 

He  helped  him,  in  that  bargain.^ 

That  the  three  traitors  he  has  slain. 

Through  God's  grace,  and  his  manhood. 

His  fustyr-brother  there  was  dead. 

Then  was  he.wondre  will  off  wayne' 

AVhen  he  saw  him  left  alone. 

His  fostjT-brother  lamented  he, 

And  waryetH  all  the  t'  other  three. 

And  syne  his  way  took  him  alone. 

And  right  towards  his  tryst**  is  gone.' 

T/«"  Bruce,  Book  vii,  line  105. 
5.  And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 

Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 
Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.— P.  25J. 
Imagination  can  liardly  conceive  any  thing  more 
beautiful  than  the  extraordinary  grotto  discovered 
not  many  years  since  upon  the  estate  of  Alexan- 
der Mac-Allister,  esq.  of  Strathaird.  It  has  since 
been  much  and  deservedly  celebrated,  and  a  full 
account  of  its  beauties  has  been  published  by  Dr. 
Mac-Leay  of  Oban.  The  general  impression  may 
perhaps  be  gathered  from  the  following  extract 
from  a  journal  already  quoted,  which,  written  un- 
der the  feelings  of  the  moment,  is  likely  to  be 
more  accurate  than  any  attempt  to  recollect  the 
impressions  then  received. 

"  The  first  entrance  to  this  celebrated  cave  is 
rude  and  unpromising;  but  the  light  of  the  torches, 
with  which  we  were  provided,  was  soon  reflected 
from  the  roof,  floor,  and  wulls,  which  seem  as  if 
they  were  sheeted  with  marble,  partly  smooth, 
partly  rough  with  frost-work  and  rustic  ornaments, 
and  partly  seeming  to  be  wrought  into  statuary. 
The  floor  forms  a  steep  and  difficult  ascent,  and 
might  be  fancifully  compared  to  a  sheet  of  water, 
■which,  while  it  rushed  whitening  and  foaming 
down  a  declivity,  had  been  suddenly  arrested  and 
consolidated  by  the  spell  of  an  enclianter.  Upon 
attaining  the  summit  of  this  ascent,  tlie  cave  opens 
into  a  splendid  gallerj",  adorned  witli  tlie  most 
dazzling  crystallizations,  and  finally  descends  with 
rapidity  to  the  brink  of  a  pool,  of  the  most  limpid 
water,  about  four  or  five  yards  broad.  There  opens 
beyond  this  pool  a  portal  arch,  formed  bj-  two  co- 
lumns of  wliile  spar,  with  beautiful  chasing  upon 
tlie  sides,  which  promises  a  coiilinualion  of  the 
cave.   One  of  our  sailors  swatn  across,  for  there  is 


*  So  securely  situated. 

t  Had  it  not  been  for  the  armour  he  Wore. 

t  Nevertheless.  V  l'  rav  or  dispute. 

II  Much  afflicted.  \  Cursed. 

•'  The  place  of  rendezvous  appoiiiti  il  for  hjs  syUliers. 


no  other  mode  of  passing,  and  informed  us  (as  in- 
deed we  partly  saw  liy  the  light  he  carried)  that 
the  enchantment  of  .Mac-Allister's  cave  terminates 
with  this  portal,  a  little  beyond  which  there  was 
only  a  rude  cavern,  speedily  ciioked  witii  stones 
and  earth.  Hut  the  pool,  on  the  brink  of  which 
we  stood,  surrounded  by  the  most  fanciful  motdd- 
ings,  in  a  substance  resembling  white  marble,  and 
distingiiislied  b)-  tlie  depth  and  purity  of  its  waters, 
might  have  been  the  bathing  grotto  of  a  naiad. 
The  groups  of  combined  figures  iirojecting,  or 
embossed,  by  which  the  pool  is  surrounded,  are 
exquisitely  elegant  and  fanciful.  A  statuary  might 
catch  beautiful  hints  from  the  singular  and  roman- 
tic disposition  of  these  stalactites.  There  is  scarce 
a  form,  or  group,  on  which  active  fancj-  may  not 
trace  figures  or  grotesque  ornaments,  which  have 
been  gradually  moulded  in  this  cavern  by  the  drop- 
ping of  the  calcareous  water  hardening  into  ])etri- 
factions.  Many  of  those  fine  groups  have  been  in- 
jured  by  the  senseless  rage  of  appropriation  of  re- 
cent tourists;  and  the  grotto  has  lost  (I  am  inform- 
ed,) through  the  smoke  of  torches,  something  of 
tliat  vivid  silver  tint  which  was  originally  one  of 
its  chief  distinctions.  But  enough  of  beauty  re- 
mains to  compensate  for  all  that  may  be  lost." — 
Mr.  Mac-Allister  of  Strathaird  has,  with  great 
propriety,  built  up  the  exterior  entrance  to  this 
cave,  in  order  that  strangers  may  enter  properly 
attended  by  a  guide,  to  prevent  any  repetition  of 
the  wanton  and  selfish  injury  which  this  singular 
scene  has  already  sustained. 

NOTES  TO  CAXTO  IV. 

1.  "  Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs. 
Bear  witness  with  me,  heaven,  belongs 
My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier."— P.  266. 

The  generosity  which  does  justice  to  the  cha- 
racter of  an  enemy,  often  marks  liruce's  senti- 
ments, as  recorded  by  the  faithful  Barbour.  He 
seldom  mentions  a  fallen  enemy  without  praising 
such  good  qualities  as  he  might  possess.  1  will 
only  take  one  instance.  Shortly  after  Bruce  landed 
in  Carrick,  in  1306,  sir  Ingram  Bell,  the  English 
governor  of  Ayr,  engaged  a  wealthy  yeoman,  who 
had  hitherto  been  a  follower  of  Bruce,  to  under- 
take the  task  of  assassinati ng  him.  The  king  learn- 
ed this  treachery,  as  he  is  said  to  have  done  other 
secrets  of  the  enemy,  by  means  of  a  female' with 
whom  he  had  an  intrigue.  Shortly  after  he  was 
possessed  of  this  information,  Bruce,  resorting  to 
a  small  thicket  at  a  distance  from  his  men,  with 
only  a  single  page  to  attend  him,  met  the  traitor, 
accompanied  by  two  of  his  sons.  They  approached 
him  with  their  wonted  familiarity,  but  Bruce,  tak- 
ing his  page's  bow  and  arrow,  commanded  them 
to  keep  at  a  distance.  As  they  still  pressed  for- 
ward with  professions  of  zeal  for  his  person  and 
service,  he,  after  a  second  warning,  shot  the  father 
with  tlie  arrow;  and  being  assaulted  successively 
by  tlie  two  sons,  despatched  first  one,  who  was 
armed  with  an  axe,  then  as  the  other  charged  him 
with  a  spear,  avoided  the  thrust,  struck  the  iiead 
from  the  spear,  and  cleft  the  skull  of  the  assassin 
with  a  blow  of  his  two-handed  sword. 

"  He  rushed  down  of  blood  all  red, 
Anil  w  hen  the  king  saw  they  were  dead. 
All  three  hing,  he  wiped  his  brand. 
With  that  his  boy  came  fast  running. 
And  said, '  Our  lord  might  lowyt*  be. 
That  granteth  you  might  and  powestef 


J.auded. 


t  Power. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


303 


To  fell  the  felony  and  the  pride, 
Of  three  in  so  little  tide.' — 
The  kiiigf  said,  '  So  our  lord  me  see. 
They  had  been  worthy  men  all  three, 
Had  they  not  been  full  of  treason: 
But  that  made  their  confusion.'  " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  T,  p.  153. 

2.  "  Such  hate  was  his  on  Sohvay's  strand. 
When  rengeauce  clenched  his  palsied  hand. 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land". — P.  2o6. 

To  establish  his  dorniaion  in  Scotland  had  been 
a  favourite  object  of  Edward's  ambition,  and  no- 
thing could  exceed  the  pertinacity  with  which  he 
pursued  it,  unless  his  inveterate  resentment  against 
the  insurgents,  who  so  frequently  broke  the  En- 
glish yoke  when  he  deemed  it  most  firmly  revited. 
After  the  battles  of  Falkirk  and  Methven,  and  the 
dreadful  examples  which  he  had  mnde  of  Wallace 
and  other  champions  of  national  independence,  he 
probably  concluded  eveiy  chance  of  insurrection 
was  completely  aimihilated.  This  was  in  1306, 
when  Bruce,  as  we  have  seen,  was  utterly  expell- 
ed from  Scotland:  yet,  in  the  conclusion  of  the 
same  year,  Bruce  was  again  in  arms  and  formida- 
ble; and  in  1307,  Edward,  though  exhausted  by  a 
long  and  wasting  malady,  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  army  destined  to  destroy  him  utterly.  This 
was,  perhaps,  partly  in  consequence  of  a  vow  which 
he  had  taken  upon  him,  with  all  the  pomp  of  chi- 
valry, upon  the  day  in  which  he  dubbed  his  son  a 
knight,  for  which  see  a  subsequent  note.  But  even 
his  spirit  of  vengeance  was  unable  to  restore  his 
exhausted  strength.  He  reached  Burgh-upon- 
Sands,  a  petty  village  of  Cumberland,  on  the  shores 
of  the  Solway  Firth,  and  there,  6th  July,  1307,  ex- 
pired, in  sight  of  the  detested  and  devoted  country 
of  Scotland.  His  dying  injunctions  to  his  son  re- 
quired him  to  continue  the  Scottish  war,  and  never 
to  recal  Gaveston.  Edward  II  disobeyed  both 
charges.  Yet  more  to  mark  his  animosity,  the  dy- 
ing monarch  ordered  his  bones  to  be  carrried  with 
the  invading  army.  Froissart,  who  probably  had 
the  authority  of  eye-witnesses,  has  given  us  the 
following  account  of  this  remarkable  charge: 

"  In  the  said  forest,  the  old  king  Robert  of  Scot- 
Jand  dyd  kepe  hymselfe,  whan  kyng  Edward  the 
Fyrst  conquered  nygh  all  Scotland;  for  he  was  so 
often  chased,  that  none  durst  loge  him  in  castell, 
nor  fortresse,  for  feare  of  the  sayd  kyng. 

"  And  ever  whan  the  king  was  returned  into  In- 
gland,  than  he  would  gather  together  agayn  his 
people,  and  conquere  townes,  castells,  and  for- 
tresses, iuste  to  Berwick,  some  by  battle  and  some 
by  fair  speech  and  love:  and  when  the  said  king 
Edward  heard  thereof,  than  woidd  he  assemble  his 
power,  and  wyn  the  realme  of  Scotland  again:  thus 
the  chance  went  between  these  two  forsaid  kings. 
It  was  shewed  me,  how  that  this  king  Robert  wan 
and  lost  his  realms^  v  times.  So  this  continued  till 
the  said  king  Edward  died  at  Berwick:  and  when 
he  saw  that  he  should  die,  4ie»  called  before  him 
his  eldest  sou,  who  was  king  after  him,  and  there, 
before  all  the  barones,  he  caused  him  to  swear, 
that  as  soon  as  he  were  dead,  that  he  should  take 
his  body,  and  boyle  it  in  a  cauldron,  till  the  flesh 
<!eparte'd  clean  from  the  bones,  and  then  to  bury 
the  flesh,  and  keep  still  the  bones;  and  that  as  of- 
ten as  the  Scotts  should  rebell  against  him,  he 
should  assemble  the  people  against  them,  and  cary 
with  him  the  bones  of  his  father;  for  he  believed 
verilv,  that  if  tiiey  had  his  bones  with  them,  ihat 
the  Scotts  slinuld  never  attain  any  victory  against 
them.     The  which  thing  was  not  accomplished, 


for  when  the  king  died,  his  son  carried  him  to 
London." — BEH\-ERs'FROissAHT'sCAro?«c/e,  Lon- 
don, 1812,  pp.  39,  40. 

Edward's  commands  were  not  obeyed,  for  he 
was  interred  in  Westminster  Abbey,  with  the  ap- 
propriate inscription: — "Edwaruu's  primus,  Sco- 
ToRc^r  Malleus,  hic  est.  Pactu^i  Serva."  Yet 
some  steps  seem  to  have  been  taken  towards  ren- 
dering his  body  capable  of  occasional  transporta- 
tion, tor  it  was  exquisitelj-  embalraeJ,  as  was  as- 
certained when  his  tomb  w^as  opened  some  years 
ago.  Edward  II  judged  wisely  in  not  carrv'ing  the 
dead  body  of  his  father  into  Scotland,  since  he 
would  not  obey  his  living  counsels. 

It  ought  to  be  observed,  that  though  the  order 
of  the  inc:!en;s  is  reversed  in  the  poem,  yet,  ia 
point  of  iiistorical  accuracy,  Bruce  had  landed  in 
Scotland,  and  obtained  some  successes  of  conse- 
quence, before  the  death  of  Edward  ]. 

3.  Caiina's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 

Like  falcou-nest  o'erhangs  the  bay.— P.  267. 

The  little  island  of  Canna,  or  Cannay,  adjoins 
to  those  of  Rum  and  Muick,  with  which  it  forms 
one  parish.  In  a  pretty  bay  opening  towards  the 
east,  tliere  is  a  lofty  and  slender  rock  detached 
from  the  shore.  Upon  the  summit  are  the  ruins  of 
a  very  small  tower,  scarcely  accessible  by  a  steep 
and  precipitous  path.  Here  it  is  said  one  of  the 
kings,  or  lords  of  the  Isles,  confined  a  beautiful 
lady,  of  whom  he  was  jealous.  The  ruins  are  of 
course  haunted  by  her  restless  spirit,  and  many 
romantic  stories  are  told  b}-  the  aged  people  of  the 
island  concerning  her  fate  in  life,  and  her  appear- 
ances after  death. 

4.  And  Renin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore.— P.  267. 

Eonin  (popularly  called  Rum,  a  name  which  a 
poet  may  be  pardoned  for  avoiding  if  possible)  is 
a  very  rough  and  mountainous  island,  adjacent  to 
those  of  Eigg  and  Cannay.  There  is  almost  no 
arable  ground  upon  it,  so  that,  except  in  the  plenty 
of  the  deer,  which  of  course  are  now  nearly  extir- 
pated, it  still  deserves  tlie  description  bestowed 
by  the  archdean  of  the  Isles. 

"  Ronin,  sixteen  myle  north- wast  from  the  ile  of 
Coll,  lyes  ane  ile  callit  Ronin  Ile,  of  sixteen  myle 
long,  and  six  in  bredthe  in  the  narrowest,  ane  fo- 
rest of  heigh  mountains,  and  abundance  of  little 
deire  in  it,  quhilk  deir  will  never  be  slane  doune- 
with,  but  the  principal  saittis  man  be  in  the  height 
of  the  hill,  because  the  deir  will  be  callit  upwart  ay 
be  the  tainchell,  or  without  tynchel  they  will  pass 
upwart  perforce.  In  this  ile  will  be  gotten  about 
Britane  als  many  wild  nests  upon  the  plane  mure 
as  men  pleasis  to  gadtler,  and  yet  by  resson  the 
fowls  hes  few  to  start  them  except  deir.  This  ile 
lyes  from  the  west  to  the  eist  in  lenth,  and  per- 
tains to  M'Kenabrey  of  Colla.  Many  Solan  geese 
areinthisisle." — Monro'' s  Description  of  the  West- 
ern Isles,  p.  18. 

5.  On  Seoor-Eigg  next  a  warning  light 

Smnraoned  her  warriors  to  tlie  fight; 

A  numerous  race,  ere  stern  Macleod 

OVr  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode.— P.  267. 
These,  and  the  following  lines  of  the  stanza,  re- 
fer to  a  dreadful  tale  of  feudal  vengeance,  of  which 
unfortunately  there  are  relics  that  still  attest  the 
truth.  Scoor-Eigg  is  a  high  peak  in  the  centre  of 
the  small  isle  of  Eigg,  or  Egg.  It  is  well  known 
to  mineralogists,  as  affording  many  Interesting 
specimens,  and  to  others  whom  chance  or  curios- 


304 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ity  may  lead  to  llic  island,  for  the  astonishing  view 
of  the  mainland  and  ncighbonring  isles,  which  it 
commands.  1  will  again  avail  myself  of  the  jour- 
nal I  liave  (|Uoted. 

" 'i6//i  .iiiipist,  1814. — At  seven  this  morning 
■we  were  in  the  sonnd  which  divides  the  Isle  of 
Hum  from  that  of  Egg.  The  latter,  .•ilthongh  hilly 
and  rocky,  and  traversed  by  a  remarkably  high 
and  barren  ridge,  called  Scoor-Eigg,  has,  in  point 
of  soil,  a  much  more  jjrcmising  appearance.  South- 
•ward  of  both  lies  the  Isle  of  Muich,  or  Muck,  a 
low  and  fertile  island,  and  though  the  least,  yet 
probably  the  most  valuable  of  the  three.  We  man- 
ned the  boat,  and  rowed  along  the  shore  of  Egg 
in  quest  of  a  cavern,  -which  had  been  the  memor- 
able scene  of  a  horrid  feudal  vengeance.  We  had 
rounded  more  than  half  the  island,  admiring  the 
entrance  of  many  a  bold  natural  cave,  which  its 
rocks  exhibited,  without  finding  that  which  we 
sought.until  we  procured  aguide.  Xor,  indeed,  was 
it  surprising  lliat  it  should  have  escaped  the 
search  of  strangers,  as  there  are  no  outward  indi- 
cations more  than  miglit  distinguish  the  entrance 
of  a  fox-earth.  This  noted  cave  has  a  veiy  narrow 
opening,  through  which  one  can  hardly  creep  on 
his  knees  and  hands.  It  rises  b>teep  and  lofty  with- 
in, and  runs  into  the  bowels  of  the  rock  to  the 
depth  of  25.1  measured  feet;  the  height  at  the  en- 
trance may  be  about  three  feet,  but  rises  within 
to  eighteen  or  twenty,  and  the  breadth  may  vary 
in  the  same  proportion.  The  rude  and  stony  bot- 
tom of  this  cave  is  strewed  with  the  bones  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  the  sad  reliques  of  the  an- 
cient inhabitants  of  the  island,  two  hundred  in 
number,  who  weie  slain  on  the  following  occasion; 
The  Mac-Donalds  of  the  Isle  of  Egg,  a  people 
dependant  on  Clan-Ronald,  had  done  some  injury 
to  the  laird  of  Mac-Leod.  The  tradition  of  the 
isle  savs,  tliat  it  was  by  a  personal  attack  on  the 
c  lieftain,  in  wliich  his  back  was  broken.  But  that 
of  the  other  isles  bears,  more  probably,  that  the 
i  jury  was  offered  to  two  or  three  of  the  Mac- 
'  iod's,  who,  landing  upon  Egg,  and  using  some 
freedom  with  the  young  women,  were  seized  by 
the  islanders,  and  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  turned 
adrift  in  a  boat,  which  the  winds  and  waves  safely 
conducted  to  Skye.  To  avenge  the  offence  given, 
Muc-Leod  sailed  with  such  a  body  of  men,  as  ren- 
dered resistance  hopeless.  The  natives,  fearing 
his  vengeance,  concealed  themselves  in  lliis  cavern, 
and,  after  a  strict  search,  the  Mac-Leods  went  on 
board  their  galleys  after  doing  what  mischief  tliey 
could,  concluding  the  inliabitants  had  left  the  isle, 
and  betaken  tiiemselves  to  the  Long  Island, or  some 
of  Clan-Ronald's  other  possessions.  But  next 
morning  they  espied  from  the  vessels  a  man  upon 
the  island,  and  immediately  landing  again,  they 
traced  his  retreat  by  tiie  marks  of  his  footsteps,  a 
lio-ht  snow  being  unhappily  on  the  ground.  Mac- 
Leod then  surrounded  the  cavern,  summoned  the 
subterranean  garrison,  and  demanded  that  the  in- 
dividuals who  had  offended  him  should  be  deliver- 
ed up  to  him.  This  was  peremptorily  refused. 
The  chieftain  then  caused  his  people  to  divert  the 
course  of  a  rill  of  water,  which,  falling  over  the 
entrance  of  the  cave,  would  have  prevented  his 
purposed  vengeance.  He  then  kindled  at  the  en- 
trance of  liie  cavern  a  huge  fire,  composed  of  turf 
and  fern,  and  maintained  it  with  unrelenting  as- 
sickiitv,  until  all  within  were  destroyed  by  suff"o- 
cation.  The  date  of  this  dreadful  deed  must  have 
decn  ivcent,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  fresh  ap- 


pearance of  those  reliques.  I  brought  off,  in  spite 
of  the  prejudice  of  our  sailors,  a  skull  from  among 
the  numerous  specimens  of  mortality  which  the 
cavern  afforded.  Before  re-embarking  we  visited 
another  cave,  opening  to  the  sea,  but  of  a  charac- 
ter entirely  different,  being  a  large  open  vault  as 
high  as  that  of  a  cathedral,  and  running  back  a 
great  way  iiito  the  rock  at  the  same  height.  The 
height  and  width  of  the  opening  gives  ample  light 
to  the  whole.  Here,  after  1745,  when  the  catholic 
priests  were  scarcely  tolerated,  the  priest  of  Eigg 
used  to  perform  the  Roman  calliolic  service,  most 
of  the  islanders  being  of  that  persuasion.  A  huge 
ledge  of  rocks,  rising  about  half  way  up  one  side 
of  the  vault,  served  for  altar  and  pulpit;  and  the 
appearance  of  a  priest  and  highland  congregation 
in  such  an  extraordinary  place  of  worship,  might 
have  engaged  the  pencil  of  Salvator. " 

6.    tl\f  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  ttxmed  StafFa  round.— P.  267. 
It  would  be  unpardonable  to  detain  the  reader 
upon  a  wonder  so  often  described,  and  yet  so  in- 
capable of  being  understood  by  description.  This 
palace  of  Neptune  is  even  grander  upon  a  second 
than  the  first  view — the  stupendous  columns  which 
form  the  sides  of  the  cave,  the  depth  and  strength 
of  the  tide  which  rolls  its  deep  and  heavy  swell 
up  to  the  extremity  of  the  vault — the  variety  of 
tints  formed  by  white,  crimson,  and  yellow  sta- 
lactites, or  petrifactions,  which  occupy  the  vacan- 
cies between  the  base  of  the  broken  pillars  that 
form  the  roof,  and  intersect  them  with  a  rich,  cu- 
rious, and  variegated  chasing,  occupying  each  in- 
terstice— the  corresponding  variety  below  water, 
where  the  ocean  rolls  over  a  dark-red  or  violet- 
coloured  rock,  from  which,  as  from  a  base,  the 
basaltic  columns  arise — the  tremendous  noise  of 
the  swelling  tide,  mingling  with  the  deep-toned 
echoes  of  the  vault, — are  circumstances  elsewhere 
unparalleled. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  varied 
appearance  of  the  little  archipelago  of  islets,  of 
which  StafFa  is  the  most  remarkable.  This  group, 
called  in  Gaelic,  Tresharnish,  affords  a  thousand 
varied  views  to  the  voyager,  as  they  appear  in  dif- 
ferent positions  with  reference  to  his  course.  The 
variety  of  their  shape  contributes  much  to  the 
beauty  of  these  effects. 

7.  Scenes  sung  by  liiiu  who  sings  no  more! — P.  268, 
The  ballad,  entitled  "  Macphail  of  Colonsay, 

and  the  Mermaid  of  Co'rrievrekin,"  was  composed 
by  John  Levden,  from  a  tradition  'vhich  he  found 
vvhile  making  a  tour  through  the  Hebrides  about 
1801,  soon  before  his  fatal  departure  for  India, 
where,  after  having  made  farther  progress  in  orien- 
tal literature  than  any  man  of  letters  who  had  em- 
braced tliese  studies,  he  died  a  martyr  to  his  zeal 
for  knowledge,  in  the  island  of  Java,  immediately 
after  the  landing  of  our  forces  near  Batavia,  ia 
September,  1811. 

8.  Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore. 

Then  dragged  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er.— P.  268. 

The  peninsula  of  Cantire  is  joined  to  South 
Knapdale  by  a  very  narrow  isthmus,  formed  by 
the  western  and  eastern  loch  of  Tarbat.  These 
two  salt-water  lakes,  or  bays,  encroach  so  far  upon 
the  land,  and  the  extremities  come  so  near  to  each 
other,  that  there  is  not  above  a  mile  of  land  to  di- 
vide them. 

"  It  is  not  long,"  says  Pennant,  "  since  vessels 
of  nine  or  ten  tons  were  draw  n  by  horses  out  of 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


305 


the  west  loch  into  that  of  the  east,  to  avoid  the 
dangers  of  the  Mull  of  Cantyre,  so  dreaded  and 
so  little  known  was  the  navigation  round  that  pl'o- 
montor)'.  It  is  the  opinion  of  many,  that  these  lit- 
tle isthmuses,  so  frequently  styled  Tarbat  in  North 
Britain,  took  their  name  from  the  above  circum- 
stance; Tarruing,  signifving  to  draw,  and  Bata,  a 
boat.  This  too  might  be  called,  by  way  of  pre- 
eminence, the  Tarbat,  from  a  very  singular  cir- 
cumstance related  by  Torfseus.  When  Magnus, 
the  bare-footed  king  of  Norway,  obtained  from 
Donald-Bane  of  Scotland  the  cession  of  the  west- 
ern isles,  or  all  those  places  that  could  be  sur- 
rounded in  a  boat,  he  added  to  them  the  peninsula 
of  Cantyre  by  this  fraud:  he  placed  himself  in  the 
stern  of  a  boat,  held  the  rudder,  was  drawn  over 
this  narrow  track,  and  by  this  species  of  navigation 
■wrested  the  country  from  his  brother  monarch." 

Pexxaxt's  Scotland,  London,  1790,  p.  190. 

But  that  Bruce  also  made  this  passage,  although 
at  a  period  two  or  three  years  later  than  in  the 
poem,  appears  from  the  evidence  of  Barbour,  who 
mentions  also  the  effect  produced  upon  the  minds 
of  the  highlanders,  from  the  prophecies  current 
amongst  them: — 

"  But  to  king  Robert  will  we  gang. 
That  we  have  left  unspoken  of  lang. 
When  he  had  convoyccl  to  the  sea 
His  brother  Edward,  and  his  menyie. 
And  other  men  of  great  noblay, 
To  Tarbat  they  held  their  way, 
In  galleys  ordained  for  their  fare. 
But  them  worth'  draw  their  ships  there, 
And  a  mile  was  betwixt  the  seas, 
And  that  was  lorapyntt  all  with  trees. 
The  king  his  ships  there  gertj  draw; 
And  for  the  wind  couth}  stoutly  blaw 
Upon  their  back,  as  they  would  ga. 
He  gert  men  rops  and  masts  ta, 
And  set  them  in  the  ships  high, 
And  sails  to  the  tops  tye: 
And  gert  men  gang  thereby  drawing. 
The  wind  them  helped  that  was  blowing. 
So  that,  in  little  space. 
Their  fleet  all  ever  drawn  was. 
And  when  they  that  in  the  isles  were. 
Heard  tell  how  the  king  had  there, 
Gart||  his  ships  with  sails  go 
Out  over  betwixt  Tarbat  two. 
They  were  abaysitH  so  utterly. 
For  they  wist,  through  old  prophecy, 
That  he  that  should  gar"  ships  so 
Betwixt  the  seas  with  sails  go. 
Should  win  the  isles  so  till  hand. 
That  none  with  strength  should  him  withstand. 
Therefore  they  come  all  to  the  king. 
Was  none  withstood  his  bidding, 
OwtakiTitt  Johne  of  Lome  alane. 
But  well  soon  after  was  he  ta"n; 
And  present  right  to  the  king. 
And  they  there  were  of  his  leading. 
That  till  the  king  had  broken  fay,tt 
Were  all  dead  and  destroyed  away." 
Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  iii.  Book  xv,  pp.  14,  IS. 

5.  The  suUj  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 

Ben-ghoil,  "  the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 
Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 
And  bade  Loch-Ranza  smile. — P.  208. 

Loch-Ranza  is  a  beautiful  bay,  on  the  northern 
extremity  of  Arran,  opening  towards  East  Tarbat 
Loch.    It  is  well  described  by  Pennant. 

"  The  approach  was  magnificent:  a  fine  bay  in 
front,  about  a  mile  deep,  having  a  ruined  castle 
near  the  lower  end,  on  a  low  far-projecting  neck 
of  land,  that  forms  another  harbour,  with  a  narrow 
passage;  but  within  has  three  fathom  of  water. 


■  Were  obliged  to. 

X  Caused.  }  Could. 

^Contbunded.      "Make, 


t  Supposed  entangled. 

II  Caused. 

tt  Escaped.    U  Faith. 


even  at  the  lowest  ebb.  Beyond  is  a  little  plain, 
watered  by  a  stream,  and  inhabited  by  the  people 
of  a  small  village.  The  whole  is  environed  with 
a  theatre  of  mountains;  and  in  the  back-ground 
tlie  serrated  crags  of  Grianan-Athol  soar  above." 
— Pesnaxt's  Tow  to  the  /f  es/ervi/s/e.?,  pp.  191,2. 
Ben-Ghaoil,  "  the  mountam  of  the  winds,"  is 
generally  known  by  its  English,  and  less  poetical 
name,  of  Goalfield. 

to.  Each  to  Loch-Ranza's  margin  spring; 

That  blast  was  winded  by  the  knig.— P.  269. 

The  passage  in  Barbour,  describing  the  landing 
of  Bruce,  and  his  being  recognized  b\'  Douglas 
and  those  of  his  followers,  who  had  preceded  him, 
by  the  sound  of  his  horn,  is  in  the  original  singu- 
larly simple  and  aftecting. — The  king  arrived  in 
Arran  with  thirty-three  small  row-boats.  He  inter- 
rogated a  female  if  there  had  arrived  any  warlike 
men  of  late  in  that  country.  "  Surely,  sir,"  she 
replied,  "  I  can  tell  you  of  many  who  lately  came 
hither,  discomfited  the  English  governor,  and 
blockaded  his  castle  of  Brodick.  They  maintain 
themselves  in  a  wood  at  no  great  distance. "  The 
king  truly  conceiving  that  this  must  be  Douglas 
and  his  tollowers,  who  had  lately  set  forth  to  try 
their  fortune  in  Arran, desired  the  woman  to  con- 
duct him  to  the  wood.  She  obeyed. 

"  The  king  then  blew  his  horn  on  high; 
And  gert  his  men  that  were  him  by, 
Hold  them  still,  and  all  privy; 
And  s)-ne  again  his  honi  blew  he. 
James  of  Dowglas  heard  him  blow. 
And  at  the  last  alone  gau  know. 
And  said,  '  Soothly  yon  is  the  king; 
I  know  long  while  since  his  blowing.' 
The  third  time  therewithall  he  blew, 
And  then  sir  Robert  Boid  it  knew; 
And  said,  'Yon  is  the  king,  but  dread. 
Go  we  forth  till  him,  better  speed.' 
Then  went  they  till  the  king  in  live. 
And  him  inclined  couneously, 
And  blithly  welcomed  them  the  kmg. 
And  was  joj-ful  of  their  meeting. 
And  kissed  them;  and  speared*  sj-ne 
How  they  had  fared  in  hunting? 
And  they  him  told  all,  but  lesingrt 
S}Tie  laud  they  God  of  their  meeting. 
S>-ne  with  the  king  till  his  harbourye 
Went  both  joyful  and  joily." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  v,  pp.  US,  16. 


-his  brother  blamed. 


But  shared  the  weakness,  while,  ashamed. 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turned. 
And  dashed  away  the  tear  he  scorned.— P.  269. 
The  kind,   and  yet  fierj'  character  of  Edward 
Bruce,  is  well  painted  by  Barbour,  in  the  account 
of  his  behaviour  after  the  battle  of  Bannockburn. 
Sir  Walter  Ross,  one  of  the  very  few  Scottish  no- 
bles who  fell  in  that  battle,  was  so  dearly  beloved 
by  Edward,  that  he  wished  the  victory  had  been 
lost,  so  Ross  had  lived. 

Out-taken  him,  men  has  not  seen 
Where  he  for  any  men  made  moaning. 

And  here  the  venerable  archdeacon  intimates  a 
piece  of  scandal.  Sir  Edward  Bruce,  it  seems, 
loved  Ross's  sister,  par  amours,  to  the  neglect  ot 
his  own  lady,  sister  to  David  de  Strathbogie,  earl 
of  Athole.  This  criminal  passion  had  evil  conse- 
quences; for,  in  resentment  of  the  affront  done  to 
his  sister,  Athole  attacked  the  guard  which  Bruce 
had  left  at  Cambus-Kenneth,  during  the  battle  of 
Bannockburn,  to  protect  his  magazine  of  provi- 
sions, and  slew  sir  William  Keith,  the  command'* 
er.   For  which  treason  he  was  forfeited. 


sked. 


1"  \^'ithout  lying. 


306 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


In  like  manner,  when,  in  a  sally  from  Carrick- 
fersjus,  Neil  Fleming,  and  tlie  guards  whom  he 
commanded,  had  fallen,  after  a  protracted  resist- 
ance, whicli  saved  the  rest  of  Edward  liruce's 
army,  he  made  such  moan  as  surprised  his  follow- 
ers: 

"  Sic  moan  he  made  men  had  ferly,* 

For  he  was  not  customably 

Wont  for  to  moan  men  any  thing', 

Nor  would  not  hear  men  make  moaning." 

Such  are  the  nice  traits  of  character  so  often  lost 
in  general  history. 

12.  "  Thou  heard'st  a  wretched  female  plain 
In  agony  of  travail-pain, 
And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  hand 
Upon  the  instant  tuni  and  stand."— P.  271. 
This  incident,  which  illustrates  so  happily  the 
chivalrous  generosity  of  Bruce's  character,  is  one 
of  the  many  simple  and  natural  traits  recorded  by 
Barbour.  It  occurred  during  the  expedition  which 
Bruce  made  to  Ireland,  to  support  the  pretensions 
of  his  brother  Edward  to  the  throne  of  that  king- 
dom. Bruce  was  about  to  retreat,  and  his  host  was 
an-ayed  for  moving. 

"The  king  has  heard  a  woman  cry, 
He  asked,  what  that  was  in  hy,t 
'  It  is  the  layndar,t  sir,'  sai  ane, 
♦  That  her  child-illj  right  now  has  ta'en: 
And  must  now  leave  behind  us  here. 
rherefoi-e  she  makes  an  evil  cheer.'|| 
The  king  said,  '  Certes,U  it  were  a  pity 
That  she  in  that  point  left  should  be, 
For  eertes  I  trow  there  is  no  man 
That  he  no  will  rue**  a  woman  than.' 
His  hoste  all  ther  arrested  he. 
And  gert  a  tent  soon  stintittt  be, 
And  gert  her  gang,  in  hastily, 
And  other  women  to  be  her  by. 
While  she  was  delivered  he  bade; 
And  sjiie  forth  on  his  ways  rade. 
And  how  she  forth  should  carried  be, 
Or  be  furth  fure,):^  ordained  he. 
This  was  a  full  great  courtesy. 
That  swilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 
Gert  his  men  dwell  on  this  maner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  Book  xvi,  pp.  39,  40. 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  V. 
1.  O'er  chasms  he  passed,  where  fractures  wnde 
Craved  wary  eye  and  amj)le  stride.— P.  272. 
The  interior  of  the  island  of  Arran  abounds  with 
beautiful  highland  scenery.  The  hills,  being  very 
rocky  and  precipitous,  afford  soine  cataracts  of 
gi-eat  height,  though  of  inconsiderable  breadth. 
Tliere  is  one  pass  over  the  river  Machrai,  renown- 
ed for  the  dilemma  of  a  poor  woman,  who,  being 
tempted  by  the  narrowness  of  the  ravine  to  step 
across,  succeeded  in  making  the  first  movement, 
but  took  fright  when  it  became  necessary  to  move 
the  other  foot,  and  remained  in  a  posture  equally 
ludicrous  and  dangerous,  until  some  chance  pas- 
senger assisted  her  to  extricate  herself.  It  is  said 
she  remained  there  some  hours. 

2.  He  crossed  his  brow  beside  the  stone, 
Where  druids  erst  heard  victims  groan, 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild. 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled.— P.  272. 
The  isle  of  Arran,  like  those  of  Man  and  An- 
glesea,   abounds   with    many   relics  of    heathen, 
and    probably  druidical  superstition.    There  are 
hij;;lj    erect  columns   of  unhewn   stone,  the   most 
early  of  all  monuments,  the  circles  of  rude  stones. 


•  Wonder.  +  Haste.  }  Laundress. 

5  Child-bed.  P  Stop.  %  Certainly. 

•*  Pity.  tt  Piiohed.        }t  Moved, 


commonly  entitled  druidical,  and  the  cairns,  or 
sepulchral  piles,  within  which  are  usually  found 
urns  inclosing  ashes.  Much  doubt  necessarily  rests 
upon  the  history  of  such  monuments,  nor  is  it  pos- 
sible to  consider  them  as  exclusively  Celtic,  or 
druidical.  By  much  the  finest  ciixiles  of  standing 
stones,  excepting  Stonehenge,  are  those  of  Sten- 
house,  at  Stcnnis,  in  the  island  of  Pomona,  the 
principal  isle  of  the  Orcades.  These,  of  course,  are 
neither  Celtic  nor  druidical;  and  we  are  assured 
that  many  circles  of  the  kind  occtu*  both  in  Swe- 
den and  Nonvay. 

3.  Old  Brodick's  Gothic  towers  wei-e  seen. 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword. — P,  272. 

Brodick  or  Brathwick  castle,  in  the  isle  of  Ar- 
ran, is  an  ancient  fortress,  near  an  open  roadstead 
called  Brodick-bay,  and  not  distant  far  from  a 
tolerable  harbour,  closed  in  by  the  island  of  Lam- 
lash.  This  impot^ant  place  had  been  assailed  a 
short  time  before  Bruce's  arrival  in  the  island. 
James  lord  Douglas,  who  accompanied  Bruce  to 
his  retreat  in  Rachrin,  seems,  in  the  spring  of 
1306,  to  have  tired  of  his  abode  there,  and  set  out 
accordingly,  in  the  phrase  of  the  times,  to  see 
what  adventure  God  would  send  him.  Sir  Roliert 
Boyd  accompanied  him;  and  his  knowledge  of  the 
localities  of  Arran  appears  to  have  directed  his 
course  thither.  They  landed  in  tlie  island  private- 
ly, and  appear  to  have  laid  an  ambush  for  St.  John 
Hastings,  the  English  governor  of  Brodick,  and 
surprised  a  considerable  supplj'  of  arms  and  pro- 
visions, and  nearly  took  the  castle  itself.  Indeed, 
that  they  actually  did  so,  has  been  generally 
averred  by  historians,  although  it  does  not  appear 
from  the  narrative  of  Barbour.  On  the  contraiy,  it 
would  seein  that  they  took  shelter  within  a  forti- 
fication of  the  ancient  inhabitants,  a  rampart  called 
Tor  an  Scluim.  When  they  were  joined  by  Bruce, 
it  seems  probable  that  they  had  gained  Brodick 
castle.  At  least  tradition  says,  that  from  the  bat- 
tlements of  the  tower  he  saw  the  supposed  signal 
fiire  on  Turnberry-nook. 

The  castle  is  now  much  modernized,  but  has  a 
dignified  appearance,  being  surrounded  by  flour- 
ishing plantations. 

4.  Oft,  too,  with  unaccustomed  ears, 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears. — P.  273. 
Barbour,  with  great  simplicity,  gives  an  anec- 
dote, from  which  it  would  seem  that  the  vice  ot 
profane  swearing,  afterwards  too  general  among 
the  Scottish  nation,  was,  at  this  time,  confined  to 
military  men.  As  Douglas,  after  Bruce's  return 
to  Scotland,  was  roving  about  the  mountainous 
country  of  Tweed-dale,  near  the  water  of  Line,  he 
chanced  to  hear  some  persons  in  a  farm-house  say 
"  the  (levil."  Concluding,  from  this  hardy  expres- 
sion, that  the  house  contained  warlike  guests,  he 
immediately  assailed  it,  and  had  the  good  fortune 
to  make  prisoners  Thomas  Randolph,  afterward 
the  famous  earl  of  Moray,  and  Alexatider  Stewart, 
lord  Bonkill.  Both  were  then  in  the  English  in- 
terest, and  had  come  into  that  country  with  the 
purpose  of  driving  out  Douglas.  They  afterwards 
ranked  among  Bruce's  most  zealous  adherents. 

5.  For,  seel  the  ruddy  signal  made, 
That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all. 
Guards  carelessly  our  fatlier's  liall.— P.  273. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  by  which  Bruce 
was  induced  to  enter  Scotland,  under  the  false 
idea  that  a  signal-fire  was  lighted  upon  the  shore 
near  his  maternal  castle  of  Turnberry — the  disap- 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


•  Spring'. 
§  Sereral. 
••  Covering. 
55  Before. 
**•  Adventure. 
}J§  Pi-epare. 


1"  Began. 
H  More. 
tt  Bereared 
nil  Dark. 
ttt  Haste. 


t  Loftily. 

K  Buds. 

tt  Many. 
VI  Clear, 
ttt  Soon  after. 


pointment  which  he  met  with,  and  the  train  of 
success  which  arose  out  of  that  very  disappoint- 
ment, are  too  curious  to  be  passed  over  unnoticed. 
The  following  is  the  narrative  of  Barbour.  The 
introduction  is  a  favourable  specimen  of  his  style, 
■which  seems  to  be  in  some  degree  the  model  for 
that  of  Gawain  Douglas; — 

"  This  was  in  ver,*  when  winter  tide. 
With  liis  blasts  hideous  to  bide. 
Was  overdriven:  and  birds  small, 
As  turtle  and  the  nightin^le, 
Begoutht  right  sariollyt  to  sing; 
And  for  to  make  in  their  signing 
Sweet  notes  and  scinds  ser,J 
And  melodies  pleasant  to  hear. 

And  trees  began  to  ma|| 

Burgean?,^  and  bright  blooms  alsua, 

To  win  the  belying**  of  their  head, 

That  wicked  winter  had  them  reTid,'ti' 

And  all  grasses  began  to  spring. 

Into  that  time  the  noble  king. 

With  his  fleet,  and  a  few  meng}'e,tt 

Three  hundred  I  trow  they  might  be, 

Is  to  the  sea,  out  of  Arane, 

A  little  forouth §§  even  gone. 

They  rowed  fast,  with  all  their  might, 

Till  that  upon  them  fell  the  night. 

That  wax  myrk||||  upon  great  maner,  . 

So  that  they  wist  not  where  tliey  were. 

For  they  no  needle  had,  na  stone; 

But  rowed  always  intill  one. 

Steering  all  time  upon  the  fire. 

That  they  saw  burning  light  and  schyr.^U 

It  was  but  auentur*'*  them  led: 

And  they  in  short  time  so  tliem  sped, 

That  at  the  fire  arrived  they. 

And  went  to  land  but  more  delay. 

And  Cuthbert,  that  has  seen  the'  fire, 

Was  full  of  anger,  and  of  ire; 

For  he  durst  not  do  it  away; 

And  was  also  doubting  aye 

That  his  lord  should  pass  to  sea. 

Therefore  their  coming  waited  he: 

And  met  them  at  their  arri\-ing. 

He  was  well  soon  brought  to  the  king, 

That  speared  at  him  how  he  had  done. 

And  he  with  sore  heart  told  him  soon. 

How  that  he  found  none  well  loving, 

But  all  were  foes  that  he  found; 
And  that  the  lord  the  Persy, 
With  near  three  hundred  in  company. 
Was  in  the  castle  there  beside. 
Fulfilled  of  dispite  and  pride. 
But  more  than  two  pans  of  his  rout 
Were  harboured  in  the  town  without; 
•  And  despite  you  more,  sir  king. 
Than  men  may  despite  ony  thing.' — 
Than  said  the  king,  in  full  great  ire, 
'  Traitor,  why  made  you  the  fire?" — 
'Ah!  sir,'  said  he,  '  so  God  me  see! 
The  fire  was  never  made  by  me. 
No,  or  the  night,  I  wist  it  not; 
But  fra  I  wist  it,  well  I  thought 
That  ye  and  wholly  your  menzie 
In  hj-ftt  should  put  you  to  the  sea. 
Forth  I  come  to  meet  you  here. 
To  tell  perils  that  may  appear.' — 
The  king  was  of  his  speecli  angrj'. 
And  asked  his  priye  men,  in  hy, ' 
What  at  them  thought  was  best  to  do. 
Sir  Edward  first  answered  thereto. 
His  brother  that  was  so  hardy. 
And  said;  '  I  say  you  sekyrly 
There  shall  no  peril,  that  may  be. 
Drive  me  efisoonsJIt  to  the  sea. 
Mine  adventure  here  take  will  I, 
Whether  it  be  easeful  or  angrv'.' 
'Brother,'  he  said,  'since  you  will  sua, 
It  is  good  that  we  same  ta. 
Disease  or  ease,  or  pain  or  play. 
After  as  God  will  us  purvay.J^J 


507 


And  since  men  say  that  the  Persy 

Mine  heretage  will  occupy; 

And  his  menyie  so  near  us  lies. 

That  us  despites  many  wavs; 

Go  we,  and  venge*  some  of  the  dispite. 

And  that  may  we  have  done  as  tite;1- 

For  they  lie  traistly,t  but  dreading 

Of  us,  or  of  our  here  coming. 

And  though  we  sleeping  slew  them  all, 

Reproof  tfiereof  no  man  shall. 

For  warrior  no  force  should  ma. 

Whether  he  might  ourcome  his  fa 

Through  strength,  or  through  subtility; 

But  that  good  faith  ay  holden  be.'  " 

6.  Xow  ask  you  whence  that  wond'rous  light. 
Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight?— 
It  ne'er  was  know  n P.  274. 


The  follow  ing  are  the  words  of  an  ingenious  cor- 
respondent, to  whom  I  am  obliged  for  much  infor- 
mation respecting  Turnbeny  and  its  neighbour- 
hood. "  The  onlj-  tradition  now  remembered  of  the 
landing  of  Robert  the  Bruce  in  Carrick,  relates  to 
the  fire  seen  by  him  fromtheisle  of  Arran.  Itis  still 
generally  repotted,  and  religiously  believed  by 
many,  that  this  tire  was  really  tiie  work  of  supernatu- 
ral power,  unassisted  by  the  hand  of  anv  mortal  be- 
ing; and  itissaid,that,for  several  centuries  theflame 
rose  yearly  on  the  same  hour  of  the  same  night  ot 
the  year,  on  which  the  king  first  saw  it  from  the 
turrets  of  Brodick  castle;  and  some  go  so  far  as  to 
say,  that,  if  the  exact  time  were  known,  it  would 
be  still  seen.  That  this  superstitious  notion  is  very 
ancient,  is  evident  from  the  place  where  the  fire  is 
said  to  have  appeared,  being  called  the  Bogle's  Brae, 
beyond  the  remembrance  of  man.  In  support  of  this 
cmious  belief,  it  is  said  that  the  practice  of  burn- 
ing heath  for  the  improvement  of  land  was  theu 
unknown;  that  a  spunkie  (Jack  o'Lanlhorn)  could 
not  have  been  seen  across  the  breadth  of  the  Forth 
of  Clyde,  between  Ayrshire  and  Arran;  and  that 
the  courier  of  Bruce 'was  his  kinsman,  and  never 
suspected  of  treachery.  "—Letter  from  Mr.  Joseph 
Train  of  Newton  Stuart,  author  of  an  ingenious 
Collection  of  Poems,  illustrative  of  many  ancient 
traditions  in  Galloway  and  Ayrshire,  Edinburgh, 
1814.  "  ' 

7.  They  gained  the  chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  castle's  sylvan  reign.— P.  275. 

The  castle  of  Turnberry,  on  the  coast  of  A\t- 
shire,  was  the  property  of  Robert  Bruce,  in  right 
of  his  mother.  Lord  Hailes  mentions  the  follow- 
ing remarkable  circumstance  concerning  the  mode 
in  which  he  became  proprietor  of  it: — "  Martha, 
countess  of  Carrick,  in  her  own  right,  the  wife  of 
Robert  Bruce,  lord  of  Annandale,  bare  him  a  son, 
afterwards  Robert  1.  (lllh  July,  1274.)  The  cir- 
cumstances of  her  marriage  were  singular:  Hap- 
pening to  meet  Robert  Bruce  in  her  domains,  she 
becarne  enamoured  of  him,  and  with  some  violence 
led  him  to  her  castle  of  Turnberry.  A  few  days 
after  she  married  him,  without  the  knowledge  of 
the  relations  of  either  i)arty,  and  without  the  re- 
quisite consent  of  the  king.  The  king  instantly 
seized  her  castJe  and  whole  estates.  She  afterwards 
atoned  by  a  fine  for  her  feudal  delinquency.  Little 
did  Alexander  foresee,  that,  from  this  union,  the 
restorer  of  the  Scottish  monarchy  was  to  arise. " — 
minimis  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii,  p.  180. 

The  same  obliging  correspondent,  whom  I  have 
quoted  in  the  preceding  note,  gives  me  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  present  state  of  the  ruins  of 
Turnberr)': — "Turnberry  Fointis  a  rock  projecting 


•  Avenge. 


t  Snatched. 


t  Trustily. 


JOS 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


into  the  sea;  the  top  of  it  is  about  18  feet  above  high 
■water  mark.  Upon  this  rock  was  built  the  castle. 
There  is  about  '25  feet  high  of  the  wall  next  to  the 
sea  yet  standing.  Upon  the  land-side  the  wall  is  only 
about  four  feet  high;  the  length  has  been  60  feet, 
and  the  breadth  45:  it  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch, 
but  that  is  now  nearly  filled  up.  The  top  of  the 
ruin,  rising  between  40  and  50  feet  above  the  wa- 
ter, has  a  majestic  ai)pearance  from  the  sea.  There 
is  not  much  local  tradition  in  the  vicinity  connect- 
ed with  Brucr;  or  his  history.  In  front,  however, 
of  the  rock,  upon  which  stands  Culzean  castle,  is 
the  mouth  of  a  romantic  cavern,  called  the  Cove 
of  Colean,  in  which,  it  is  said,  Bruce  and  his  fol- 
lowers concealed  themselves  immediately  after 
landing,  till  they  arranged  matters  for  their  farther 
enteri)rizes.  Burns  mentions  it  in  the  poem  of 
Halloween.  The  only  place  to  the  south  of  Turn- 
berry  worth  mentioning,  with  reference  to  Bruce's 
history,  is  the  Weary  Nuik,  a  little  romantic  green 
hill,  where  he  and  his  party  are  said  to  have  rested, 
after  assaulting  the  castle." 

Around  the  castle  of  Turnberry  was  a  level 
plain  of  about  two  miles  in  extent,  forming  the 
castle  park.  There  could  be  nothing,  1  am  intorm- 
ed,  more  beautiful  than  the  copse-wood  and  ver- 
dure of  tliis  extensive  meadow,  before  it  was  in- 
vaded by  the  plough-share. 

8.  The  Bi-uce  liath  won  his  fathers"  hall!— P.  277. 

I  have  followed  the  flattering  and  pleasing  tra- 
dition, that  the  Bruce,  after  his  descent  upon  the 
coast  of  Ayrshire,  actually  gained  possession  of 
his  maternal  castle.  But  the  tradition  is  not  accu- 
rate. The  fact  is,  that  he  was  only  strong  enough 
to  alarm  and  drive  in  the  out-posts  of  the  English 
garrison,  then  commanded,  not  by  Clifford,  as 
assumed  in  the  text,  but  by  Percy.  Neither  was 
Clifford  slain  upon  this  occasion,  though  he  had 
several  skirmishes  witli  Bruce.  He  fell  afterwards 
in  the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  Bruce,  after  alarm- 
ing the  castle  of  Turnberry,  and  surprising  some 
part  of  the  garrison,  who  were  quartered  without 
the  walls  of  the  fortress,  retreated  into  the  moun- 
tainous part  of  Carrick,  and  there  made  himself 
so  strong  tliat  the  English  were  obliged  to  evacu- 
ate Turnberry,  and  at  length  the  castle  of  Ayr. 
Many  of  his  benefactions  and  royal  gifts  attest  his 
attachment  lo  the  hereditary  followers  of  his  house, 
in  this  part  of  the  country. 

It  is  generally  known  that  Bruce,  in  consequence 
of  his  ilistresses  after  the  battle  of  Methven,  was 
affected  by  a  scorbutic  disorder,  which  was  then 
called  a  leprosy.  It  is  said  he  experienced  benefit 
from  the  use  of  a  medical  spring  about  a  mile 
north  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  called  from  that  circum- 
stance King's  Ease.  The  following  is  the  tradition 
of  the  country,  collected  by  Mr.  Train: — "  After 
Robert  ascended  the  throne,  he  founded  the  prio- 
ry of  doniinican  monks,  every  one  of  wliom  was 
under  the  obligation  of  putting  up  to  heaven  a 
prayer  once  every  week-day,  and  twice  in  holy- 
days,  for  tiie  recovery  of  the  king;  and,  after  his 
death,  these  n)asses  were  continued  for  the  saving 
of  his  soul.  The  ruins  of  tiiis  old  monastery  are 
now  nearly  level  with  the  ground.  Robert  like- 
wise caused  houses  to  be  built  round  the  well  of 
King's  Ease,  for  eight  lepers,  and  allowed  eight 
bolls  of  oatmeal,  and  '28/.  Scotch  money,  per  an- 
num, to  eacli  person.  These  donations  were  laid 
upon  the  lands  of  FuUarton,  and  are  now  payable 


by  the  duke  of  Portland.  The  farm  of  Shells,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Ayr,  has  to  give,  if  required, 
a  certain  quantity  of  straw  for  the  lepers'  beds, 
and  so  much  to  thatch  their  houses  annually. 
Each  leprous  person  liad  a  drinking-horn  provided 
him  by  the  king,  which  continued  to  be  hereditary 
in  the  house  to  which  it  was  first  granted.  One  of 
those  identical  horns,  of  very  curious  workman- 
ship, was  in  the  possession  of  the  late  colonel  Ful- 
larton  of  that  ilk." 

My  correspondent  proceeds  to  mention  some 
curious  remnants  of  antiquity  respecting  this  foun- 
dation. "  In  compliment  to  sir  William  VVallace, 
the  great  deliverer  of  his  country,  king  Robert 
Bruce  invested  the  descendants  of  that  hero  with 
the  right  of  placing  all  the  lepers  upon  the  estab- 
lishment of  King's  Ease.  This  patronage  continued 
in  the  family  of  Craigie,  till  it  was  sold,  along  with 
the  lands  of  the  late  sir  Thomas  Wallace.  The 
burgh  of  A.yr  then  purchased  the  right  of  applying 
the  donations  of  King's  Ease  to  the  support  of  the 
poor-house  of  Ayr.  The  lepers'  charter-stone  was 
a  basaltic  block,  exactly  the  shape  ot  a  sheep's 
kidney,  and  weighing  an  Ayrshire  boll  of  meal. 
The  surface  of  this  stone  being  as  smooth  as  glass, 
there  was  not  any  other  way  of  lifting  it  than  by 
turning  the  hollow  to  the  ground,  there  extending 
the  arms  along  each  side  of  the  stone,  and  clasp- 
ing the  hands  in  the  cavity.  Young  lads  were  al- 
ways considered  as  deserving  to  be  ranked  among 
men,  when  they  could  lift  the  blue-stone  of  King's 
Ease.  It  always  lay  beside  the  well,  till  a  few  years 
ago,  when  some  English  dragoons  encamped  at 
that  place  wantonly  broke  it,  since  which  the 
fragments  have  been  kept  by  the  freemen  of  Prest- 
wick  in  a  place  of  security.  There  is  one  of  these 
cliarter-stones  at  the  village  of  Old  Daily,  in  Car- 
rick, which  has  become  more  celebrated  by  the 
following  event,  which  happened  only  a  very  few 
years  ago: — The  village  of  New  Daily  being  now 
larger  than  the  old  place  of  the  same  name,  the  inha- 
bitants insisted  that  the  charter-stone  should  be  re- 
moved from  the  old  town  to  the  new,  but  the  peo- 
ple of  Old  Daily  were  unwilling  to  part  with  their 
ancient  right.  Demands  and  remonstrances  were 
made  on  each  side  without  effect,  till  at  last  man, 
woman,  and  child,  of  both  villages,  marched  out, 
and  by  one  desperate  engagement  put  an  end  to  a 
war,  the  commencement  of  which  no  person  then 
living  remembered.  Justice  and  victory,  in  this 
instance,  being  of  the  same  party,  the  villagers  of 
the  old  town  of  Daily  now  enjoy  the  pleasure  ot 
keeping  the  blue-stane  unmolested.  Ideal  privi- 
leges are  often  attached  to  some  of  tnese  stones.  In 
Girvan,  if  a  man  can  set  his  back  against  one  of 
the  above  description,  he  is  supposed  not  liable  to 
be  arrested  for  debt,  nor  can  cattle,  it  is  imagined, 
be  poinded,  so  long  as  they  are  fastened  to  the 
same  stone.  That  stones  were  often  used  as  sym- 
bols to  denote  the  right  of  possessing  land,  before 
the  use  of  written  documents  became  general  in 
Scotland,  is,  I  think,  exceedingly  probable.  The 
charter-stcne  of  Inverness  is  still  kept  with  great 
care,  set  in  a  frame,  and  hooped  with  iron,  at  the 
market-place  of  that  town.  It  is  called  by  the  in- 
habitants of  that  district  Clack  na  Couddin.  1 
think  it  is  very  likely  that  Carey  has  mentioned 
this  stone  in  his  poem  of  Craig  Phaderick.  This 
is  only  a  conjecture,  as  I  have  never  seen  that 
work.  While  the  famous  marble  chair  was  allowed 
to  remain  at  Scoon,  it  was  considered  as  the  char- 
ttr-sione  of  the  kingdom  of  Scotland." 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


509 


9.  "  Bring;  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four. 
My  noble  fathers,  loved  of  yore." — P.  277. 
These  mazers  were  large  drinking  cups,  or  gob- 
lets. Mention  of  them  occurs  in  a  curious  inven- 
tory ofthe  treasure  and  jewels  of  James  III,  which 
will  be  published,  with  other  curious  documents 
of  antiquity,  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  Thomson, 
D.  Register  of  Scotland,  under  the  title  of  "  A 
Collection  of  Inventories,  and  other  Records  of  the 
Royal  Wardrobe,  Jewel-House,"  &C.  I  copy  the 
passage  in  which  mention  is  made  of  the  mazers, 
and  also  of  an  habiliment,  called  "  king  Robert 
Bruce's  serk,"  i.  e.  shirt,  meaning,  perhaps,  his 
shirt  of  mail;  although  no  other  arms  are  mention- 
ed in  the  inventory.  It  might  have  been  a  relic 
of  more  sanctified  description,  a  penance  shirt  per- 
haps. 
Extract  from  '■^Inventare  of  ane  Parte  of  the  gold 


ling,  too  long;  neither  of  us  can  doe  you  anv  good: 
I,  because  my  friends  have  forsaken  me,  and  my 
followers  and  dependers  are  fallen  from  me,  be- 
taking themselves  to  other  masters;  and  your  black 
trunk  is  too  faiTe  from  you,  and  your  enemies  are 
between  you  and  it;  or  (as  others  say)  because  there 
was  in  it  a  sort  of  black  coyne,  that  the  king  had 
caused  to  be  coyned  by  the  advice  of  his  courtiers; 
which  moneys,  (saith  he,)  sir,  if  you  had  put  out 
at  the  first,  the  people  would  have  taken  it;  and  if 
you  had  employed  mee  in  due  time  1  might  have 
done  you  service.  But  now  there  is  none  that  will 
take  notice  of  me,  nor  meddle  with  your  money." 
— Hume's  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  fol. 
Ediub.  1644,  p.  206. 

10.  Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new.— P.  277. 
As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Kyle,  savs  ancient 


and  silver  conyeit  and  iincoiii/eit,  Joivellis,  and^^.^f'^'°\^^^^  Robert  Bruce  had  landed  in  Car 
-       -  -      '  '  rick,  with  the  intention  of  recovering  the  crown 

of  Scotland,  the  laird  of  Craigie,  and  forty-eight 
men  in  his  immediate  neighbourhood,  declared  in 
favour  of  their  legitimate  prince.  Bruce  granted 
them  a  tract  of  la'nd,  still  retained  bv  the  freemen 
of  Newton  to  this  day.  The  original  charter  was 
lost  when  the  pestilence  was  raging  at  Ayr;  but  it 
was  renewed  by  one  of  the  Jameses,  and' is  dated 
at  Faulkland.  Tlie  freemen  of  Xewton  were  for- 
merly oflicers  by  rotation.  The  provost  of  Ayr, 
at  one  tine,  was  a  freeman  of  Xewton,  and  it  hap- 
pened to  be  his  turn,  while  provost  in  Avr,  to  be 
oflicer  in  Newton,  both  of  which  offices"  he  dis- 
charged at  the  same  time. 


■uther  Stuff  per  teining  to  Umquhile  our  Soverane 
Lords  Fader,  that  he  had  in  Depois  tlie  Tynie 
of  his  Deceis,  and  that  come  to  tlie  Handis  of 
our    Soverane   Lord  that  now   is.   M.CCCC. 

Lxxxvm." 

Memorandum  fundin  in  a  bandit  kist  like  a  gar- 
deviant,*  in  the  fyrst  the  grete  clienyef  of  gold, 
contenand  sevin  score  se.x  linkis. 

Jtem,  thre  platis  of  silver. 

Item,  tuelf  salfalis.:^ 

Item,  fyftene  discheis§  ouregilt. 

Jtem,  a  grete  gilt  plate. 

Jtem,  twa  grete  bassingisfl  ouregilt. 

Jte?n,  four  J\tasaris,  called  king  Robert  the  Bro- 
cis,  with  a  cover. 

Item,  a  grete  cok  maid  of  silver. 

Jtem,  the  hede  of  silver  of  ane  of  the  coveris  of 
masar. 

Item,  a  fare  dialle.H 

Item,  twa  kasis  of  knyffis.** 

Item,  a  pair  of  auld  kniffis. 

Item,  takin  be  the  smyth  that  opinnit  the  lokkis, 
in  gold  fourty  demyis. 

Item,  in  Inglys  grotisft xxiiii  li.   and  the 

said  silver  given  again  to  the  takaris  of  hym. 

Item,  ressavit  in  the  cloissat  of  Davidis  tour,  ane 
haly  waterfat  of  silver,  twa  boxis^a  cageat  tume, 
a  glas  with  rois-water,  a  dosoune  of  torchis, 
King  Robert  Bnicis  Serk. 

The  real  use  of  the  antiquarian's  studies  is,  to 


11.   Let  Ettrick's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 

The  fairest  forms,  the  tniest  hearts! — P.  277. 
The  forest  of  Selkirk,  or  Ettrick,  at  this  period, 
occupied  all  the  district  which  retains  that  deno- 
mination, and  embraced  the  neighbouring  dales  of 
Tweeddale,  and  at  least  the  Upper  Ward  of 
Clydesdale.  All  that  tract  was  probably  as  waste 
as  it  is  mountainous,  and  covered  with  the  remains 
of  the  ancient  Caledonian  forest,  which  is  suppos- 
ed to  have  stretched  from  Ciieviot  Hills  as  far  as 
Hamilton,  and  to  have  comprehended  even  a  part 
of  Ayrshire.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk,  sir 
John  Stewart,  of  Bonkill,  brother  to  the  steward 
of  Scotland,  commanded  the  archers  of  Selkirk 
forest,  who  fell  around  the  dead  body  of  their  lead- 
er. The  English  historians  have  commemorated 
the  tall  and  stately  persons,  as  well  as  the  unswerv- 
bring  the  minute  information  which  he  collects  ing  faith,  of  these  foresters.  Nor  has  their  inte- 
to  bear  upon  points  of  history.  For  example,  in  '  resting  fall  escaped  the  notice  of  an  elegant  modern 
the  inventory  I  have  just  quoted,  there  is  given  1  poetess,  whose  subject  led  her  to  treat  of  that  ca- 
the  contents  of  the  black  kist,  or  cliest,  belonging  ,  lamitous  engagement: 
to  James  III,  which  was  his  strong-box,  and  con- 
tained a  quantity  of  treasure  in  money  and  jewels, 
surpassing  what  might  have  been  at  the  period 


expected  of  "  poor  Scotland's  gear."  This  illus. 
trates  and  autiienticates  a  striking  passage  in  the 
history  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  by  Hume  of 
Godscroft.  The  last  earl  of  Douglas  (of  the  elder 
branch)  had  been  reduced  to  monastic  seclusion 
in  the  abbey  of  Lindores,  by  James  II.  James  III, 
in  his  distress,  would  willingly  have  recalled  him 
to  public  life,  and  made  him  his  lieutenant.  "  But 
he,"  says  Godscroft,  "  laden  with  years  and  old 
age,  and  weary  of  troubles,  refused,  saying,  Sir, 
you  have  keept  mee,  and  your  black  coffer  in  Stir- 

•  Gard-rin,  or  wine  cooler.  t  Chain.  i 

t  Salt-cellars,  anciently  the  object  of  much   curious 

workmanship.  J  Dishes.  ||  Basin<i.        1(  Dial.  , 

•'  Cases  olTinives.  tt  English  gloats.    I 


The  g-lanee  of  the  mom  had  sparkled  bright 
On  their  plumage  green  and  their  actons  light; 
The  bugle  was  strung  at  each  hunter's  side. 
As  they  had  been  bound  to  the  chase  to  iidc; 
But  the  bugle  is  mute,  and  the  shafts  are  spent. 
The  arm  uuiier\ed,  and  the  bow  unbent, 
And  the  tired  forester  is  laid 
Far,  far  from  the  clustering  green-wood  shade.' 
Soi-e  have  they  toil'd — they  are  fallen  asleep, 
And  their  sliuiiber  is  heavy,  and  dull,  and  deep! 
When  over  their  bones  the  grass  shall  wave. 
When  the  wild  winds  o'er  their  tombs  shall  rave, 
Memorj  shall  lean  on  their  graves,  and  tell 
How  Selkirk's  hunters  bold  around  old  Stewart  fell! 
Miss  Holford's  IVallace,  or  the  Fight  nf  Falkirk 
]jond.  quarto,  1809,  pp.  170,  1.  ' 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  VI. 
When  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flowed 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale.— P.  278, 

The  first  important  advantnge  gained  by  Bruce 


310 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


after  landing  at  Turnheriy,  was  over  Aymer  de 
Valance,  earl  of  Pembroke,  the  same  by  whom  he 
had  been  tiefeated  near  Methven.  They  met,  as 
has  bcii  said,  by  appointment,  at  Loudoun-hill,  in 
the  vest  of  Scotland.  Pembroke  sustained  a  de- 
feat, and  from  that  time  Bruce  was  at  the  head  of 
a  considerable  flying  army.  Yet  he  was  subse- 
quently obliged  to  retreat  into  Aberdeenshire,  and 
was  there  assailed  by  Comyn,  earl  of  Buchan,  de- 
sirous to  avenge  the  death  of  his  relative,  the  Red 
Comyn,  and  supported  by  a  body  of  English  troops 
under  Philip  de  Moubray.  Bruce  was  ill  at  the 
time  of  a  scrofulous  disorder,  but  took  horse  to 
meet  his  enemies,  although  obliged  to  be  support- 
ed on  either  side.  He  was  victorious,  and  it  is 
said  that  the  agitation  of  his  spirits  restored  his 
health. 
2.  When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas-dale. — P.  278. 

The  "good  lord  James  of  Douglas,"  during 
these  commotions  often  took  from  the  English 
his  own  castle  of  Douglas,  but,  being  unable  to 
garrison  it,  contented  himself  with  destroying  the 
fortifications,  and  retiring  into  the  mountains.  As 
a  reward  to  his  patriotism,  it  is  said  to  have  been 
prophesied,  that  how  often  soever  Douglas  Castle 
should  be  destroyed,  it  should  always  again  arise 
more  magnificent  from  its  ruins.  Upon  one  of 
these  occasions,  he  used  fearful  cruelty,  causing  all 
the  store  of  provisions,  which  the  English  had  laid 
up  in  his  castle,  to  be  heaped  together,  bursting 
the  wine  and  beer-casks  among  the  wheat  and 
flour,  slaughtering  the  cattle  upon  the  same  spot, 
and  upon  the  top  of  the  whole,  cutting  the  throats 
of  the  Englisii  prisoners.  This  pleasantry  of  the 
"  good  lord  James"  is  commemorated  under  the 
name  of  the  DoiigIas''s  Larder.  A  more  pleasing 
tale  of  chivalry  is  recorded  by  Godscroft.  "By 
this  means,  and  such  other  exploits,  he  so  affright- 
ed the  enemy,  that  it  was  counted  a  matter  of 
great  jeopardie  to  keep  this  castle,  which  began 
to  be  called  the  adventurous  (or  hazardous)  castle 
of  Douglas;  whereupon  sir  John  Walton  being  in 
suit  of  an  English  lady,  she  wrote  to  him,  that 
■when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous  castle  of  Doug- 
las seven  years,  then  he  might  think  himself  wor- 
thy to  be  a  suitor  to  her.  Upon  this  occasion, 
Walton  took  upon  him  the  keeping  of  it,  and  suc- 
ceeded to  Thruswall,  but  he  ran  the  same  fortune 
■with  the  rest  that  were  before  him.  For  sir  James, 
having  first  dressed  an  ambuscado  near  unto  the 
place,  he  made  fourteen  of  his  men  take  so  many 
sacks,  and  fill  them  with  grass,  as  though  it  had 
been  corn,  which  they  carried  in  the  way  to  Lan- 
ark, the  chief  market  town  in  that  county:  so  hop- 
ing to  draw  forth  the  captain  by  that  bait,  and  ei- 
ther to  take  him  or  the  castle,  or  both.  Neither 
was  this  expectation  frustrated,  for  the  captain  did 
bite,  and  came  forth  to  have  taken  this  victual  (as 
he  supposed.)  But  ere  he  could  reach  these  car- 
riers, sir  James,  with  his  company,  had  gotten  be- 
tween the  castle  and  him;  and  these  disguised  car- 
riers, seeing  the  captain  following  after  them,  did 
quickly  cast  off  their  sacks,  mounted  themselves 
on  horseback,  and  met  the  captain  with  a  shari? 
encounter,  being  so  niucli  the  more  amazed,  as  it 
was  unlooked  for;  wherefore,  when  he  saw  these 
carriers  metamorphosed  into  warriors,  and  ready 
to  assault  him,  fearing  that  which  was,  that  there 
was  some  train  laid  for  them,  he  turned  about  to 
have  retired  to  his  castle,  but  there  he  also  met 
■with  his  enemiesj  between  which  two  companies 


he  and  his  whole  followers  were  slain,  so  that  none 
escaped:  the  captain  afterwards  being  seai-ched, 
they  found  (as  it  is  reported)  his  mistress's  letter 
about  him." — Hume''s  History  of  the  House  of 
Douglas,  fol.  pp.  21),  30. 

3.  And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John. — P.  278. 

"John  de  St.  John,  with  15,000  horsemen,  had 
advanced  to  oppose  the  inroad  of  the  Scots.  By  a 
forced  march  he  endeavoured  to  surprise  them, 
but  intelligence  of  his  motions  was  timeously  re- 
ceived. The  courage  of  Edward  Bruce,  approach- 
ing to  temerity,  frequently  enabled  him  to  achieve 
what  men  of  more  judicious  valour  would  never 
have  attempted.  He  ordered  the  infantry,  and  the 
meaner  sort  of  his  army,  to  entrench  themselves 
in  strong  narrow  ground.  He  himself,  witii  fifty 
horsemen  well  harnessed,  issued  forth  under  co- 
ver of  a  thick  mist,  surprised  the  English  on  their 
march,  attacked  and  dispersed  them." — Dalrtm- 
ple's  Annals  of  Scotland,  quarto,  Edinburgh, 
1779,  p.  '25. 

4.  When  Randolph's  wai'-ci'y  swelled  the  southern  gale. — 
P.  278. 

Thomas  Randolpii,  Bruce's  sister's  son,  a  re- 
nowned Scottish  chief,  was  in  the  early  part  of  his 
life  not  more  remarkable  for  consistency  than 
Bruce  himself  He  espoused  his  uncle's  party 
when  Bruce  first  assumed  the  crown,  and  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  fatal  battle  of  Methven,  in  which 
his  relative's  hopes  appeared  to  be  ruined.  Ran- 
dolph accordingly  not  only  submitted  to  the  En- 
glish, but  took  an  active  part  against  Bruce,  ap- 
peared in  arms  against  him,  and  in  the  skirmish 
where  he  was  so  closely  pursued  by  the  blood- 
hound, it  is  said  his  nephew  took  his  standard  with 
his  own  hand.  But  Randolph  was  afterwards  made 
prisoner  by  Douglas,  in  Tweeddale,  (see  p.  306,) 
and  brought  before  king  Robert.  Some  harsh 
language  was  exchanged  between  the  uncle  and 
nephew,  and  the  latter  was  committed  for  a  time 
to  close  custody.  Afterwards,  however,  they  were 
reconciled,  and  Randolph  was  created  earl  of  Mo- 
ray, about  1312.  After  this  period  he  eminently 
distinguished  himself,  first  by  the  surprise  of  Ed- 
inburgh castle,  and  afterwards  by  many  similar 
enterprises,  conducted  with  equal  courage  and 
ability. 

5.  Stirling's  towers. 

Beleaguered  by  king  Robert  9  powers; 
And  they  took  term  of  truce. — P.  278. 
When  a  long  train  of  success,  actively  impror- 
ed  by  Robert  Bruce,  had  made  him  master  of  al- 
most all  Scotland,  Stirling  castle  continued  to  hold 
out.  The  care  of  the  blockade  was  committed  by 
the  king  to  his  brother  Edward,  who  concluded  a 
treaty  with  sir  Philip  Mowbray,  the  governor, 
that  he  should  surrender  the  fortress,  if  it  were 
not  succoured  by  the  king  of  England  before  St. 
John  the  Bajjtist's  day.  Tiie  king  severely  blam- 
ed his  brotiier  for  the  impolicy  of  a  treaty,  which 
gave  time  to  the  king  of  England  to  advance  to  the 
relief  of  the  castle  with  all  his  assembled  forces, 
and  obliged  himself  either  to  meet  them  in  battle 
with  an  inferior  force,  or  to  retreat  with  dishon- 
our. "  LetwU  England  come, "answered  the  reck- 
less Ed  ward,  "we  will  fight  them  were  they  more." 
The  consequence  was,  of  course,  that  each  king- 
dom mustered  its  strength  for  the  expected  battle, 
and  as  the  space  agreed  upon  reached  from  Lent 
to  Midsummer,  full  time  was  allowed  for  that  pur- 
pose. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


311 


6.  To  summon  prince  and  peer, 

At  Bernick-bounds  to  meet  their  lieg^e.— P.  273. 

There  is  printed  in  Rymer's  Fudeva  the  sum- 
mons issued  upon  this  occasion  to  the  sheriff  of 
York;  and  he  mentions  eighteen  other  persons  to 
■whom  similar  ordinances  were  issued.  It  seems 
to  respect  the  infantry  alone,  for  it  is  entitled,  De 
peditibus  ad  reciissum  Ca^tri  de  Stryvelin  a  Scotis 
obsess i properare  facieridis.  This  circumstance  is 
also  clear  frUm  the  reasoning  of  the  writ,  which 
states,  "  We  have  understood  that  our  Scottish 
enemies  and  rebels  are  endeavouring  to  collect  as 
strong  a  force  as  possible  of  infantry,  in  strong  and 
marshy  grounds,  where  the  approach  of  cavalry 
would  be  difficult,  between  us  and  the  castle  of 
Stirling." — It  then  sets  forth  Mowbray's  agree- 
ment to  surrender  the  castle,  if  not  relieved  be- 
foi'e  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day,  and  the  king's  de- 
termination, with  divine  grace,  to  raise  the  siege. 
"Therefore,"  the  summons  further  bears,  "to 
remove  our  said  enemies  and  rebels  from  such 
places  as  above-mentioned,  it  is  necessarv  for  us 
to  have  a  strong  force  of  infantry  fit  for  arms." 
And  accordingly  the  sheriff  of  York  is  command- 
ed to  equip  and  send  forth  a  body  of  four  thou- 
sand infantry;  to  be  assembled  at  VVerk,  upon  the 
tenth  day  of  June  first,  under  pain  of  the  royal 
displeasure,  &c. 

7.  And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued. 

Sent  forth  her  mountain-multitude.— P.  273. 

Edward  the  first,  with  the  usual  policy  of  a  con- 
queror, employed  tiie  Welch,  whom  he  had  sub- 
dued, to  assist  him  in  his  Scottish  wars,  for  which 
their  habits,  as  mountaineers,  particularly  fitted 
them.  But  this  policy  was  not  without  its  risks. 
Previous  to  the  battle  of  Falkirk,  the  Welch  quar- 
relled with  the  English  men-at-arms,  and  after 
bloodshed  on  both  parts,  separated  themselves 
from  his  army,  and  the  feud  between  them,  at  so 
dangerous  and  critical  a  juncture,  was  reconciled 
with  difficulty.  Edward  M.  followed  his  father's  ex- 
ample in  this  particular,  and  with  no  better  suc- 
cess. They  could  not  be  brouglit  to  exert  them- 
selves in  the  cause  of  their  conquerors.  But  they 
had  an  indifferent  reward  for  their  forbearance. 
Without  arms,  and  clad  only  in  scanty  dresses  of 
linen  cloth,  they  appeared  naked  in  the  eyes  even 
of  the  Scottish  peasantry;  and  after  the  rout  of 
Bannockburn,  were  massacred  by  them  in  great 
numbers,  as  they  retired  in  confusion  towards  their 
own  country.  They  were  under  command  of  sir 
Maurice  de  Berkley. 

8.  And  Connau^ht  poured  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 

Dark  Eth  O'Connor  swayed. — P.  278. 

There  is  in  the  Fosdera  an  invitation  to  Eth  O' 
Connor,  chief  of  the  Irish  of  Conn.iught,  setting 
forth  that  the  king  was  about  to  move  against  his 
Scottish  rebels,  and  therefore  requesting  the  at- 
tendance of  all  the  force  he  could  muster,  either 
commanded  by  himself  in  person,  or  by  some  no- 
bleman of  his  race.  These  auxiliaries  were  to  be 
commanded  by  Ricliard  de  Burgh,  earl  of  Ulster. 
Similar  mandates  were  issued  to  the  following 
Irish  chiefs,  whose  n^nies  may  astonish  the  un- 
learned, and  amuse  the  antiquary. 

"Eth  O  Donnuld,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tyr- 

cenil; 
Demond  O  Kahan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Ferne- 

trew; 
Doneval  O  Neel,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tryowyn; 
90 


Neel  Macbreen,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Kynalle- 

lewan; 
Eth  Offyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Turtery; 
Admely    Mac  Anegus,    Duci    Hibernicorum    de 

Onehagh; 
Neel  O  Hanlan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Erthere; 
Bien  Mac  Mahun,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Uriel; 
Lauercagli    Mac    Wyr,    Duci   Hibernicorum   de 

Lougherin; 
Gillys  O  Railly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Bresfeny ; 
Geffrey  O  Fergy,  Duci   Hibernicorum  de  Mon- 

tiragwil; 
Felyn  O  Honughur,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Con- 

nacli; 
DunethuthO  Brien,Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Toth- 

round; 
Dermod  Mac  Arthy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Des- 

semound; 
Deuenoul  Carbragh; 
Maur.  Keoenagh  Mac  Murgh; 
Murghugli  O  Brvn; 
Da\i'd  OTothviU; 
Dermod  O  Tonoghur,  Doffaly; 
Fyn  O  Dymsv; 

Souethuth  Mac  Gillephatrick;  , 

Ijcyssagh  O  Morth; 

GilbertusEkelly,Duci  Hibernicoimm  deOmany; 
Mac  Ethelau: 

Omalan  Heelyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Midie." 
Jiiimer''s  Acta  Publico,  vol.  iii,  pp.  476,  477. 
9.  Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis.— P.  279. 

Fitz-Louis,  or  Mac-Louis,  otherwise  called 
FuUarton,  is  a  family  of  ancient  descent  in  the 
isle  of  Arran.  They  are  said  to  be  of  French  ori- 
gin, as  the  name  intimates.  They  attached  them- 
selves to  Bruce  upon  his  first  landing;  and  Fergus 
M.ac-Louis,  or  Fullarton,  received  from  the  grate- 
ful monarch,  a  charter,  dated  26th  November,  in 
the  second  year  of  his  reign  (1307,)  for  the  lands 
of  Kilmichel,  and  others,  which  still  remain  in  this 
very  ancient  and  respectable  family. 

10.  In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye. 

The  forces  of  king  Robert  lie.— P.  279. 

The  arrangements  ailopted  by  king  Robert  for 
the  decisive  battle  of  Bannockburn,  are  given  very 
distinctly  by  Barbour,  and  form  an  edifying  lesson 
to  tacticians.  Yet,  till  commented  upon  by  lord 
Hailes,  this  important  passage  of  history  has  been 
generally  and  strangely  misunderstood  by  histo- 
rians.   1  will  here  endeavour  to  detail  it  fully. 

Two  days  before  the  battle,  Bruce  selected  the 
field  of  action,  and  took  post  there  with  his  army, 
consisting  of  about  30,000  disciplined  men,  and 
about  half  the  number  of  disorderly  attendants 
upon  the  camp.  The  ground  w  as  called  the  New 
Park  of  Stirling;  it  was  partly  open,  and  partly 
broken  by  copses  of  wood  and  marshy  ground.  He 
divided  his  regular  forces  into  four  divisions. 
Three  of  these  occupied  a  front  line,  separated 
from  each  oilier,  yet  sufficiently  near  for  the  pur- 
poses of  communication.  The  fourth  division  form- 
ed a  reserve.  Tiie  line  extended  in  a  north-easter- 
ly direction  from  the  brook  of  Bannock,  which  is 
so  rugged  and  broken  as  to  cover  the  right  fiank 
effectually,  to  the  village  of  saint  Xinian's,  proba- 
bly in  the  line  of  the  present  road  from  Stirling  to 
Kilsyth.  Edward  Bruce  commanded  the  right 
wing,  whicli  was  strengthened  by  a  strong  body 
of  cavalry  under  Keilli,  the  marshal  of  Scotland, 
to  whomwas  committed  the  important  charge  of 
attacking  the  English  artlier^;  Douglas,  and  the 


312 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


younj;  Stewart  of  Scotland,  led  the  central  wing;  ]  select  body  of  cavalr}'  stationed  with  Edward 
and  Thomas  Randolph,  earl  of"  Moray,  the  left  [Bruce  on  the  right  wing,  undt-r  the  immediate 
wing.  The  king  iiimsclf  commanded  the  fourtii  command  of  sir  Robert  Keith,  the  marshal  of  Scot- 
division,  wliich  lay  in  reserve  behind  the  others,  land,  who  were  destined  for  the  important  service 
Tiie  royal  standard  was  pitched,  according  to  tra-  of  charging  and  ilisi)ersing  the  English  archers, 
dition,  in  a  stone,  having  a  round  hole  for  its  re-  |  Thus  judiciously  posted,  in  a  situation  foi-tified 
ception,  and  thence  called  the  Bore-stone.  It  is  j  both  by  art  and  nature,  Bruce  awaited  the  attack 
still  shown  on  the  top  of  a  small  eminence,  called  I  of  the  English. 
Brock's-brac,  to  tiie  south-west  of  St.  Ninian's. 
Mis  main  bodv  thus  disi)Osed,  king  Robert  sent 
the  followers  of  the  camp,   fifteen  thousand  and  i 


upwards  in  number,  to  the  eminence  in  rear  of  his 
army,  called  fi-om  that  circumstance  the  Gillies^ 
{i.  e.  the  servants'^  Mil. 

The  militarv  advantages  of  this  position  were 
obvious.  The  Scottish  left  flank,  protected  by  the 
brook  of  Bannock,  coidd  not  be  turned;  or,  if  that 
attempt  were  made,  a  movement  by  the  resen'e 
might  have  covered  it.  Again,  the  English  could 
not  pass  the  Scottish  armv,  and  move  towards 
Stirling,  without  exposing  their  flank  to  be  attack- 
ed while  in  march. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Scottish  line  had  been 
drawn  up  east  and  west,  and  facing  to  the  south- 
ward, as  affirmed  by  Buchanan,  and  adopted  by 
iMr.  \immo,  the  author  of  the  Historj' of  Stirling- 
shire, there  appears  nothing  to  have  prevented  the 


11.  Beyond,  the  southern  host  appearr.— P.  279. 
Upon  the  23d  June,  1314,  the  alarm  reached  the 
Scottish  army  of  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  Dou- 
glas and  the  marshal  were  sent  to  reconnoitre  with 
a  body  of  cavalry. 

"  And  soon  the  fjreat  host  have  they  seen. 

Where  shields  shining  were  so  sheen, 

And  bacinets  burnished  bright. 

That  gave  against  the  snn  grtat  lighu 

They  saw  so  frie*  brawdynet  baners, 

Standards,  pennons,  and  speara, 

And  so  file  knights  upon  steeds, 

All  flaming;  in  their  weeds, 

And  so  fele  bataills,J  and  so  broad. 

And  too  so  great  room  as  they  rode, 

That  the  maist  host,  and  the  stoutest 

Of  Christendom,  and  the  greatest, 

Should  be  abaysit^  for  to  see 

Their  foes  unto  such  quantity." 

Bavhour''s  Bruce,  vol.  ii,  p.  111. 
The  two  Scottish  commanders  were  cautious  in 


English  from  approncliing  upon  the  carse,  or  level   the  account  which  they  brought  back  to  their  camp. 

ground,   from   Falkirk,   either  from  turning   the   To  the  king  in  private  they   tnld   the  formidable 

Scottish  left  flank,  or  from  passing  their  position,   state  of  the  enemy;  but  in  j)ublic  reported  that  the 

if  they  preferred  it,  without  coming  to  an  action,    English  were  indeed  a  numerous  host,  but  ill  cora- 

and  moving  on  to  the  relief  of  Stirling.     And  the   manded,  and  worse  disciplined. 

Gillies' hill,  if  this   less   probable   hypothesis   be,      12.  With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 

adopted,  would  be  situated,  not  in  the  rear,  as  al-  Beneath  their  chieftains  ranked  their  files.— P.  270. 

lowed  1)V  all  the  historians,  but  upon  the  left  flank  '      The  men  of  Argyle,  the  Islanders,  and  the  high- 

of  Bruce's  armv.     The  only  objection  to  the  h}-   landers  in  general,  were  ranked  in  the  rear.  They 

pothesis  above  laid  down  is,  that  the  left  flank  of  must  have  been  numerous,  for  Bruce  ha<l  recon- 

Bruce's  army  was  thereby  exposed  to  a  sally  from  ciled  himself  with  almost  all  their  chieftains,  ex- 

the  garrison  of  Siirlivig.     Bni  first,  the  garrison   cepting  the  obnoxious  Mac-Dougals  of  Lorn.   The 

were  bound  to  neutrality  by  terms  of  Mowbray's   following  deed,  containing  the  submission  of  tlie 

treaty;  and   Barbour  even   seems  to  censure,  as  a   potent  earl  of  Ross  to  the  king,  was  never  before 

breach  of  faitli,  some  secret  assistance  which  they   published.    It  is  dated   in  the  third  jear  of  Ro- 

rendered  their  countrymen  upon  the  eve  of  battle,   bert's  reign,  that  is,  1309. 

in  placing  temporary  bridges  of  doors  and  spars       Obligacio  Comitis  Rossexsis  per  Hoxagiux 

over  the  pools  of  water  in  the  carse,  to  enable  them  Fidelitatem  et  Schiptux. 

to  advance  to  the  charge.-  'iilly,  Had  this  not  been       Universis  Christi  fidelibus  ad  quorum  noticiam 


the  case,  the  strength  of  the  garrison  was  probably 
not  sufficient  to  excite  apprehension.  Siily,  The 
adverse  hypothesis  leaves  the  rear  of  the  Scottish 


presentes  literae  peruenerint  Willieljiius  Comes 
de  Ross  salutem  in  domino  sempiteruam.  Quia 
magnificus  prinreps  Dominus  Robertus  Dei  gracia 


army  as  much  exposed  to  the  Stirling  garrison,  as  ^p^.  Scottorum  Dominus  mens  ex  innata  sibi  boni- 

the  left  flank  would  be  in  the  case  supposed.  ^^^^^  inspirataque  clemencia,  et  gracia  speciali  re- 

It  only  remains  to  notice  the  nature  of  the  ground  ^jjjjj  ^^■^^^■^  p„^g  rancorem  aninii  sui,  et  relaxauit 

in  front  ot  Bruce's  line  of  battle.     Being  part  ot  a  ^^  condonauit  michi  omnimodas  transgressiones 

park,   or  chase,   it  was  considerably  interrupted  ^g^^  ofl'ensas  contra  ipsum  el  suos  per  me  et  meos 

with  trees,  and  an  extensive  marsh,  still  visible,  ^,     ,g  3,,  confeccionem  literarum  presencium  per- 

'"  ^?.'2f  P'**^*  rendered  it  maccessible,  and  in  all  pen-aias:  Et  terras  meas  et  tenementa  mea  omni:i 

ol   difficult   approach.     More  to  the  northward,  ^a^iose  concessit.    Et  me  nichilominus  de  terra 

where  tue  natural  impediments  were  fewer,  Bruce  °|e  Dingwal   et  Ferncroskry  infra  comitatum  de 

fortified  his  position  against  cavalry,  bv  digging  a  Smlivriand  de  benigna  liberalitate  sua  heriditarie 

number  of  pits  so  close  together,  says  Barbour,  as  i„,^.odare  curauit.    Ego  tantam  principis  beneuo- 

to  resemble  thecellsinahoney-comb.l  hey  were  lenciam  efticaciter  attendens,  et  pro  tot  graciis  mi- 

a  foot  in  breadth,  and  between  two  and  three  teet  ^.j^j  f^^^-     ^.-^^^^  g^^j  gratitudinis  meis  pro  vinbus 

deep,  many  rows  ot  them  being  placed  one  behind  ^^  ^^^^^^  ^y       ^i^^  cu,,iens  exhibere,  su- 

the  other.  They  were  slightly  covered  with  brush-  ^^-^-^^  ^^  ^^;y^„^  ^^  ^^  heredes  meos  et  homines 
wood  and  green  sods,  so  as  not  to  be  obvious  to  an 
impetuous  enemy. 

All  the  Scottish  army  were  on  foot,  excepting  a 


meos  vniuersos  di*to  Domino  meo  Regi  per  omnia 
erga  suam  regiarrv  dig- 
nitatem, quod  eriraus  de  cetero  fideles  sibi  et  here- 
dibus  suis  et  fidele  sibi  seruicium  auxilium  et  con- 
cilium  contra    omnes    homines   et 

eMtT8in7e',"had"therr  ra'aVeh'be^^^  femiuas    qui    vivere  poterint  aut  mori,    et  super 

Scottish  army  must  have  been  between  them  and  the  gar-    ■ 

rison.  )     *  Many.        t  Displayed.       t  Battalions.       §  Alarmed. 


•  An  assistance  which,  by  the  way,  could  not  have  been 
rendered,  had  not  the  English  approached  fi-om  the  south- 


THE  LORD   OF  THL  ISLES. 


513 


h Ego  Willielmus  pro  me 

hominibus  meis  vniuersis  dicto  domino  nieo  Regi 
-manibus  homagium  sponte  feci  et  su- 


per Dei  ewangelia  sacramentum  prestiti- 
— In  quorum  omnium  testimonium  sigillum  rae- 
um,  et  sigilla  Hugonis  filii  et  heredis  et  Johannis 
filii  mei  vna  cum  sigillis  venerabiliumpatrum  Do- 
minorum  Dauid  et  Thome  Moraviensis  et  Rossen- 
sis  Dei  gracia  episcoporum  presentibus  literis  sunt 
appensa.  Acta  scripta  et  data  apud  Aldern  in 
Morauia  vltimo  die  mensis  Octobris,  Anno  Regni 
dicti  domini  nostri  Regis  Roberti  Tertio.  Tes- 
tibus  venerabilibus  patribus  supradictis,  Domino 
Bernardo  Cancellario  Regis,  Dominis  Willielmo 
de  Haya,  Johanne  de  Striueljn,  Willielmo  Wys- 
man,  Johanne  de  Ffenton,  Dauid  de  Berkeley, 
et  Waltro  de  Berkeley  militibus,  magistro  Wal- 
tero  Heroe,  Decano  ecclesie  Morauie,  magistro 
Willielmo  de  Creswel  eiusdem  ecclesie  precen- 
tore  et  multis  aliis  nobilibus  clericis  et  laicis  dic- 
tis  die  et  loco  congregatis. 

The  copy  of  this  curiousdocuraent  was  supplied 
by  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomson,  Deputy  Register  of 
Scotland,  whose  researches  into  our  ancient  records  ! 
are  daily  throwing  new  and  important  light  uponj 
the  history  of  the  country. 

13.  The  monarch  rude  along  tlie  van.— P.  2S0.  | 

The  English  vanguard,  commanded  by  the  earls  i 
of  Gloucester  and  Hereford,  came  in  sight  of  the ; 
Scottish  army  upon  the  evening  of  the  23d  of  June.  | 
Bruce  was  then  riding  upon  a  little  palfrey,  in 
front  of  his  foremost  line,  putting  his  host  in  or- 
der. It  was  then  that  the  personal  encounter  took 
place  betwixt  him  and  sir  Heniy  de  Bohun,  a  gal- 
lant English  knight,  the  issue  of  which  had  a  great 
effect  upon  the  spirits  of  both  armies.  It  is  thus 
recorded  by  Barbour: 

"  And  when  Glosyter  and  Herfurd  were 

With  their  battle  approaching  near. 

Before  tlicm  all  their  came  riding, 

With  helm  on  head,  and  spear  in  hand. 

Sir  Henry  the  Boune,  the  worthy. 

That  was  a  wight  knight,  and  a  hardy: 

And  to  the  earl  of  Heri'urd  cousin; 

Armed  in  arras  good  and  tine; 

Come  on  a  steed,  a  bow-shot  nere, 

Before  all  other  that  there  were. 

And  knew  the  king,  for  that  he  saw 

Him  so  range  his  men  on  row; 

And  by  the  crown,  that  was  set 

Also  upon  his  bassenet. 

And  towards  him  he  went  on  haste. 

And  the  king  so  apertly 

Saw  him  come,  forth  all  his  feres" 

In  hj-t  till  him  the  horse  he  steers. 

And  when  sir  Henry  saw  the  king 

Come  on,  forouting  abaysing,t 

Till  him  he  rode  in  full  great  hy. 

He  thought  that  he  should  well  lightly 

Win  him,  and  have  him  at  his  will, 

Since  he  him  horsed  saw  so  ill. 

Sprent§  they  same  intill  a  lingfl 

Sir  Henry  mised  the  noble  king. 

And  he,  that  in  his  stirrups  stood. 

With  the  axe,  that  was  hard  and  good, 

With  so  great  maynH  reached  him  a  dint, 

That  neither  hat  nor  helm  might  stynt. 

That  hewy'*  duche,++  that  he  him  gave, 

That  nere  the  head  till  the  harness  clave. 

The  hand-axe  shaft  fnischytjf  in  two; 

And  he  down  to  the  yird  gan  go 

All  fiatlynys,(.§  for  him  failed  might. 

This  was  the  first  sti-oke  of  the  fight." 

Barhonr's  Bruce,  vol.  ii,  p.  122. 
The    Scottish  leaders    remonstrated   with    the 
king  upon  his  temerity.    He  onlj'  answered,  "  I 


have  broken  my  good  battle-axe." — The  English 
van-guard  retreated  after  witnessing  this  single 
combat.  Probably  their  generals  did  not  think  it 
advisable  to  hazzard  an  attack,  while  ilstinfavour- 
able  issue  remained  upon  their  minds. 

14.  "  What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet-sound 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  left-ward  flank?" P.— 281. 

\Vhile  the  van  of  the  English  army  advanced,  a 
detaclied  body  attempted  to  relieve  Stirling.  Lord 
Hailes  gives  the  following  account  of  this  manoeu- 
ver  and  the  result,  which  is  accompanied  by  cir- 
cumstances highly  characteristic  of  the  chivalrous 
manners  of  tlie  age,  and  displays  that  generosity 
wliich  reconciles  us  even  to  their  ferocity  upon 
other  occasions. 

Bruce  had  enjoined  Randolph,  who  commanded 
the  left  wiiigof  liis  army,  to  be  vigilant  in  prevent- 
ing any  advanced  jiarties  of  the  English  from  throw- 
ing succours  into  the  castle  of  Stirling. 

"  Eight  hundred  horsemen,  commanded  by  sir 
Robert  (Clifford,  were  detached  from  the  English 
army;  they  made  a  circuit  by  the  low  grounds  to 
the  east,  and  approached  tlie  castle.  The  king 
perceived  tlieir  motions,  and,  coming  up  to  Ran- 
dolph, angrily  exclaimed,  '  Thoughtless  man!  you 
have  suffered  the  enemy  to  pass.'  Randolph  hast- 
ed to  repair  his  fault,  or  perish.  As  he  advanced, 
the  Englisii  cavalry  wheeled  to  attack  him.  Ran- 
dolph drew  up  his  troops  in  a  circular  form,  with 
their  spears  resting  on  the  ground,  and  protended 
on  every  side.  At  the  first  onset,  sir  William 
Daynecourt,  an  English  commander  of  ilistinguish- 
ed  note,  was  slain.  The  enemy,  far  superior  in 
numbers  to  Randolph,  environed  iiim,  and  pressed 
hard  on  his  little  band.  Douglas  saw  his  jeopardy, 
and  requested  the  king's  permission  to  go  and  suc- 
cour him.  '  You  shall  not  move  from  your  ground,' 
cried  the  king;  '  let  Randolph  extricate  himself 
as  he  best  may.  I  will  not  alter  my  order  of  battle, 
and  lose  the  advant:ige  of  my  position.' — 'In  truth,' 
replied  Douglas,  '  1  cannot  stand  by  and  see  Ran- 
dolph perish ;  and,  thei'e  fore,  with  jour  leave,  1  must 
aid  hiin.'  The  king  unwillingly  consented,  and 
Douglas  flew  to  the  assistance  of  his  friend.  While 
approaching,  he  perceived  that  the  English  were 
falling  into  disorder,  and  that  tlie  perseverance 
of  Randolpli  had  prevailed  over  their  impetuous 
courage.  '  Halt,'  cried  Douglas, '  those  brave  men 
have  repulsed  the  enemy;  let  us  not  diminish  their 
glory  by  sharing  it.'  " — Dalhtmple's  Annals  oj 
Scotland,  4to,  Edinl)urgh,  1779,  pp.  44,  45. 

Two  large  stones  erected  at  the  nortii  end  of  the 
village  of  Newhouse,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  south  part  of  Stirling,  ascertain  the  place 
of  this  memorable  skirmish.  The  circumstance 
tends,  were  confirmation  necessary,  to  support 
the  opinion  of  lord  Hailes,  that  the  Scottish  line 
had  Stirling  on  its  left  flank.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Randolph  commanded  infantry,  Dayne- 
court cavaliy.  Supposing,  therefore,  according  to 
the  vulgar  hypothesis,  that  the  Scottish  line  was 
drawn  up,  facing  to  the  south,  in  the  line  of  the 
brook  of  Bannock,  and,  consequently,  that  Ran- 
dolph was  stationed  with  his  left  flank  resting  upon 
Milntown  bog,  it  is  morally  impossible  that  his 
infantry,  moving  from  that  position,  with  what- 
ever celerity,  could  cut  oft"  from  Stirling  a  body  of 
cavalry  who  had  already  passed  St.  Ninians,*  or,  in 


•Comrades,  t  Haste.  }  Without  shrinking,  f  Spurred. 
II  Line.  1  Moan.   "Heavy.  +t  Clash, 

tt  Broken.    5§  Flat. 


•  Barbour  says  expressly,  they  avoid^^d  the  New  Park, 
(where  Bruce's  army  lay)  and  held  '••  well  neath  the  Kirk," 
which  can  only  mean  St.  Niuians. 


314 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


other  wonls,  were  already  between  them  and  the 
town.  Whereas,  sii\»pnsin!»  Kundolph's  left  to  have 
aijproiiclied  Si.  Ninians,  the  short  movement  to 
Newhousc  couUl  easily  be  executed,  so  as  to  inter- 
cept the  Englisli  in  the  manner  described. 

15.  lltspoiisive  from  llie  Scottish  host, 

Pipe-ilang  ami  biiple-souml  wt- re  tossea. — P.  281. 

There  is  an  old  tradition,  that  the  well-known 
Scottish  tune  of"  Hey,  tutti,laitti,"  was  Uruce's 
march  at  tlie  battle  of  LJaimockburn.  The  late  Mr. 
Uitson,  no  gratiter  of  propositions,  doubts  whether 
the  Scots  liad  any  martial  music,  (luotes  Froissart's 
account  of  each  soldier  in  the  host  bearing  a  little 
horn,  on  wliich,  at  the  onset,  they  woulil  make 
sucli  a  liorrible  noise,  as  if  all  the  devils  of  hell  had 
been  anioiia;  them.  He  observes,  tiiat  these  horns 
are  tlie  only  music  mentioned  by  Barbour,  and 
concludes,  that  it  must  remain  a  moot  point 
wliclher  13ruee's  army  were  clieered  by  the  sound 
even  of  a  solitary  bagpipe. — Historical  Essay  pre- 
Jixed  to  Jiitsoii's  Scottish  Su7igs. 

It  may  be  observed  in  passing,  that  the  Scottish 
of  this  period  certainly  observed  some  musical  ca- 
dence, even  in  winding  their  horns,  since  Bruce 
■was  at  once  recognisetl  by  his  followers  from  his 
mode  of  blowing.    See  Xote  10,  on  Canto  4. 

But  the  tradition,  true  or  false,  has  been  the 
means  of  securing  to  Scotland  one  of  the  finest  ly- 
rics in  the  language,  the  celebi-ated  war-song  of 
Bruce, — 

Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled. 

16.  Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew.— P.  281. 

Upon  the  24th  of  June,  the  English  army  ad- 
vanced to  the  attack.  The  narrowness  of  the  Scot- 
tish front  and  the  nature  of  the  ground,  did  not 
periBit  them  to  have  tlie  full  advantage  of  their 
numbers,  nor  is  it  very  easy  to  find  out  what  was 
their  proposed  order  of  battle.  The  van-guard, 
however,  appeared  a  distinct  body,  consisting  of 
archers  anil  spearmen  on  foot,  and  commanded,  as 
already  said,  by  the  earls  of  Gloucester  and  Here- 
ford. Barbour,  in  one  place,  mentions  that  they 
formed  nine  battles,  or  divisions;  but,  from  the 
following  passage,  it  appears  that  there  was  no 
room  or  space  for  them  to  extend  themselves,  so 
that,  except  the  van-guard,  the  whole  array  ap- 
peared to  form  one  solid  and  compact  body: — 

The  English  men,  on  either  party, 
That  35  angels  shone  bripjhtly, 
AVere  not  arrayed  on  sueli  manner; 
For  all  their  battles  sarayn'  were 
lu  a  schiltrum.t  But  whether  it  was 
Through  the  great  straitness  of  the  place 
That  th.'y  were  iu,  to  bide  lighting-; 
Or  that  it  was  for  abaysing;! 
I  wete  not.    But  bi  a  schiltium 
It  seemed  they  were  all  and  some; 


•  Together. 

f  Schiltrum. — This  word  lias  been  variously  limited  or 
extended  in  its  sigiiitieatiou.  In  general,  it  seems  to  im- 
ply a  large  body  of  men  drawn  up  very  closely  together. 
But  it  has  been  limited  to  imply  a  round  or  circular  body 
of  men  so  drawn  up.  I  cannot  understand  it  with  this  li- 
mitation in  the  present  case.  The  schiltrum  of  the  Scot- 
tish army  at  Falkirk  was  undoubt<  dly  of  a  circular  form, 
in  order  to  resist  the  attacks  of  the  English  e.ivalry,  on 
whatever  quarter  they  might  be  charged.  But  it  does  not 
appear  how,  or  why,  the  English  advancing  to  the  attack 
at  Baiinoekburn  should  h:«v  arrayed  themselves  in  a  cir- 
cular form.  It  see.nis  more  probable  that,  by  sc/iiltrum, 
in  the  present  case,  Barbour  means  to  express  an  irregu- 
lar mass  iulo  which  the  English  army  was  compivsscd  by 
th'  "nwieldiness  of  its  numbers,  and  the  carelessness  or 
Ignorance  of  its  leaders. 

I  Frightening. 


Out  ta'en  the  ra'ward  anerly* 

That  right  with  a  great  company, 

Be  them  selwyn  arrayed  weii. 

Who  had  been  by,  might  have  seen  there 

Tliat  folk  ourtake  a  meikill  feild 

On  breadth,  where  many  a  shining  shield, 

And  many  a  burnished  bright  armour. 

And  many  a  man  of  givat  valour, 

Might  in  that  great  schiltrum  be  seen: 

And  many  a  bright  banner  and  sheen. 

Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  ii,  p.  137. 

17.  See  where  yon  barefoot  abbot  stands. 

And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands!— P.  281. 
"Maurice,  abbot  of  InchaiTray,  placing  himself 
on  an  eminence,  celebrated  mass  in  sight  of  the 
Scottish  army.  He  then  passed  along  the  front, 
barefooted,  and  bearing  a  crucifix  in  his  hands,  and 
exhorting  the  Scots,  in  few  and  forcible  words,  to 
combat  for  their  rigiits  and  tlieir  libeity.  Tiie  Scots 
kneeled  down.  '  1  hey  yield,'  cried  Edward;  '  see, 
they  imj)lore  mercy. '  '  They  do,'  answered  Ingel- 
ram  de  Umfraville,  '  but  not  ours.  On  that  field 
they  will  be  victorious,  or  die.'  " — ^Innals  of  Scot- 
land, vol.  ii,  p.  47. 

13.  "  Forth,  marshal,  on  the  peasant  foe! 
AVe"ll  tame  tlie  terrors  of  their  bow. 
And  cut  the  bow-string  loose!" — P.  282. 
The  English  archers  commenced  the  attack  with 
their  usual  bravery  and  dexterity.  But  against  a 
force,  whose  importance  he  had  learned  by  fatal 
experience,  Bruce  was  provided.  A  small  but  se- 
lect body  of  cavali-y  were  detached  from  llie  right, 
under  command  of  sir  Robert  Keith.  They  round- 
ed, as  1  conceive,  the  marsh  called  Milntown  bog, 
and,  keeping  the  firm  ground,  charged  the  left  fianii 
and  rear  of  the  English  archers.  As  the  bowmen 
had  no  spears,  nor  long  weapons,  fit  to  defend  them- 
selves against  horse,  they  were  instantly  thrown 
into  disorder,  and  spread  through  the  whole  En- 
glish army  a  confusion,  from  which  they  never 
fairly  recovered. 

"  The  English  archers  shot  so  fast. 
That  might  their  shot  have  any  last. 
It  had  been  hard  to  Scotlis  men. 
But  king  Robert,  tliat  well  gan  ken,+ 
'that  their  shot  right  hard  and  grievous. 
Ordained,  foroutht  the  assembly. 
His  marschall,  with  a  great  meuzie. 
Five  hundred  armed  into  steel. 
That  on  light  horse  were  horsed  well. 
For  to  pryk5  among  the  archers. 
And  to  assail  them  w  ith  their  spears 
That  they  no  leisure  have  till  shoot. 
This  marischell,  that  1  of  mute,  |; 
That  sir  Robert  of  Keith  w  as  called. 
As  I  bcfor  here  has  you  told. 
When  he  saw  the  battles  so 
Assembled,  and  together  go. 
And  saw  the  archers  shoot  stoutly; 
With  all  them  of  hi>  company. 
In  haste  upon  them  gan  he  ride. 
And  overtooke  them  at  a  side;*] 
And  rushed  among  them  so  rudely, 
Sticking  them  so  dispiteously, 
And  in  such  fusion**  bearing  downt. 
And  slaying  them,  foroutin  ransoun:H 
That  they  them  scalytJJ  euerilkaue,§5 
And  from  that  time  forth  there  was  na 
That  assembled  shot  to  raa|||| 
When  Scotts  archers  saw  that  they  sua 
Were  rebutyt,1i^  they  wax  hardy. 
And  w  ith  all  their  might  shot  eagrele 
Among  the  horsemen  that  there  rode. 
And  wounds  wide  to  them  they  made, 
And  slew  of  them  a  fullgi-eat  deal." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  pp.  147,  8. 


•Alone.  tKnow.  J  Disjointed  from  tluir  main  body. 
5  Spur.  II  That  I  speak  of.  f  Set  upon  their  flank. 
*•  X umbers,     tt  Ransom.  j}  Disjjersed. 

5 J  Every  one.  |{||  Make.  ^<!  Dnven  back. 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


J15 


Although  the  success  of  this  manoeuvre  was  evi- 
dent, it  is  very  remarkable  that  the  Scottisli  gene- 
rals do  not  appear  to  have  profited  by  the  lesson. 
Almost  every  subsequent  battle  which  thej'  lost 
against  England  was  decided  by  the  arciiers,  to 
■whom  the  close  and  compact  array  of  the  Scottisli 
phalanx  afforded  an  exposed  and  unresisting  mark. 
The  bloody  battle  of  Halidon-hill,  fought  scarce 
twenty  years  afterward,  was  so  completely  gained 
by  the  archers,  that  the  English  are  said  to  have 
lost  only  one  knight,  one  esquire,  and  a  few  foot- 
soldiers.  At  the  iiattle  of  Neville's  Cross,  in  1346, 
■where  David  H  was  defeated  and  made  prisoner, 
John  de  Graham,  observing  the  loss  which  the 
Scots  sustained  from  the  English  bowmen,  offered 
to  charge  and  disperse  them,  if  a  hundred  men-at- 
arms  were  put  under  his  command.  "  But,  to  con- 
fess the  truth,"  says  Fordun,  "  he  coidd  not  pro- 
cure a  single  horseman  for  the  service  proposed." 
Of  such  little  use  is  experience  in  war,  where  its 
results  are  opposed  by  liabit  or  prejudice. 

19.  Each  bragg;art  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore! — P.  282. 

Roger  Ascham  quotes  a  similar  Scottish  pro- 
verb, "  whereby  they  give  the  whole  praise  of 
shooting  honestly  to  Englishmen,  saying  thus, 
'  that  every  English  archer  beareth  under  his  girdle 
twenty-four  Scottes. '  Indeed,  Toxophilus  says  be- 
fore, and  truly  of  the  Scottish  nation,  '  the 
Scottes  surely  be  good  men  of  warre  in  theyre  ow  ne 
feates  as  can  be;  but  as  for  shootiiige,  they  can 
neither  use  it  to  any  profile,  nor  yet  challenge  it 
for  any  praise.'  " — Works  of  Ascham,  edited  by 
Bennet,  4to.  p.  110. 

It  is  said,  1  trust  incorrectly,  by  an  ancient  En- 
glish historian,  that  the  "  good  lord  James  of  Dou- 
glas" dreaded  the  superiority  of  the  English  ar- 
chers so  much,  that  when  he  made  any  of  them 
prisoner,  he  gave  him  the  option  of  losing  the  fore- 
finger of  his  right  liand,  or  his  riglit  eye,  either 
species  of  mutilation  rendering  him  incapable  to 
use  the  bow.  1  have  mislaid  tlie  reference  to  this 
singular  passage. 

20.  Down!  down!  in  headlong  overthrow. 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go.— P.  282. 

It  is  generally  alleged  by  liistorians,  that  the 
English  men-at-arms  fell  into  the  hidden  snare 
which  Bruce  had  prepared  for  them.  Barbour 
does  not  mention  tliis  circumstance.  According 
to  his  accoimt,  Randolph,  seeing  the  slaughter 
made  by  the  cavalry  on  tlie  right  wing  among  the 
archers,  advanced  courageously  against  the  main 
body  of  the  English,  and  entered  into  close  com- 
bat "with  them.  Douglas  and  Stuart,  who  com- 
manded the  Scottish  centre,  led  their  division  also 
to  the  charge,  and  the  battle  becoming  general 
along  the  whole  line,  was  obstinately  maintained 
on  both  sides  for  a  long  space  of  time;  the  Scottish 
archers  doing  great  execution  among  the  English 
men-at-arms,  after  the  bowmen  of  England  were 
dispersed. 

21.  And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony. — P.  282. 
I  have  been  told  that  this  line  requii'es  an  ex- 
planatory note;  and,  indeed,  those  who  witness  the 
silent  patience  with  which  horses  submit  to  the 
most  cruel  usage  may  be  permitted  to  doubt  that, 
in  moments  of  sudden  or  intolerable  anguish,  they 
utter  a  most  melancholy  cry.  Lord  Erskioe,  in  a 
speech  made  in  the  House  of  Lords,  upon  a  bill 
for  enforcing  humanity  towards  animals,  noticed 
this  remarkable  fact,  in  language  which  I  will  not 


mutilate  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  It  ■was  my 
fortune,  upon  one  occasion,  to  hear  a  horse,  in  a 
moment  of  agony,  utter  a  thrilling  scream,  which 
I  still  consider  the  most  melancholy  sound  I  ever 
heard. 

22.  Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa-rook; 
Rush  on  with  highland  sword  and  targe; 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge.— P.  283. 

When  the  engagement  between  the  main  bodies 
had  lasted  some  time,  Bruce  made  a  decisive 
movement,  by  bringing  up  the  Scottish  reserve. 
It  is  traditionally  said,  that  at  this  crisis  he  ad- 
dressed the  lord  of  the  Isles  in  a  phrase  used  as  a 
motto  by  some  of  his  descendants,  "  My  trust  is 
constant  in  thee."  Barbour  ititi mates,  that  the 
reserve  "assembled  on  one  field,"  that  is,  in  the 
same  line  with  tlie  Scottish  forces  already  engaged, 
which  leads  Lord  Hail^s  to  conjecture,  that  the 
Scottish  ranks  must  have  been  much  thinned  by 
slaughter,  since,  in  tliat  circumscribed  ground, 
there  was  room  for  the  reserve  to  fall  into  the  line. 
But  the  advance  of  the  Scottish  cavaliy  must  have 
contributed  a  good  deal  to  form  the  vacancy  occu- 
pied by  the  reserve. 

23.  To  arms  they  flew,— axe,  club,  or  spear,— 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear.— P.  283, 

The  followers  of  the  Scottish  camp  observed, 
from  the  Gillies'  hill  in  the  rear,  the  impression 
prod^jced  upon  the  English  army  by  the  bringing 
up  of  the  Scottish  reserve,  and,  prompted  by  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  or  the  desire  of  plun- 
der, assumed,  in  a  tumultuary  manner,  such  arms 
as  tliey  found  nearest,  fastened  sheets  to  tent-poles, 
and  lances,  and  showed  themselves  like  a  new  ar- 
my advancing  to  battle. 

"i'eomcn,  and  swanys,*  and  pitaill,+ 
That  in  the  park  yemet  victual, t 
Were  k-fi;  when  they  wist  but  lesingf 
That  their  lords  with  full  fighting 
On  their  fues  asseiiibltd  were; 
One  of  their  selwyn||  that  were  there 
Captain  of  them  all  they  made. 
And  sheets,  that  were  somedaleU  braid, 
They  fastened  instead  of  banners 
Upon  long  trees  and  spears. 
And  said  tliat  they  would  see  the  fight, 
And  help  their  lords  at  their  might. 
When  here— till  all  assented  were, 
In  a  rout  assembled  er," 
Fifteen  thousand  they  wei-e,  or  ma. 
And  than  in  great  haste  gan  they  go, 
With  thi.ir  biiiuiers,  all  in  a  route. 
As  they  had  men  been  styvett  and  stout. 
They  came  with  all  tliat  assembly, 
Ris-lit  till  they  might  the  battle  see; 
Then  ail  at  once  they  gave  a  cry, 
"  Slay!  Slay!  Upon  them  hastily!" 
Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  ii,  Book  xiii,  pp.  153,  4. 

The  unexpected  apparition,  of  what  seemed  a 
new  army,  conipleteil  the  confusion  which  already 
prevailed  among  the  English,  who  fled  in  eveiy 
direction,  and  were  pursued  with  immense  slaugh- 
ter. The  brook  of  Bannock,  according  to  Harbour, 
was  so  clioked  with  the  bodies  of  men  and  horses, 
that  it  mis;lit  have  been  passed  (h-y-shod.  The  fol- 
lowers of  "the  Scottish  camp  fell  upon  the  disheart- 
ened fugitives,  and  added  to  the  confusion  and 
slaughter.  Many  were  driven  into  the  Forth,  and 
perished  there, 'wliich,  by  the  way,  could  h.ardly 
have  happened,  had  tlie  armies  been  drawn  up 
east  and  west,  since  in  tiiat  case,  to  get  at  the  riv- 
er, the  English  fugitives  must  have  fled  through 


»  Swains,     t  Rabble,    t  Kept  the  provisions.    }  Lving. 
II  Selves.      1!  Somewhat.  '"Are.  tt  Stiff. 


II  Selves.      H  Somewhat. 


516 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


the  victorious  army.  About  a  short  mile  from  the  field 
of  battle  is  a  place  called  the  Bloody  Folds.  Here 
the  earl  of  (iloucester  is  said  to  iiave  made  a  stand, 
and  died  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his  own  military 
tenants  and  vassals.  He  was  much  regretted  by 
both  sides;  and  it  is  said  tiie  Scottish  would  glad- 
ly liave  saved  his  life,  but  neglecting  to  wear  his 
surcoat  with  armorial  bearings  over  his  armour, 
he  fell  unknown,  after  his  horse  had  been  stabbed 
willi  spears. 

Sir  Marmadukc  Twenge,  an  English  knight, 
contrived  to  conceal  himself  during  the  fury  of  the 
pursuit,  and  when  it  was  somewhat  slackened,  ap- 
proached king  Robert.  "  Whose  prisoner  are 
you,  sir  Marmaduke'"  said  Bruce,  to  whom  he 
was  jiersonally  known.  "Yours,  sir,"  answered 
the  knight.  "  £  receive  you,"  answered  the  king; 
and,  treating  him  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  loaded 
him  with  gifts,  and  dismissed  him  without  ransom. 
The  other  prisoners  were  well  treated.  There 
might  be  policy  in  this,  as  Bruce  would  naturally 
wish  to  acquire  the  good  opinion  of  the  English 
barons,  who  were  at  this  time  at  great  variance 
with  their  king.  But  it  also  well  accords  with  his 
high  chivalrous  character. 

24.  O!  give  their  hapless  prince  his  due.— P.  283. 

Edward  II,  according  to  the  best  authorities, 
showed,  in  the  fatal  field  of  Bannockburn,  per- 
sonal gallantry  not  unworthy  of  his  great  sire  and 
greater  son.  He  remained  on  the  field  till  forced 
away  by  the  earl  of  Pembroke,  when  all  was  lost. 
He  then  rode  to  the  castle  of  Stirling,  and  demand- 
ed admittance;  but  tiie  governor  remonstrating 
upon  the  imprudence  of  shutting  himself  up  in 
that  fortress,  which  must  so  soon  surrender,  he 
assembled  around  his  person  five  hundred  men-at- 
arms,  and,  avoiding  the  field  of  battle  and  the  vic- 
torious army,  fled  towards  Linlithgow,  pursued  by 
Douglas  with  about  sixty  horse.  They  v/ere  aug- 
mented h)-  sir  Lawrence  Abernethy  with  twenty 
more,  whom  Douglas  met  in  the  Torwood,  upon 
their  way  to  join  the  English  army,  and  whom  he 
easily  persuaded  to  desert  the  defeated  monarch, 
and  to  assist  in  tiie  pursuit.  They  hung  upon  Ed- 
ward's flight  as  far  as  Dunbar,  too  few  in  number 
to  assail  him  with  effact,  but  enough  to  harass  his 
retreat  so  constautly,-that  whoever  fell  an  instant 
behind,  was  instantly  slain,  or  made  prisoner. 
Edward's  ignominious  flight  terminated  at  Dunbar, 
where  the  earl  of  March,  wlio  still  professed  al- 
legiance to  him,  "  received  him  full  gently." 
From  thence,  the  monarch  of  so  great  an  empire, 
and  the  late  commander  of  so  gallant  and  numer- 
ous an  army,  escaped  to  Bamborough  in  a  fishing 
vessel. 

Bruce,  as  v  ill  appear  from  the  following  docu- 
ment, lost  no  time  in  directing  the  thunders  of 
parliamentary  censure  against  such  parts  of  his 
subjects  as  did  not  return  to  their  natural  allegi- 
ance, after  the  battle  of  Bannockburn. 

ApUD  MoNASTERIt'M  DE  CATHBrSKEXXETH, 
XVI  DIE  NOVEMBUI.S  M.CCC.XIV. 

Jiidiciiim  reddiUim  ajmd  Kambiiskinet  contra 
oinncs  illos  qid  time  fuenivt  contra  Jidem  et pn- 
cein  Domini  Reg-is. 

_  Anno  gracie  millesimo  tricentesimo  quarto  de- 
cimo  sexto  die  Novembris  tenente  parliamentum 
suum  excellentissimo  principe  domino  Roberto 
Dei  gracia  Rege  Scottorum  Ulustri  in  monasterio 


de  Cambuskyneth  concordatum  fuit  finaliter  judi- 
catum  [ac  super]  hoc  statutum  de  ctmsilio  et  as- 
sensu  episcoporum  et  ceterorum  prelatorum  co- 
mitum  baronum  et  aliorum  nobilium  regni  Scocie 
nee  non  et  tocius  commiuiitatis  regni  predicti  quod 
omnes  qui  contra  fidem  et  pacem  dicti  domini  re- 
gis in  hello  sue  alibi  mortui  sunt  [vel  qui  die]  to 
die  ad  pacem  ejus  et  fidem  non  venerant  licet  se- 
pius  vocati  et  legitime  expectati  fuissent  de  terris 
et  tenementis  et  omni  alio  statu  intra  regnum  Sco- 
cie perpetuo  sint  exheredati  et  habeantur  de  cete- 
ro  tanquani  inimici  regis  et  regni  ab  omni  ven- 
dicacione  juris  hereditarii  vel  juris  alterius  cujus- 
cunque  in  posterum  pro  se  et  heredibus  suis  in 
perpetuura  privati  ad  perpetuam  igitur  I'ei  me- 
moriam  et  evidentem  probacionem  hujus  judicii 
et  statuti  sigilla  episcoporum  et  aliorum  prela- 
torum nee  non  et  comitum  baronum  ac  ceterorum 
nobilium  dicti  regni  present!  ordinacioni  judicio 
et  statuto  sunt  appensa. 
Sigillura  Domini  Regis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Sancti  Andrea 
Sigillum  Roberti  Episcopi  Glascuensis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Dunkeldensis 

-  -    -    Episcopi 

-  -    -     Episcopi 

-  -    -    Episcopi 

Sigillum  Alani  Episcopi  Sodorensis 
Sigillum  Johannis  Episcopi  Brechynensis 
Sigillum  Andree  Episcopi  Ergadiensis 
Sigillum  Frechardi  Episcopi  Cathanensis 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Scona 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Calco 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Abirbrothok 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancta  Cruce 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Londoris 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Newbotill 
Sigillum  Abbatis   de  Cupro 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Paslet 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Durafermelyn 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Lincluden 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Insula  Missarum 
Sigillura  Abbatis  de  Sancto  Columba 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Deer 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dulce  Corde 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Coldinghame 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Rostynot 
Sigillum  Prioris  Sancti  Andree 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Pettinwem 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Insula  de  Lochlevin 
Sigillum  Senescalli  Scocie 
Sigillura  Willelmi  Comitis  de  Ros 


Sigillum  Gilbert!  de  la  Haya  Constabularii  Scocie 

Sigillum  Robert!  de  Keth  Mariscalli  Scocie 

Sigillum  Hugonis  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Jacob!  de  Duglas 

Sigillum  Johannis  de  Sancto  Claro 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Alexandri  de  Settone 

Sigillum  Walter!  Haliburtone 

Sigillum  Davidis  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Duncani  de  Wallays 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Dir.chiugtone 

Sigillum  Andree  de  Moravia 

Sigillum  Archibaldi  de  Betun 

Sigillum  Ranulphi  de  Lyill 

Sigillum  Malcomi  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Norraanni  de  Lesley 


THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


Sir 


Sigillutn  Nigelli  de  Campo  bello 
Sigillum  Morni  de  Musco  Campo. 


niisosEns, 
Barons  and  baronets.       John  Bluwet, 
Henrj'  de  Boun,  eail  of    Roger  Corbet, 


iierefoi-d, 
Lord  John  Giffard, 
William  de  Latimer, 
Maurice  de  Berkley, 
Ingelram  de  Umfraville, 
Marmaduke  de  T  wenge, 
John  de  AVyletone, 
Robert  de  Maulee, 


25.  Nor  for  De  Arg;entine  alone, 

Through  Xiuian's  church  these  torches  shone. 
And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awtul  tone.— P.  234. 
The   remarkable   circumstances  attending  the 
death  of  De  Argentine  have  been  alreadj'  noticed, 
(p.  291. )  Besides  this  renowned  warrior,  there  fell 
many  representatives  of  the  noblest  houses  in  En- 
gland, which  never  sustained  a  more  bloody  and    u          Fitz-Hue-h 
disastrous  defeat.    Barbour  says  that  two  hundred   rj,,    2,„^  ,i^V„„>. 
-.,  ,,                       ^ir         ii_ciii-t  nomas  cle  Lirav, 
pairs  of  gilded  spurs  were  taken  from  the  held  ot  |  „^„,,„,.  .,.,  „ •_,'. 

battle;  and  that  some  were  left  the  author  can  bear 
witness,  who  has  in  his  possession  a  carious  antique 
spiu',  dug  up  in  the  morass  not  long  since. 

"  It  was  foi-sooth  a  great  fcrlie. 

To  see  samjii*  sa  fele  dead  lie. 

Two  hundred  spurs  that  were  reidt 

Were  taen  of  knights  that  were  dead." 
1  am  now  to  take  my  leave  of  Barbour,  not 
■without  a  sincere  wish  that  the  public  may  encour- 
age the  undertaking  of  my  friend.  Dr.  Jamieson, 
•who  has  issued  proposals  for  publishing  an  accu- 
rate edition  of  his  poem,  and  of  Blind  Hariy's 
Wallace.  The  only  good  edition  of  the  Bruce  was 
published  by  Mr.  Pinkerton,  in  3  vols.,  in  1790; 
and  the  learned  editor  having  had  no  personal 
access  to  consult  the  manuscript,  it  is  not  wiihout 
errors;  and  it  has  besides  become  scarce.  Of  Wal 


Walter  de  Beauchamp, 
Richard  de  Charon, 
John  de  Wevelmton, 
Robert  de  Nevil, 
John  de  Segrave, 
Gilbert  Peeche, 
John  de  Clavering, 
Antony  de  Lucy, 
Radulph  de  Camys, 
John  de  Evere, 
Andrew  de  Abremhyn. 

Ktiights. 
Thomas  de  Berkely, 


Gilbert  de  Boun, 
Bartholomew   de    Ene- 

field, 
Thomas  de  Ferrers, 
Radulph    and    Thomas 

Bottetort, 
John    and  Nicholas  de 

Kingstone,  (brothers,) 
William  Lovel, 
Henry  de  Wileton, 
Baldwin  de  Frevill, 
John  de  Clivedon,* 
Adomar  la  Zouche, 
John  de  Merewode, 
John  Maufe,t 
Thomas  and  Odo  Lele 

Ercedekene, 
Robert    Beaupel,    (the 

son,) 
John  Mautrevers,  (the 

son,) 
William    and  William 

Giftard. 


ThesonofRogerTyrrel,     And    thirty-four    other 
Anselm  de  Mareschal,  knights,  not  named  by 

Giles  de  Beauchamp,  the  historian. 

John  Cyfrewast, 
lace  there  is  no  tolerable  edition;  yet  these  two  j 
poems  do  no  small  honour  to  the  early  state  oi,  A.nd  in  sum,  there  were  there  slain,  along  with  the 
Scottish  poetry,  and  the  Bruce  is  justly  regarded   earl  of  Gloucester,  forty-two  barons  and   banne- 


as  containing  authentic  historical  facts. |: 

The  following  list  of  the  slain  at  Bannockburn, 

extracted  from  the  continuator  of  Trivet's  Annals, 

■will  show  the  extent  of  the  national  calamity. 
"  List  of  the  Slaix. 

Sarons  andkrdgM  ban-     Simon  Ward, 
nereis.  Robert  de  Felton, 

Gilbert  de  Clare,  earl  of    Michael  Poyning, 


Gloucester, 
Robert  de  Clifford, 
Payan  Tybetot, 
William  le  Mareschal, 
John  Comyn, 
William  de  Vescey, 
John  de  !Montfort, 
Nicolas  de  Hasteleigh, 
William  Dayncourt, 
.Sgidius      de      Argen- 

teyne, 
Edmund  Comyn, 
John  Lovel,  (the  ricli) 
Edmond  de  Hastynge, 
Milo  de  Stapleton, 


rets.  The  number  of  earls,  barons,  and  bannerets 
made  captive,  was  twenty-two,  and  sixty-eight 
knights.  Many  clerks  and  esquires  were  also  there 
slain  or  laken.  Roger  de  Northburge,  keeper  of 
1  tlie  king's  signet,  [custos  Cargix  dortutu  regis,)  was 
j  made  prisoner  with  his  two  clerks,  Roger  de  Wa- 
kenfeMe  and  Thomas  de  Swinton,  upon  which 
j  the  king  caused  a  seal  to  be  made,  and  entitled  it 
his  prix-y  seal,  to  distinguish  the  same  from  the 
signet  so  lost.  The  earl  of  Hereford  was  exchanged 
I  against  Bruce's  queen,  who  had  been  detained  in 
1  captivity  ever  since  the  year  1306.  The  targia,  or 
I  signet,  was  restored  to  England  through  the  in- 
I  tercession  of  Ralph  de  Monlhermer,  ancestor  of 
I  lord  Moira,  who  is  said  to  have  found  favour  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Scottish  king." — Continuation  of 
Trivet's  .innals.  Hall's  edit.  Oxford,  1712,  vol.  ii, 
p.  14. 

Such  were  the  immediate  consequences  of  the 
field  of  Bannockburn.   Its  more  remote  effects,  in 


Edmund  MauUey. 

Kmghts. 

Henry  de  Boun, 

Thomas  de  UfFord, 

John  de  Elsingfelde, 

John  de  Harcourt, 

Walter  de  Hakelut, 

Philip  de  Courtenay, 

Hugo  de  Scales, 

Radulph  de  Beauchamp, 

John  de  Penbrigge, 

With  thirty-three  others  completely  establisiiing  the  national  independence 
of  the  same  rank,  not !  of  Scotland,  afford  a  boundless  field  for  specula- 
named,  tion. 


^i)omm  tftt  i^fifitner. 


IN  THREE  PARTS. 


PART  I. 

Fe'W  personages  are  so  renowned  in  tradition  as 
Thomas  of  Ercildoun,  known  by  the  appellation 


•  Together.  t  Red,  or  gilded. 

t  Both  these  works  have  now  been  published,  in  a 
splendid  form,  and  with  extreme  accui-acy,  by  the  leanied 
and  reverend  diKtor. 


of  The  Rhymer.  Uniting,  or  supposed  to  unite, 
in  his  person,  the  powers  of  poetical  composition, 
andofvaticination,  hismemory,  even  after  the  hpse 
of  five  hundred  years,  is  regarded  with  veneration 
by  his  countrymen.  To  give  any  thing  like  a  certain 
history  of  this  remarkable  man,  would  be  indeed 


•  Supposed  Clinton, 


t  Maul. 


518 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  MORKS. 


difFicuU;  but  lliu  curious  may  derive  some  satis- 
faction from  the  (larliculars  here  brought  together. 

It  is  agreed,  on  all  hands,  that  the  residence, 
and  prohaldy  tiio  birth-place,  of  this  ancient  bard, 
was  Krcildoun,  a  village  situated  upon  the  Leader, 
two  miles  above  its  junction  with  the  Tweed. 
The  ruins  of  an  ancient  lower  are  still  pointed  out 
as  the  Rhymer's  casile.  The  uniform  tradition 
bears,  that  his  surname  was  Lermont,  or  Lear- 
mont;  and  that  the  appellation  of  Tlie  Rhymer  was 
conferred  on  him  in  consequence  of  his  poetical 
compositions.  There  remains,  nevertheless,  some 
doubt  upon  this  subject.  In  a  charter,  which  is 
subjoined  at  length,*  the  son  of  our  poet  designs 
himself,  "Thomas  of  Ercildoun,  son  and  heir  of 
Thomas  Rymour  of  Ercildoun,"  which  seems  to 
implv,  that  the  father  did  not  bear  the  hereditary 
name  of  Learmont;  or,  at  least,  was  better  known 
and  distinguished  by  the  epithet  which  he  had  ac- 
quired by  his  personal  accomplishments.  1  must, 
however,  remark,  that,  down  to  a  very  late  period, 
the  practice  of  distinguishing  the  parties,  even  in 
formal  writings,  by  the  epithets  which  had  been 
bestowed  on  them  from  personal  circumstances, 
instead  of  the  proper  surnames  of  their  families, 
was  common,  and  indeed  necessary,  among  the 
border  clans.  .So  early  as  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
centuiy,  when  surnames  were  hardly  introduced 
in  Scotland,  this  custom  must  have  been  universal. 
There  is,  therefore,  nothing  inconsistent  in  sup- 
posing our  poet's  name  to  have  been  actually  Lear- 
mont,  although,  in  this  charter,  he  is  distinguish- 
ed by  the  popular  appellation  of  The  Rliymer. 

We  are  better  able  to  ascertain  the  period  at 
which  Thomas  of  Ercildoun  lived;  being  the  latter 
end  of  the  thirteenth  century.  I  am  inclined  to 
place  his  death  a  little  farther  back  than  Mr.  Pin- 
kerton,  who  supposes  that  he  was  alive  in  1300; 
{^Ust  of  Scottish  Poets:)  which  is  hardly,  I  think, 
consistent  with  the  charter  already  quoted,  by 
which  his  son,  in  1299,  for  himself  and  his  heirs, 
conveys  to  the  convent  of  the  Trinity  of  Soltre,  the 
tenement  which  he  possessed  by  inheritance  [he- 
reditarie)  in  Ercildoun,  with  all  claim  which  he, 
or  his  predecessors,  could  pretend  thereto.  From 
this  we  may  infer,  that  the  Rhymer  was  now  dead; 
since  we  find  his  son  disposing  of  the  family  pro- 
perty. Still,  however,  the  argument  of  the  learn- 
ed historian  will  i-emain  unimpeached,  as  to  the 
time  of  the  poet's  birth.  For  if,  as  we  learn  from 
Barbour,!  his  prophecies  were  held  in  reputation 
as  early  as  1306,  when  Bruce  slew  the  Red  Comyn, 
the  sanctity,  and  (let  me  add  to  Mr.  Pinkerton's 


•  From  the  Chartulary  of  the  Trinity  House  of  Soltre, 
Advocates'  Library,  W.  4,  14. 

ERSYLTOX. 

Omnibus  has  literas  visuris  vel  audituris  Thomas  de 
Ei-cildoun  filius  et  heres  Thoniae  Rjinonr  de  Ereildoim 
salmcm  in  Domino.  Xoveritis  me  per  fiistem  et  baculum 
in  pleno  judicio  resijnasse  ae  per  presentes  quietem 
clamasse  pro  me  et  heredibus  meis  Majistrodumus  Sanc- 
ta;  Triiiitatis  de  Soltre  et  fratribus  ejusdem  domus  totam 
terram  meam  cum  omnibus  pertineiitibus  suis  quam  in 
teneiueiito  de  Ercildoun  hereditarie  tenui  renunciando 
de  toto  pro  me  etheivdibus  meis  omni  jure  et  elameoqu;e 
ego  seu  antecessores  mei  in  eadem  terra  alioque  tem])ore 
de  perpetuo  habuimus  sive  de  futuro  habere  possumus. 
lu  eujus  rei  testimonio  presentibus  his  sij^ilhim  meura 
apposui  data  apud  Ercildoun  die  Martis  pmximo  post 
fi-stum  Sauttorum  Apostolorura  Symonis  et  Jude  Anno 
Domini  MiUesimo  cc.  Xouagesimo  Xoiio. 
t  The  lilies  alluded  tn  are  these: 

I  hope  that  Tomas's  prophesie, 

Of  Erceldoun  shall  truly  be. 

In  him,  !kc. 


words)  the  uncertainty  of  antiquity,  must  have  al- 
ready involved  his  character  and  writings.  In  a 
charter  of  Peter  de  Haga  de  Bemersyde,  which 
unforttinately  wants  a  dale,  the  Rhymer,  a  near 
neighbour,  and,  if  we  may  trust  tradition,  a  friend 
of  the  family,  appears  as  a  witness. —  Chartulary  of 
JMelrose. 

It  cannot  be  doubted,  that  Thomas  of  Ercildoun 
was  a  remarkable  and  important  person  in  his  own 
time,  since,  very  shortly  after  his  death,  we  fud 
him  celebrated  as  a  prophet,  and  as  a  poet.  Wlie- 
ther  he  himself  made  any  pretensions  to  the  fu>t 
of  those  characters,  or  whether  it  was  gratuitously 
conferred  upon  him  b)'  the  credulity  of  posterity, 
it  seems  difficult  to  decide.  If  we  may  believe 
Mackenzie,  Learmont  only  versified  the  prophe- 
cies delivered  by  Eliza,  an  inspired  nun,  of  a  con- 
vent at  Haddington.  But  of  this  there  seems  not 
to  be  the  most  distant  proof  On  the  contrary,  all 
ancient  authors,  who  quote  the  Rhymer's  prophe- 
cies, uniformly  suppose  them  to  have  been  emitted 
by  himself    Thus,  in  Winton's  Chromcle, 

Of  this  fycht  quilum  spak  Thomas 

Of  Ersyldoune,  that  sayd  in  Deme, 

Thare  suld  mcit  stalwarthly,  starke,  and  steme. 

He  sayd  it  in  his  prophecy; 

But  how  he  wist  it  yiasferly. 

Book  viii,  chap.  32. 
There  could  have  been  no  ferly,  (marvel,)  in  Win- 
ton's  eyes  at  least,  how  Thomas  came  by  his 
knowledge  of  future  events,  had  he  ever  heard  of 
the  inspired  nun  of  Haddington;  which,  it  cannot 
be  doubted,  would  have  been  a  solution  of  the 
mystery,  much  to  the  taste  of  the  prior  of  Loch- 
levin.* 

Whatever  doubts,  however,  the  learned  might 
have,  as  to  the  source  of  the  Rhymer's  prophetic 
skill,  the  vulgar  had  no  hesitation  to  ascribe  the 
whole  to  the  intercourse  between  the  bard  and  the 
queen  of  Faery.  The  popular  tale  bears,  that  Thomas 
was  carried  off,  at  an  early  age,  to  the  Fairy  Land, 
where  he  acquired  all  the  knowledge  which  made 
him  afterwards  so  famous.  After  seven  years  re- 
sidence he  was  permitted  to  return  to  the  earth, 
to  enlighten  and  astonish  his  countrymen  by  his 
prophetic  powers;  still,  however,  remaining  bound 
to  return  to  his  royal  mistress,  when  she  should 
intimate  her  pleasure. t  Accordingly,  while  Tho- 
mas was  making  merry  with  his  friends  in  the 
tower  of  Ercildoun,  a  person  came  running  in,  and 
told,  with  marks  of  fear  and  astonishment,  that  a 
hart  and  hind  had  left  the  neighbouring  forest,  and 
were  composedly  and  slowly  parading  the  street 
of  the  village.  :j:  The  prophet  instantly  arose,  left 
his  habitation,  and  followed  the  wonderful  animals 
to  the  forest,  whence  he  was  never  seen  to  return. 
According  to  the  popular  belief,  he  still  "  drees 

•  Henry,  the  minstrel,  who  introduces  Thomas  into  the 
history  of  Wallace,  expresses  the  same  doubt  as  to  the 
source  of  his  prophetic  knowledge. 

Thomas  Rhymer  into  the  faile  was  than 
With  the  minister,  which  was  a  worthy  man. 
He  used  oft  to  that  religious  place; 
The  people  deemed  of  w  it  he  meikle  can, 
And  30  he  told,  though  that  they  bless  or  ban, 
^^'hich  happened  sooth  in  many  divers  case; 
I  cannot  say  by  wrong  or  righteousness. 
In  rule  of  war  whether  they  tint  or  wan: 
It  may  be  deemed  by  division  of  grace,  &c. 

History  of  Wallace,  Book  ii. 

+  See  a  Dissertation  on  Fairies,  prefixed  to  the  ba.lad 

of  TAMLAXE,  Minstrelsy  of  the  Border,  vol.  ii,  p.  237. 

X  There  is  a  singular  resemblance  betTiixt  this  tradition, 

and  an  incident  occurring  in  the  life  of  Merlin  Caledonius, 

which  the  reader  will  find  a  few  pages  onward. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER. 


319 


his  weird"  in  Fairy  Land,  and  is  expected  one  day 
to  revisit  earth.  In  the  mean  while,  his  memor)- 
is  held  in  the  most  profound  respect.  The  Eildon 
tree,  from  beneath  the  shade  of  which  he  deliver- 
ed his  prophecies,  now  no  longer  exists;  but  tiie 
spot  is  marked  by  a  large  stone,  called  Eildon  tree 
stone.  A  neighbouring  rivulet  takes  the  name  of 
the  Bogle  Burn,  (Goblin  Brook)  from  the  Rhy- 
mer's supernatural  visitants.  The  veneration  paid 
to  his  dwelling-place  even  citached  itself  in  some 
degree  to  a  person,  who,  within  the  memory  of 
man,  chose  to  set  up  his  residence  in  the  ruins  of 
Learmont's  tower.  The  name  of  this  man  was 
Murray,  a  kind  of  herbalist;  who,  by  dint  of  some 
knowledge  in  simples,  the  possession  of  a  musical 
clock,  an  electrical  machine,  and  a  stuffed  alliga- 
tor, added  to  a  supposed  communication  with 
Thomas  the  Rhymer,  lived  for  many  years  in  very 
good  credit  as  a  wizard. 

It  seemed  to  the  author  unpardonable  to  dismiss 
a  person,  so  important  in  border  tradition  as  the 
Rhymer,  without  some  farther  notice  than  a  simple 
commentary  upon  the  following  ballad.  It  is  given 
from  a  copy,  obtained  from  a  lady,  residing  not 
far  from  Ercildoun,  corrected  and  enlarged  by  one 
in  Mrs.  Brown's  MSS.  The  former  copy,  how- 
ever, as  might  be  expected,  is  far  more  minute  as 
to  local  description.*  To  this  old  tale  the  author 
has  ventured  to  add  a  second  part,  consisting  of  a 
kind  of  cento,  from  the  printed  prophecies  vul- 
garly ascribed  to  tlie  Rhymer;  and  a  third  pai-t, 
entirely  modern,  founded  upon  the  tradition  of  his 
having  returned  with  the  hart  and  hind  to  the 
land  of  Faerie.  To  make  his  peace  with  the  more 
severe  antiquaries,  the  author  has  prefixed  to  the 
second  part  some  remarks  on  Learmont's  prophe- 
cies. 


PAHT  I. ANCIENT. 

True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank; 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  ee; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 

Her  shirt  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk, 
Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne; 

At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane. 
Hang  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas  he  pulled  aff  his  cap. 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee, 

"All  hail,  thou  mighty  queen  of  heaven! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see.*' 

"  O  no,  O  no,  Thomas,"  she  said; 

"That  name  does  not  belang  to  me; 
1  am  but  the  queen  of  fair  Elfland, 

That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

"  Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,"  she  said; 

"  Harp  and  carp  along  with  me; 
And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips, 

Sure  of  your  body  I  will  be." 

"  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  wo. 

That  weirdt  shall  never  daiiton  me." 

Syne  he  has  kissed  her  rosy  lips. 
All  underneath  the  Eildon  tree. 


•  The  author  has  been  since  infurnied,  by  a  most  emi- 
nent antiqiAiry,  tliat  tlicre  is  in  existence  a  MS.  copy  of 
this  biillad,  of  very  considerable  antiquity,  of  which  he 
hopes  to  avail  himself  on  some  future  occasion. 

T  Thatweiid,  ire.  That  destiny  shall  never  frighten  me. 


"  Now,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me,"  she  said; 

"  True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me; 
And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years. 

Through  weal  or  wo  as  may  chance  to  be.-' 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed; 

She's  ta'en  true  Thomas  up  behind; 
And  aye,  whene'er  her  bridle  rung. 

The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind. 

O  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on; 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind; 
Until  they  reached  a  desert  wide. 

And  Jiving  land  was  left  behind. 

"Light  down,  light  down,  now,  true  Thomas. 

And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee: 
Abide,  and  rest  a  little  space. 

And  I  will  show  you  ferlies  three. 

"  O  see  3'e  not  yon  narrow  road. 

So  thick  beset  with  tliorns  and  briers'' 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness. 
Though  after  it  but  few  inquires. 

"  And  see  not  ye  that  braid,  braid  road. 

That  lies  across  that  lily  leven? 
That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 

"  And  see  not  ye  that  bonny  road. 

That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae? 
That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae: 
"  But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue, 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see: 
For,  if  you  speak  word  in  Elflyn  land. 

Ye '11  ne'er  get  back  to  your  ain  countrie." 

0  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on. 

And  they  waded  through  rivers  aboon  the  knee. 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon. 
But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk,  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae  stern 
light. 

And  they  waded  through  red  blude  to  the  knee, 
For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  earth, 

Rins  through  tlie  springs  o'  that  countrie. 
Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green. 

And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree;' 
"Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas; 

It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never  lie." 

"  My  tongue  is  mine  ain,"  true  Thomas  said; 
"  A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me! 

1  neither  dought  to  buy  nor  sell, 

At  fair  or  tryst,  where  I  may  be. 
"  1  dought  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 

Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye." 
"  Now  hold  tliy  peace!"  the  ladye  said, 

"  For,  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be." 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth. 
And  a  pair  of  slioes  of  velvet  green; 

And,  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past. 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen. 


Tlie  prophecies,  ascribed  to  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doun, have  been  the  principal  means  of  securing 
to  him  remembrance  "  amongst  the  sons  of  his 
people."  The  author  oi  Sir  Tristrem  would  Ion" 
ago  have  joined,  in  the  vale  of  oblivion,  "  Clerk 
of  Tranent,  who  wrote  the  adventures  of  Schir 
Gawain,'"  if,   by  good  hap,  the  same  ciu-rent  of 


320 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ideas  respecting  antiquity,  wliich  causes  Virgil  to 
be  resarded  as:i  magician  hy  tiie  Lazzaroni  of  Na- 
ples, had  not  exalted  tiie  bard  of  F-rcildouti  to  the 
proplietic  ciiaracter.  Perhaps,  indeed,  lie  liiniseli" 
affected  it  (hiring  liis  lit"e.  We  know  at  least,  for 
certain,  tliat  a  belief  in  Ids  supei-natural  knowledge 
■was  current  soon  after  Ids  death.  His  prophecies 
are  alluded  to  by  Harbour,  by  Winloun,  and  by 
Henry  the  minstrel,  or  Blitid  Ilarry,  as  he  is  usu- 
ally termed.  None  o!"  these  authors,  however, 
give  the  words  of  any  of  the  Rhymer's  vaticina- 
tions, but  merely  relate  historically  his  having 
predicted  tlie  events  of  which  they  speak.  The 
earliest  of  the  projjhecies  ascribed  to  him,  which 
is  now  extant,  is  quoted  by  Mr.  Pinkerton  from  a 
jMS.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  response  from  Thomas 
of  Ercildoun,  to  a  question  from  the  heroic  coun- 
tess of  Marcli,  renowned  for  the  defence  of  the 
castle  of  Dimbar,  against  the  English,  and  termed, 
in  the  familiar  dialect  of  her  time,  Black  Jl^Jies 
of  Ihinbar.  This  prophecy  is  remarkable,  in  so 
i-AY  as  it  bears  very  little  resemblance  to  any  verses 
published  in  the  printed  copy  of  the  Rhymer's 
supposed  prophecies.  The  verses  are  as  follows: 

"  La  countessc  de  Dunhar  demniide  a  Thomas  de  Esse- 
doune  quant  la  g  errc  d'Escoce prcndreit fyn.  E  yl  laie- 
pouudy  et  dyt. 

"  When  man  is  mad  a  kyn^  of  a  capped  man; 

AVhen  man  is  levere  other  mones  thyng  than  is  owen: 

When  londe  thouy!  foivst,  ant  foi-est  is  folde; 

When  hai-cs  kcndles  o'  the  hei-'ston; 

Wlien  Wytt  and  Wille  wen-es  togedere: 

AVhen  mon  makes  stables  of  kyrkes;  and  steles  eas- 
tels  with  stjes; 

When  RokesboTOUghe  njs  no  burgh  ant  market  is  at 
Forwyleye: 

When  Bambourne  is  donged  with  dede  men; 

When  men  ledes  men  in  lopes  to  buyen  and  to  sellen; 

When  a  quarter  of  wliaty  whete  is  chaunged  for  a 
colt  often  markes; 

When  pnide(pride)  prikes  and  pees  is  le)  d  in  prisoun; 

When  a  Scot  ne  me  hym  hude  ase  hare  in  forme  that 
the  Englisli  ne  shall  hym  fynde; 

When  rycht  and  wi'onge  astente  the  togedere; 

When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies; 

When  Scottes  flen  so  faste,  that  fur  faute  of  shep,  hy 
drowneth  hemselve; 

When  shal  this  be? 

Nonther  in  thine  tymc  ne  in  mine; 

Ah  comen  ant  gone 

Withinne  twenty  winter  ant  one."' 

P'mkeiton's  Poems, from  Maitland's  MSS.  quot- 
ing from  Harl.  Lib.  2253.  f.  127. 
As  1  have  never  seen  the  MS.  from  which  Mr. 
Pinkerton  makes  this  extract,  and  as  the  date  of 
it  is  fixed  by  him  (certainly  one  of  the  most  able 
antiquaries  of  our  age)  to  the  reign  of  Edward  I 
or  11,  it  is  with  great  diffidence  that  1  hazard  a 
contrary  opiiuon.  There  can,  however,  I  believe, 
be  little  doubt,  that  these  prophetic  verses  are  a 
forgery,  and  not  the  production  of  our  Thomas 
the  Rhymer.  But  1  am  inclined  to  believe  them 
of  a  later  date  than  the  reign  of  Edward  I  or  II. 
The  gallant  defence  of  the  castle  of  Dunbar,  by 
Black  Agnes,  took  place  in  the  year  1337.  The 
Rhymer  died  previous  to  the  year  1'299  (see  the 
charter,  by  his  son,  in  the  introduction  to  the 
foregoing  ballad.)  It  seems,  therefore,  very  im- 
probable, that  the  countess  of  Dunbar  could  ever 
have  an  opportunity  of  consulting  Thomas  the 
Rhymer,  since  that  would  infer  that  she  was  mar- 
ried, or  at  least  engaged  in  state  matters,  previous 
to  1299;  whereas,  she  is  described  as  a  young,  or 
a  middle-aged  woman,  at  the  pei-iod  of  her  being 
beseiged  iii  the  fortress,  which  she  so  well  defend- 
ed. If  the  editor  might  indulge  a  conjecture,  he 
would  suppose,  that  the  prophecy  was  contrived 


for  the  encouragement  of  the  English  invaders, 
during  the  Scottish  wars;  and  that  the  names  of 
the  countess  of  Dunbar,  and  of  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doun, were  used  for  the  greater  credit  of  the  for- 
gery. According  to  this  hypothesis,  it  seems  likely 
to  have  been  composed  after  the  siege  of  Dunbar, 
which  had  made  the  name  of  the  countess  well 
known,  and,  consequently,  in  the  reign  of  Edward 
III.  The  whole  tendency  of  the  prophecy  is  to 
aver,  "  that  there  shall  be  no  end  of  the  Scottish 
war,  (concerning  which  the  question  was  propos- 
ed, )  till  a  final  conquest  of  the  country  by  England, 
attended  by  all  the  usual  severities  of  war.  When 
tiie  cultivated  country  shall  become  forest,  says 
the  prophecy;  when  the  wild  animals  shall  inhabit 
the  abode  of  men;  wiien  Scotts  sliall  not  be  able 
to  escape  the  English,  should  they  crouch  as  hares 
in  tiieirform."  All  these  denunciations  seem  to  re- 
fer to  the  time  of  Edward  111,  upon  whose  victo- 
ries the  prediction  was  probably  founded.  The 
mention  of  the  exchange  betwixt  a  colt  worth  ten 
markes,  and  a  quarter  of  "  whaty  (indifferent) 
wheat,"  seems  to  allude  to  the  dreadful  famine 
about  the  3'ear  1388.  The  independence  of  Scot- 
land was,  however,  as  impregnable  to  the  mines 
of  superstition,  as  to  the  steel  of  our  more  power- 
ful and  more  wealthy  neighbours.  The  war  of 
Scotland  is,  thank  God,  at  an  end;  but  it  is  ended 
without  her  people  having  either  crouched  like 
hares,  in  their  form,  or  being  drowned  in  their  flight 
for  faute  of  shep," — thank  God  for  that  too.  The 
prophecy  quoted  in  p.  318,  is  probably  ol  the 
same  date,  and  intended  for  the  sauie  purpose.  A 
minute  searcii  of  the  records  of  the  time  would, 
probably,  throw  additional  liglit  upon  the  allusions 
contained  in  these  ancient  legends.  Among  vari- 
ous rhymes  of  prophetic  impoi-t,  which  are  at  this 
day  current  amongst  the  people  of  Teviotdale,  is 
one,  supposed  to  be  pronounced  by  Thomas  the 
Rhymer,  presaging  the  destruction  of  his  habita- 
tion and  family: 

The  hare  sail  kittle  (litter)  on  my  hearth-stane. 
And  there  will  never  be  a  laird  Learinont  agixin. 

The  first  of  these  lines  is  obviously  borrowed 
from  that  in  the  MS.  of  the  Harl.  library. — "  When 
hai-es  kendles  o' the  her'ston" — an  emphatic  im- 
age of  desolation.  It  is  also  inaccuralelj'  quoted  in 
the  prophecy  of  Waldhave,  published  by  Andro 
Hart,  1613: 

This  is  a  true  talking  that  Thomas  of  tells. 
The  hare  shall  hirple  on  the  hard  (hearth)  stane. 
Spoltiswoode,  an  honest,  but  credidous  histo- 
rian, seems  to  have  been  a  firm  believer  in  the 
authenticity  of  the  prophetic  wares,  vended  in  the 
name  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoun.  "  The  prophecies, 
yet  extant  in  Scottish  rhymes,  whereupon  he  was 
commonly  called  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  may  justly 
be  admired;  having  foretold,  so  many  ages  before, 
*the  union  of  England  and  Scotland  in  tlie  ninth 
degree  of  the.  Bruce's  blood,  with  the  succession 
of  Bruce  himself  to  the  crown,  being  yet  a  child, 
and  other  divers  particulars,  which  the  event  hath 
ratified  and  made  good.  Boethius,  in  his  story, 
relaleth  his  prediction  of  king  Alexander's  death, 
and  that  he  did  foretel  tlie  same  to  the  earl  of 
March,  the  day  before  it  fell  out;  saying,  'that 
before  the  next  day  at  noon,  such  a  tempest  should 
blow,  as  Scotland  had  not  felt  for  many  years  be- 
fore.' The  next  morning,  the  day  being  clear,  and 
no  change  appearing  in  the  air,  the  nobleman  did 
challenge  Thomas  of  his  saying,  calling  him  an 
impostor.  He  replied,  that  noon  was  not  yet  passed 


THO\L\S  THE  RHYMER. 


521 


About  which  time,  a  post  came  to  advertise  the 
earl  of  the  king  his  sudden  death.  'Then,'  said 
Thomas,  'this  is  the  tempest  I  foretold;  and  so 
shall  it  prove  to  Scotland.'  Whence,  or  how,  he 
had  this  knowledge,  can  hardly  be  affirmed;  but 
sure  it  is,  that  he  did  divine  and  answer  truly  of 
many  things  to  come." — Spoitisivoode,  p.  4".  Be- 
sides that  notable  voucher,  master  Hector  Boece, 
the  good  archbishop  might,  had  he  been  so  minded, 
have  referred  to  Fordun  for  the  prophecy  of  king 
Alexander's  death.  That  historian  calls  our  bard 
"  niralis  ille  vales." — Fordun,  lib.  x,  cap.  40. 

What  Spottiswoode  calls  "  the  prophecies  extant 
in  Scottish  rhyme,"  are  the  metrical  predictions 
ascribed  to  the  prophet  of  Ercildoun,  which,  with 
many  other  compositions  of  the  same  nature,  bear- 
ing the  names  of  Bede,  Merlin,  Gildas,  and  other 
approved  soothsayers,  are  contained  in  one  small 
volume,  published  by  Andro  Hart,  at  Edinburgh, 
1615.  The  late  excellent  lord  Hailes  made  these 
compositions  the  subject  of  a  dissertation,  pub- 
lished in  his  Remarks  on  the  History  of  Scotland. 
His  attention  is  chiefly  directed  to  the  celebrated 
prophecy  of  our  bard,  mentioned  by  bishop  Spot- 
tiswoode, bearing,  that  the  crowns  of  England  and 
Scotland  should  be  united  in  the  person  of  a  king, 
son  of  a  French  queen,  and  related  to  Bruce  in  the 
ninth  degree.  Lord  Hailes  plainly  proves,  that  this 
prophecy  is  perverted  from  its  original  purpose, 
in  order  to  apply  it  to  the  succession  of  James  VI. 
The  ground-work  of  the  forgery  is  to  be  found  in 
the  prophecies  of  Berlington,  contained  in  the 
same  collection,  and  runs  thus: 

"  Of  Bruce's  left  side  shall  spring  out  a  leafe, 

As  neere  as  the  ninth  dee;ree; 

And  shall  be  fleemed  of  faire  Scotland, 

In  France  farre  beyond  the  sea. 

And  then  shall  come  againe  ryding, 

With  eyes  that  many  men  may  see. 

At  Aberladie  he  shall  light. 

With  hempen  helteres  and  horse  of  tre. 

However  it  happen  for  to  fall, 

The  lyon  shal  be  lord  of  all; 

The  French  quen  shal  bean-e  the  sonne, 

Shal  rule  all  Brittaine  to  the  sea; 

Ane  from  the  Bruce's  blood  shal  come  also. 

As  neere  as  the  ninth  degree. 

Yet  shal  there  come  a  keene  knight  over  the  salt  sea, 
A  keene  man  of  courage  and  bold  man  of  armes; 
A  duke's  son  dowbled  ((.  e.  dubbed)  a  bom  man  in  France, 
That  shal  our  mirths  augment,  and  mend  all  our  harmes; 
After  the  date  of  our  Lord  1513,  and  thrice  three  thereafter; 
Which  shal  brooke  all  the  broad  isle  to  himself. 
Between  13  and  thiice  three  the  threip  shal  be  ended. 
The  Saxons  sail  never  recover  after." 

There  cannot  be  any  doubt,  that  this  prophecy 
■was  intended  to  excite  the  confidence  of  the  Scot- 
tish nation  in  the  duke  of  Albany,  regent  of  Scot- 
land, who  arrived  from  France  in  1515,  two  vears 
after  the  death  of  James  IV,  in  the  fatal  field  of 
Flodden.  The  regent  was  descended  of  Bruce  bv 
the  left,  i.  e.  by  the  female  side,  within  the  ninth 
degree.  His  mother  was  daughter  to  the  earl  of 
Boulogne,  his  father  banished  from  his  countr}- — 
"fleemit  of  fair  Scotland."  His  arrival  must  ne- 
cessarily be  by  sea,  and  his  landing  was  expected 
at  Aberlady,  in  the  Frith  of  Forth.  He  was  a  duke's 
son,  dubbed  knight;  and  nine  years  from  1513  are 
allowed  him,  by  tlie  pretended  prophet,  for  the 
accomplishment  of  the  salvation  of  his  countr)-, 
and  the  exaltation  of  Scotland  over  her  sister  and 
rival.  All  this  was  a  pious  fraud,  to  excite  the 
confidence  and  spirit  of  the  country. 


The  prophecy,  put  in  the  name  of  our  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  as  it  stands  in  Hart's  book,  refers  to 
alater  peiiod.  The  narrator  meets  the  Rhymer 
upon  a  land,  beside  a  lee,  who  shows  him  many  em- 
blematical visions,  described  in  no  mean  strain  of 
poetr)'.  They  chiefly  relate  to  the  fields  of  Flodden 
and  Pinkie,  to  the  national  distress  which  follow- 
ed these  defeats,  and  to  future  halcyon  days,  which 
are  promised  to  Scotland.  One  quotation  or  two 
will  be  sufficient  to  establish  this  fully: 

"  Our  Scottish  king  sal  come  ful  keene, 

The  red  lion  beareth  he; 

A  feddered  arrow  sharp,  I  weene, 

Shal  make  him  winkc  and  warre  to  see. 

Out  of  the  field  he  shal  be  led 

When  he  is  bludie  and  wo  for  blood; 

Yet  to  his  men  shall  he  say, 

'  For  God's  luve,  turn  yoii  againe. 

And  give  yon  southerne  folk  a  frev! 

Why  should  I  lose  the  right  is  mine? 

My  date  is  not  to  die  this  day.'  '" — 

W'ho  can  doubt,  for  a  moment,  that  this  refers 
to  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and  to  tiie  popular  reports 
concerning  the  doubtful  fate  of  James  IV ?  Allu- 
sion is  immediately  afterwards  made  to  the  death 
of  George  Douglas,  heir  a[)parent  of  Angus,  who 
fought  and  fell  with  his  sovereign: 

"  The  stemes  three  that  Jay  shall  die. 
That  bears  the  harte  in  silver  sheen." 
The  well  known  arms  of  the  Douglas  family  are 
the  heart  and  three  stars.    In  another  place,  the 
battle  of  Pinkie  is  expressly  mentioned  by  name: 

"  At  Pinken  Cluch  there  shall  be  spill 
Much  gentle  blood  that  day; 
There  shall  the  bear  lose  the  guilt, 
And  the  eagill  bear  it  away."' 

To  the  end  of  all  this  allegorical  and  mvstical 
rhapsody  is  interpolated,  in  the  later  edi'jon  by 
An(lro  Hart,  a  new  edition  of  Berlington's  verses, 
before  quoted,  altered  and  manufactured  so  as  to 
bear  reference  to  the  accession  of  James  VI,  vn  hich 
had  just  then  taken  place.  I'he  insertion  is  made, 
with  a  peculiar  degree  of  awkwardness,  betwixt  a 
question  put  by  the  narrator,  concerning  the  name 
and  abode  of  the  person  who  showed  him  these 
strange  matters,  and  the  answer  of  the  prophet  to 
that  question; 

"  Then  to  the  Bairae  could  I  sav. 
Where  dwells  thou,  or  in  what  countrie? 
[Or  who  shall  rule  the  isleof  Bricane, 
From  the  north  to  the  south  sey? 
A  French  queene  shall  beare  the  sonne, 
Shall  rule  all  Britane  to  the  sea; 
Which  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come. 
As  ueei-e  as  the  nint  degree: 
I  fraiiied  fast  what  was  his  name. 
Where  that  he  came,  from  what  country.'] 
In  Ei-sliugtoun  I  dwell  at  hame, 
Thomas  Rj-mour  men  cals  me." 

There  is  surely  no  one,  who  will  not  conclude, 
with  lord  Hailesj  that  the  eigiit  lines,  inclosed  in 
brackets,  are  a  clumsy  interpolation,  borrowed 
from  Berlington,  with 'such  alterations  as  might 
render  the  supposed  prophecy  applicable  to  The 
union  of  the  crowns. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  it  may  he  proper 
briefly  to  notice  the  scojje  of  some  of  the  other 
predictions  in  Hart's  collection.  As  the  prophecy 
of  Berlington  was  intended  to  raise  the  spirits  ol 
the  nation,  during  the  regency  of  Albai,y,  so  those 
of  Sybilla  and  Eltraiue  refer  to  that  of  the  earl  of 
Arran,  afterwards  duke  of  Chatelheraull,  durine 
the  minority  of  Marj-,  a  peiiod  of  similar  calamity, 
Tliis  is  obvious  from  the  following  verses: 


322 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Take  a  thousand  iii.valculaiiou, 

And  the  longi-st  of  the  lyon, 

Four  crisct-nts  under  one  erowne, 

With  saint  Andrew's  croce  thrise, 

Then  threescore  and  thrise  three: 

Take  tent  to  Merling  truely, 

I'hen  shall  the  warns  ended  be. 

And  never  againe  rise. 

In  that  yere  there  shall  a  king, 

A  duke,  and  no  crowned  king; 

Becaus  the  prince  shall  be  yong, 

And  tender  of  yeares." 
The  date,  above  hinted  at,  seems  to  be  1549, 
■when  the  Scottish  recent,  by  means  of  some  suc- 
cours derived  from  France  was  endeavouring  to 
repair  the  consequences  of  the  fatal  battle  of  Pin- 
kie. Allusion  is  made  to  the  supply  given  to  the 
"  Moldwarte  (England)  by  the  fained  hart"  (the 
earl  of  Angus. )  The  regent  is  described  by  his 
bearing  the  antelope;  large  supplies  are  promised 
from  France,  and  complete  conquest  predicted  to 
Scotland  and  her  allies.  Tims  was  the  same  hack- 
neyed stratagem  repeated,  whenever  the  interest 
of  the  rulers  appeared  to  stand  in  need  of  it.  The 
regent  was  not,  indeed,  till  after  this  period,  cre- 
ated duke  of  Chatelherault;  but  that  honour  was 
the  object  of  his  hopes  and  expectations. 

The  name  of  our  renowned  soothsayer  is  liber- 
allv  used  as  an  authority,  throughout  all  the  pro- 
phecies, published  by  Andro  Hart.  Besides  those 
expressly  put  in  his  name,  Gildas,  another  assum- 
ed personage,  is  supposed  to  derive  his  knowledge 
from  him;  for  he  concludes  thus: 

"  True  Thomas  me  told  in  a  troublesome  time 
In  a  harvest  morn  at  Eldoun  hills." 

The  Prophecy  of  Gildas. 

In  the  prophecy  of  Berlington,  already  quoted, 
■we  are  told, 

"  Marvellous  Merlin,  that  many  men  of  tells, 
And  Thomas's  sayings  comes  all  at  once." 

While  1  am  upon  the  subject  of  these  prophe- 
cies, may  I  be  permitted  to  call  the  attention  of  an- 
tiquaries to  Merdwynn  Wyllt,  ovJMerlinthe  Wild, 
in  whose  name,  and  by  no  means  in  that  of  Am., 
brose  Merlin,  the  friend  of  Arthur,  the  Scottish 
prophecies  are  issued.  That  this  personage  resid- 
ed at  Drummelzier,  and  roamed,  like  a  second 
Nebuchadnezzar,  the  woods  of  Tweeddale,  iii  re- 
morse for  the  death  of  his  nepliew,  we  learn  trom 
Fordun.  In  the  Scotichroiiicon,  lib.  iii,  cap.  31,  is 
an  account  of  an  interview  betwixt  St.  Kentigern 
and  Merlin,  then  in  this  distracted  and  miserable 
state.  He  is  said  to  have  been  called  Lailoken, 
from  his  mode  of  life.  On  being  commanded  by 
the  saint  to  give  an  account  of  himself,  he  says, 
that  the  penance  which  he  performs  was  imposed 
on  him  by  a  voice  from  heaven,  during  a  bloody 
contest  betwixt  Lidel  and  Carwanolow,  of  which 
battle  he  had  been  the  cause.  According  to  his 
own  prediction,  he  perished  at  once  by  wood, 
earth,  and  water:  for,  being  pursued  with  stones 
bv  the  rustics,  he  fell  from  a  rock  into  the  river 
Tweed,  and  was  transfixed  by  a  sharii  stake,  fixed 
there  for  the  purpose  of  extending  a  fishing  net: 
Sude  perfossus,  lapide  percussus  et  unda, 
H-a;c  tria  Merlinum  fertur  iiure  necem, 
Sicque  ruit,  mersusque  fuit  lignoque  pependit, 
Et  fecit  vatem  pei-  terna  pencula  verum. 

But  in  a  metrical  history  of  Merlin  of  Caledo- 
nia, compiled  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  from  the 
traditions  of  the  Welch  bards,  this  mode  ot  death 
is  attributed  to  a  page,  whom  Merlin  s  sister,  de- 
sirous to  convict  the  prophet  of  falsehood  because 
he  had  betrayed  her  intrigues,  mtroducedto  him, 


under  three  various  disguises,  inquiring  each  time 
in  what  manner  the  person  should  die.  To  the  first 
demand  Merlin  answered,  the  party  should  perish 
by  a  fall  from  a  rock;  to  tiie  second,  that  he  sliould 
die  by  a  tree;  and  to  the  third,  that  he  should  be 
drowned.  The  youth  perished,  while  hunting,  in 
the  mode  imputed  by  Fordun  to  Merlin  himself. 

Fordun,  contrary  to  the  Welch  authorities,  con- 
founds this  person  ■with  the  Merlin  of  Arthur;  but 
concludes  by  informing  us,  that  many  believed  him 
to  be  a  different  person.  The  grave  of  Merlin  is  point- 
ed out  at  Drummelzier,  in  Tweeddale,  beneath  an 
aged  thorn-tree.  On  the  east  side  of  the  church- 
yard, the  brook,  called  Pausayl,  falls  into  the 
Tweed;  and  the  following  prophecy  is  said  to  have 
been  current  concerning  their  union: 

When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  Join  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch  have. 

On  the  day  of  the  coronation  of  James  VI,  the 
Tweed  accordingly  overflowed,  and  joined  the 
Pausayl  at  the  prophet's  grave. — Peiiniicuick's 
History  ofTiveedclale,  p.  26.  These  circumstances 
would  seem  to  infer  a  communication  betwixt  the 
south-west  of  Scotland  and  Wales,  of  a  nature  pe- 
culiarly intimate;  for  I  presume  that  Merlin  would 
retain  sense  enough  to  choose,  for  the  scene  of  his 
wanderings,  a  country  having  a  language  and  man- 
ners similar  to  his  own. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  tlie  memory  of  Merlin  Sylves- 
ter, or  the  Wild,  was  fresh  among  the  Scots  during 
the  reign  of  James  V.  Waldhave,*  under  whose 
name  a  set  of  prophecies  was  published,  describes 
himself  as  lying  upon  Lomond  Law:  he  hears  a  voice, 
which  bids  iiim  stand  to  his  defence;  he  looks  around , 
and  beholds  a  flock  of  hares  and  foxesf  pursued  over 

*  I  do  nod  know  whether  the  person  here  meant  be 
Waldhave,  an  abbot  of  Melrose,  who  died  in  the  odour 
of  sanctity,  about  1160. 

t  The  strange  occupation,  in  which  Waldhave  beholds 
Merlin  engaged,  derives  some  illustration  from  a  curi- 
ous passage  in  Geoifrey  of  MonmouUrs  life  of  Merlin, 
above  quoted.  The  poem,  after  narrating  that  the  pro- 
phet had  Heil  to  tiie  forosts  in  a  state  of  distraction,  pro 
ceeds  to  mention,  that,  looking  upon  the  stars  one  clear 
evening,  he  discerned,  from  his  astronomical  knowledge, 
that  his  wife,  tluendolen,  had  resolved,  upon  the  next 
morning,  to  take  another  husband.  As  he  had  presaged 
to  her  that  this  would  happen,  and  had  promised  her  a 
nuptial  gift  (cautioning  her,  however,  to  keep  the  bride- 
groom out  of  his  sight,)  he  now  resolved  to  make  good  his 
word.  Accordingly,  he  collected  all  the  stags  and  lesser 
game  in  his  neighbourhood,  and,  having  seated  himself  ou 
a  buck,  drove  the  herd  before  him  to  the  capital  of  Cum- 
berland, where  Guendolen  resided.  Buther  lover's  curi- 
osity leading  him  to  inspect  too  nearly  this  extraordinary 
cavalcade.  Merlin's  rage  was  awakened,  and  he  slew  him, 
with  the  stroke  of  an  antler  of  the  stag.  The  original  runs 
thus: 

Dixerat:  et  silvas  et  saltus  circuit  omnes, 
Cervoruraque  greges  agmen  eollegit  in  imum, 
Et  damas,  eapreasque  simul,  cervoque  resedit ; 
Et  veniente  die,  compellens  agmina  prse  se, 
Festinans  vadit  quo  nubit  Guendoliena. 
Postquam  venit  eo,  patienter  ccegit 
Cenos  ante  fores,  proclamans,  "  Guendolsna, 
Guendoliena,  veni,  te  talia  munera  spectant.' 
Ocius  ergo  venit  subridens  Guendola'na, 
Gestarique  ^rum  ceiTO  miratur,  et  ilium 
Sic  pareve  -nro,  tantum  quoque  posse  ferai-um 
Uniri  numerum  quas  pra;  se  solus  agebat, 
Sicut  pastor  oves,  quas  ducere  suevit  ad  herbas; 
Stabat  ab  excelsa  sponsus  specuinsque  fenesti-a 
In  solio  mirans  equitem,  risumque  movebat. 
Ast  ubi  vidit  eum  vates,  animoque  quis  esset, 
Calluit,  extemplo  divulsit  coniua  cei-yo 
Quo  gestabatur,  vibrataque  jeeit  in  ilium 
Et  caput  illius  penitus  contri^vit,  eumque 
Reddidit  exanimem,  vitaraque  fuga>'it  in  auras; 


THOMAS  THE  RHYilER. 


323 


the  mountains  by  a  savage  figure,  to  ■whom  he  can 
hardly  give  the  name  of  man.  At  the  sight  of 
Waldhave,  the  apparition  leaves  the  objects  of  his 
pursuit  and  assaults  him  with  a  club.  Waldhave 
defends  himself  with  his  sword,  throws  the  savage 
to  the  earth,  and  refuses  to  let  him  arise,  till  he 
swears  by  the  law  and  lead  he  lives  upon,  *'  to 
do  him  no  harm."  This  done,  he  permits  him  to 
arise,  and  mai^els  at  his  strange  appearance: 

"  He  was  formed  like  a  freike  (man)  all  his  four  quarters; 
And  then  his  chin  and  his  face  haii-ed  so  thick, 
With  haire  growing  so  grime,  fearful  to  see." 
He  answers  briefly  to  Waldhave's  inquiry  con- 
cerning his  name  and  nature,  that  he  "  drees  his 
weird,"  i.  e.  does  penance,  in  that  wood;  and 
having  hinted  that  questions  as  to  his  own  state 
are  offensive,  he  pours  forth  an  obscure  rhapsody 
concerning  futurity,  and  concludes, 

"  Go  musing  upon  Merling  if  thou  wilt; 

For  I  mean  no  more  man  at  this  time," 

This  is  exactly  similar  to  the  meeting  betwixt 
Merlin  and  Kentigern  in  Fordun.  These  prophe- 
cies of  Merlin  seem  to  have  been  in  request  in  the 
minority  of  James  V;  for  among  the  amusements 
with  which  sir  David  Lindesay  diverted  that  prince 
during  his  infancy,  are 

"  The  prophecies  of  Rymer,  Bede,  and  Merlin." 

Sir  David  Lindsay's  Epistle  to  the  King. 
And  we  find,  in  Waldhave,  at  least  one  allusion 
to  the  very  ancient  prophecy,  addressed  to  the 
countess  of  Dunbar; 

"This  is  a  true  token  that  Thomas  of  tells. 

When  a  ladde  with  a  ladye  shall  go  over  the  fields." 

The  original  stands  thus: 

"  When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies." 

Another  prophecy  of  Merlin  seems  to  have  been 
current  about  the  time  of  the  regent  Morton's  ex- 
ecution.— When  that  nobleman  was  committed  to 
the  charge  of  his  accuser,  captain  James  Stewart, 
newly  created  earl  of  Arran,  to  be  conducted  to 
his  trial  at  Edinburgh,  Spottiswoode  says  that  he 
asked,  "  '  Who  was  earl  of  Arran?'  and  being  an- 
swered that  captain  James  was  the  man,  after  a 
short  pause  he  said,  '  And  is  it  so?  I  know  then 
what  I  may  look  for!' meaning,  as  was  thought, 
that  the  old  prophecy  of  the  '  falling  of  the  heart* 
by  the  mouth  of  Arran,'  should  then  be  fulfilled. 
^\Tiether  this  was  his  mind  or  not,  it  is  not  known; 
but  some  spared  not,  at  the  time  when  the  Hamil- 
tons  were  banished,  in  which  business  he  was  held 
too  earnest,  to  say,  that  he  stood  in  fear  of  this 
prediction,  and  went  that  course  only  to  disappoint 
it.  But,  if  so  it  was,  he  did  find  himself  now  de- 
luded; for  he  fell  by  the  mouth  of  another  Arran 
than  he  imagined." — Spottiswoode,  p.  313.  The 
fatal  words  alluded  to  seem  to  be  these  in  the  pro- 
phecy of  Merlin: 
"  In  the  mouth  of  Arrane  a  selcouth  shall  fall. 
Two  bloodie  hearts  shall  be  taken  with  a  false  traine, 
And  derfly  dung  down  without  any  dome." 

To  return  from  these  desultory  remarks,  into 
which  the  editor  has  been  led  by  the  celebrated 
name  of  Merlin,  the  style  of  all  these  prophecies, 
published  by  Hart,  is  very  much  the  same.    The 


Ocius  inde  suum,  talorum  yerbere,  cervum 
Diffugiens  egit,  silvasque  redire  para>"it." 
For  a  perusal  of  this  curious  poem,  accurately  copied 
from  a  MS.  in  the  Cotton  library,  nearly  coeval  with  the 
author,  I  was  indebted  to  my  learned  fneud,  the  late  Mr. 
Ritson.   There  is  an  excellent  paraphrase  of  it  in  the  cu- 
rious and  entertaining  Specimens  of  Early  English  Ro- 
mances^ published  by  Mr.  Ellis. 
•  The  heart  was  the  cognizance  of  Morton. 


measure  is  alliterative,  and  somewhat  similar  to 
that  of  Pierce  Plowman's  Visions;  a  circumstance 
which  might  entitle  us  to  ascribe  to  some  of  them 
an  earlier  date  than  the  reign  of  James  \,  did  we 
not  know  that  sir  Galloran  of  Galloivay,  and  Ga- 
■waine  and  Golog-ras,  two  romances  rendered  al- 
most unintelligible  by  the  extremity  of  afieeted 
alliteration,  are  perhaps  not  prior  to  that  periotl. 
Indeed,  although  we  may  allow,  that  during  much 
earlier  times,  prophecies,  under  the  names  of  those 
celebrated  soothsayers,  have  been  current  in  Scot- 
land, yet  those  published  by  Hart  have  obviously 
been  so  often  vamped  and  re-vamped,  to  serve  the 
political  purposes  of  different  jieriods,  that  it  may 
be  shrewdly  suspected,  that,  as  in  the  ease  of  sir 
John  Cutler's  transmigrated  stockings,  very  little 
of  the  original  materials  now  remains.  1  cannot 
refrain  from  indulging  iny  readers  with  the  pub- 
lisher's title  to  the  last  prophecy;  as  it  contains 
certain  curious  information  concerning  the  queen 
of  Sheba,  who  is  identified  with  the  Cumiean  sybil: 
— "  Here  followeth  a  prophecie,  pronounced  by  a 
noble  queene  and  matron,  called  Sybilla,  Regi'na 
Austri.  that  came  to  Solomon.  Through  the  which 
she  compiled  four  bookes,  at  the  instance  and  re- 
quest of  the  said  king  Sol,  and  other  divers:  and 
the  fourth  book  was  directed  to  a  noble  king, 
called  Baldwine,  king  of  the  broad  isle  of  Britain; 
in  the  which  she  maketh  mention  of  two  noble 
princes  and  emperours,  the  which  is  called  Le- 
ones.  How  these  two  shall  subdue,  and  overcome 
all  earthlie  princes  to  their  diademe  and  crowne, 
and  also  be  glorified  and  crowned  in  the  heaven 
among  saints.  The  first  of  these  two  is  Constan- 
tinus  Magnus;  that  was  Leprosus,  the  son  of  saint 
Helene,  that  found  the  croce.  The  second  is  the 
sixt  king  of  the  name  of  Steward  of  Scotland,  the 
which  is  our  most  noble  king."  With  such  editors 
and  commentators,  what  wonder  that  the  text  be- 
came unintelligible,  even  beyond  the  usual  oracu- 
lar obscurity  of  prediction?  ' 

If  there  still  remain,  therefore,  among  these 
predictions,  any  verses  having  a  claim  to  real  an- 
tiquity, it  seems  now  impossible  to  discover  them 
from  those  which  are  comparatively  modern.  Ne- 
vertheless, as  there  are  to  be  found,  in  these  com- 
positions, some  uncommonl)^  wild  and  masculine 
expressions,  the  editor  has  been  induced  to  throw 
a  few  passages  together,  into  the  sort  of  ballad  to 
which  this  disquisition  is  prefixed.  It  would,  in- 
deed, have  been  no  difficult  matter  for  him,  by  a 
judicious  selection,  to  have  excited,  in  favour  of 
Tliomas  of  Ercildoun,  a  share  of  tiie  admiration 
bestowed  by  sundry  wise  persons  upon  Mass  Ro- 
bert Fleming.    For  example: 

"  But  then  the  lilye  shall  be  loused  when  they  least  think; 
Then  clear  king's  blood  shal  quake  for  fear  of  death; 
For  churls  shal  chop  otf  heads  of  their  chief  btims, 
Aud  carfe  of  the  crowns  that  Christ  hath  appointed. 


Thereafter  on  evei-j-  side  sorrow  shal  arise; 
'I'he  barges  of  clear  barons  down  shal  be  sunken; 
Seculars  shal  sit  in  spiritual  seats. 
Occupying  offices  anointed  as  they  were." 

Taking  the  lily  for  the  emblem  of  France,  can 
there  be  a  more  plain  prophecy  of  the  murder  of 
her  monarch,  the  destruction  of  her  nobility,  and 
the  desolation  of  her  liierarcby  ' 

But,  without  looking  farther  into  the  signs  of 
the  times,  the  editor,  though  the  least  of  all  the 
prophets,  cannot  help  thinking  that  every  true 
Briton  will  approve  of  his  application  of  the  last 
prophec}  quoted  in  the  ballad. 


324 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Hart's  collection  of  prophecies  has  been  fre- 
(juently  prinletl  withiu  the  century,  prohably  to 
favour" the  pretensions  of  the  unfortunate  family  of 
Stuart.  l-"or  the  prophetic  renown  of  Giklas  and 
Bede,  see  Fordiin,  lib.  3. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Thomas's  predic- 
tions, it  may  be  noticed,  that  sundry  rhymes,  pass- 
ing for  his  proplietic  effusions,  are  still  current 
among  the  vulgar.  Thus,  he  is  said  to  have  pro- 
phesied of  the  very  ancient  family  of  Haig  of  Be- 
luerside, 

"  Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haip  of  Bcmerside." 

The  grandfather  of  the  present  proprietor  of 
Bemerside  had  twelve  daughters,  before  his  lady 
brought  him  a  male  heir.  The  common  people 
trembled  for  the  credit  of  their  favourite  sooth- 
sayer. The  late  Mr.  Haig  was  at  length  born, 
and  their  belief  in  the  prophecy  confirmed  beyond 
a  shadow  of  doubt. 

Another  memorable  prophecy  bore,  that  the  old 
kirk  of  Kelso,  constructed  out  of  the  ruins  of  the 
abbey,  should  fall  when  "at  the  fullest."  At  a 
very  crowded  sermon,  about  thirty  years  ago,  a 
piece  of  lime  fell  from  the  roof  of  the  church.  The 
alarm,  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  words  of  the  seer, 
became  universal;  and  happy  were  they  who  were 
nearest  the  door  of  the  predestined  edifice.  The 
church  was  in  consequence  deserted,  and  has  ne- 
ver since  had  an  opportunity  of  tumbling  upon  a 
full  congregation.  1  hope,  for  the  sake  of  a  beau- 
tiful specimen  of  Saxo-Gothic  architecture,  that 
the  accomplishment  of  this  prophecy  is  far  distant. 

Another  prediction,  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer, 
seems  to  have  been  founded  on  that  sort  of  insight 
into  futurity,  possessed  by  most  men  of  a  sound 
and  combining  judgment.    It  runs  thus: 

"  At  Eildon  tree  if  you  shall  be, 

A  brig-g  ower  Tweed  you  there  may  see." 

The  spot  in  question  commands  an  extensive 
prospect  of  the  course  of  the  river;  and  it  was  easy 
to  foresee,  that  when  the  country  should  become 
in  tiie  least  degree  improved,  a  bridge  would  be 
somewhere  thrown  over  the  stream.  In  fact,  you 
now  see  no  less  than  three  bridges  from  that  ele- 
vated situation. 

Corspatrick  (Comes  Patrick,)  earl  of  March, 
hut  more  commonly  taking  his  title  from  his  cas- 
tle of  Dunbar,  acted  a  noted  part  during  the  wars 
of  Edward  I  in  Scotland.  As  Thomas  of  Ercildoun 
is  said  to  have  delivered  to  him  his  famous  pro- 
phecv  of  king  Alexander's  deatli,  the  author  has 
chosen  to  introduce  him  into  the  following  ballad. 
All  the  prophetic  verses  are  selected  from  Hart's 
publication. 

PAllT  II. 
ALTEKF-D  FROM  ASLIENT  PIIOPHECIES. 

When  seven  years  were  come  and  gane. 

The  sun  blinked  fair  on  pool  and  stream; 
And  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank, 

Like  one  awakened  from  a  dream. 
He  heard  the  trampling  of  a  steed, 

He  saw  the  tlash  of  armour  flee. 
And  he  beheld  a  gallant  knight. 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  tree. 
He  was  a  stalwart  knight,  and  strong; 

Of  giant  make  he  'peared  lo  be: 
He  stirred  his  horse,  as  he  were  wode, 

\Vi'  gilded  spurs,  of  faushion  free. 


Says — "Well  met,  well  met,  true  Thomas! 

Some  uncouth  ferlies  show  to  me." 
Says — "Christ  thee  save,  Corspatrick  brave! 

Thrice  welcome,  good  Uunbar,  to  me ! 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  Corspatrick  brave, 
And  I  will  show  thee  curses  three. 

Shall  gar  fair  Scotland  greet  and  grane. 
And  change  the  green  to  the  black  livery. 

"  A  storm  shall  i-oar,  this  very  hour, 
From  Rosse's  hills  to  Solway  sea." 

"Ye  lied,  ye  lied,  ye  warlock  hoar! 

For  the  sun  shines  sweet  on  fauld  aud  lea." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  earlie's  head; 

He  showed  him  a  rock,  beside  the  sea, 
Where  a  king  lay  stiff,  beneath  his  steed,* 

And  steeldight  nobles  wiped  their  ee. 

"  The  neist  curse  lights  on  Branxton  hills; 

By  Flodden's  high  and  heathery  side. 
Shall  wave  a  banner  red  as  blude. 

And  chieftains  throng  wi'  mickle  pride. 

"  A  Scottish  king  shall  come  full  keen; 

The  luddy  lion  beareth  he; 
A  feathered  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 

Shall  make  him  ■wink  and  warre  to  see. 

"  When  he  is  bloody,  and  all  to  bled<le, 
Thus  to  his  men  he  still  shall  say — 

'  For  God's  sake  turn  ye  back  again, 
And  give  yon  southern  folk  a  fray! 

Wliy  should  I  lose  the  right  is  mine? 
My  doom  is  not  to  die  this  day.'t 

"  Yet  turn  ye  to  the  eastern  hand, 

And  wo  and  wonder  ye  sail  see; 
How  forty  thousand  spearman  stand, 

Where  yon  raTik  river  meets  the  sea. 

"  There  shall  the  lion  lose  the  gylte, 
And  the  libbards  bear  it  clean  away; 

At  Pinkyn  Cleuch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentil  blude  that  day." 

"Enough,  enough,  of  curse  and  ban; 

Some  blessing  show  thou  now  to  me. 
Or,  by  the  faith  o'  my  bodie,"  Corspatrick  said, 

"  Ye  shall  rue  the  day  ye  e'er  saw  me!" 

"  The  first  of  blessings  1  shall  thee  show, 
Is  by  a  burn,  that's  called  of  bread4 

Where  Saxon  men  shall  line  the  bow, 
Aud  find  their  aiTows  lack  the  head. 

"  Beside  that  brigg,  ont-ower  th.it  burn. 

Where  the  water  bickereth  bright  and  sheen. 

Shall  many  a  falling  courser  spurn. 
And  knights  shall  die  in  battle  keen. 

"  Beside  a  iieadless  cross  of  stone. 

The  libbards  there  shall  lose  the  gree; 

The  raven  shall  come,  tiie  erne  shall  go. 
And  drink  tlie  Saxon  blood  sae  free. 

The  cross  of  stone  they  siiall  not  know. 
So  thick  tlie  corses  there  shall  be." 


*  King  Alexander;  killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  near 
Kinghoi-n. 

t  The  uncertainty  which  lon^  prevailed  in  Scotland 
concerning  the  fate  of  James  IV  is  well  known. 

t  One  of  Thomas's  rhymes,  presen-ed  by  tradition,  runs 
thus: 

"  The  bum  of  breid 

Shall  run  fow  reid." 

Bannock-burn  is  the  brook  here  meant.    The  Scots  give 

the  nams  ot  bannock  to  a  thick  round  cake  of  unleavened 

bread. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER. 


325 


"But  tell  me  now,"  said  brave  Dunbar, 
"True  Thomas,  tell  now  unto  me. 

What  man  shall  rule  the  isle  Britain, 
Even  from  the  north  to  the  southern  sea?" 

*'  A  French  queen  shall  bear  the  son, 

Shall  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea: 
He  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 

As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree. 

"  The  waters  worship  shall  his  race. 
Likewise  the  waves  of  the  farthest  sea; 

For  they  shall  ride  ower  ocean  wide. 
With  hempen  bridles,  and  horse  of  tree. " 

PART  III. 

Thojias  the  Rhymer  was  renowned  among  his 
contemporaries,  as  the  author  of  the  celebrated 
romance  of  Sir  Tristrem.  Of  this  once  admired 
poem  only  one  copy  is  known  to  exist,  which  is  in 
the  Advocates'  Library.  The  author,  in  1804,  pub- 
lished a  small  edition  of  this  curious  work,  which, 
if  it  does  not  revive  the  reputation  of  the  bard  of 
Erceldoune,  is  at  least  the  earliest  specimen  of 
Scottish  poetrj'  hitherto  published.  Some  account 
of  this  romance  has  already  been  given  to  the 
■world  in  Mr.  Ellis's  Specimens  of  Ancient  Poetry, 
vol.  i,  p.  165,  iii,  p.  410;  a  work,  to  which  our 
predecessors  and  our  posterity  are  alike  obliged; 
the  former,  for  the  preservation  of  the  best  selected 
examples  of  their  poetical  taste;  and  the  latter,  for 
a  histoiy  of  the  English  language,  which  will  only 
cease  to  be  interesting  with  the  existence  of  our 
mother-tongue,  and  all  that  genius  and  learning 
have  recorded  in  it.  It  is  sufficient  here  to  men- 
tion, that,  so  great  was  the  reputation  of  the  ro- 
mance of  Sir  Tristrem,  that  few  were  thought 
capable  of  reciting  it  after  the  manner  of  the  au- 
thor;— a  circumstance  alluded  to  by  Robert  de 
Brune,  the  annalist: 

"  I  see  in  song',  in  sedgejTig  tale, 

Of  ErceUloun,  and  of  Kendale. 

Xow  tharae  says  as  they  thame  wroght. 

And  in  thare  sayings  it  semes  nocht. 

That  thou  may  here  in  sir  Tristrem, 

Over  gestes  it  has  the  steme, 

Over  all  that  is  or  was; 

If  men  it  said  as  made  Thomas,"  &c. 

It  appeal's,  from  a  very  curious  MS.  of  the  thir- 
teenth century,  penes  Mr.  Douce  of  London,  con- 
taining a  French  metrical  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem, 
that  the  work  of  our  Thomas  the  Rhymer  was 
known,  and  referred  to,  by  the  minstrels  of  Nor- 
mandy and  Bretagne.  Having  arrived  at  a  part  of 
the  romance,  where  reciters  were  wont  to  differ 
in  the  mode  of  telling  the  stor}',  the  French,  bard 
expressly  cites  the  authority  of  the  poet  of  Ercel- 
doune: 

"  Plusurs  de  nos  granter  ne  volent, 

Co  que  del  naim  dire  se  solent, 

Ki  femme  Kaherdin  dui  aimer, 

Li  naira  redut  Tristram  narrer, 

E  entusche  par  grant  engin, 

Quant  il  afole  Kaherdin; 

Pur  cest  plaie  e  pur  cest  mal, 

Enveiad  Tristnin  Guvemal, 

En  Engleterre  pur  Ysolt 

Thomas  ico  granter  ne  volt, 

Et  si  volt  par  raisun  mostrer, 

Qu'  ico  ue  put  pas  esteer,"  &c. 

The  tale  of  Sir  Tristrem,  as  narrated  \n  the 
Edinburgh  MS.,  is  totally  different  from  the  vo- 
luminous romance  in  prose-,  originally  compiled 
on  the  same  subject  by  Rusticien  de  Puise,  and 
analysed  by  M.  de  Tressan;  but  agrees  in  every 
essential  particular  with  the  metrical  performance 


just  quoted,  which  is  a  work  of  much  higher  aiv- 
tiquity. 

PART  III. — MODERjr. 

When  seven  years  more  had  come  and  gone. 
Was  war  through  Scotland  spread. 

And  Ruberslaw  showed  high  Dunyon^ 
His  beacon  blazing  red. 

Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow,2 
Pitched  palliouns  took  their  room. 

And  crested  helms,  and  s])ears  a  rowe, 
Glanced  gaily  tlirough  the  broom. 

The  Leader,  rolling  to  the  Tweed, 

Resounds  the  ensenzie;* 
They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead, 

To  distant  Torwoodlee.^ 
The  feast  was  spread  in  Ercildoune, 

In  Learmont's  high  and  ancient  hall; 
And  there  were  knights  of  great  renown. 

And  ladies  laced  in  pall. 

Nor  lacked  they,  while  they  sat  at  dine. 

The  music  nor  the  tale, 
Nor  goblets  of  the  blood-red  wine. 

Nor  mantling  quaighsf  of  ale. 
True  Thomas  rose,  with  harp  in  hand. 

When  as  the  feast  was  done; 
(In  minstrel  strife,  in  Fairy  land, 

The  elfin  harp  he  won.) 

Hushed  were  the  throng,  both  limb  and  tongue. 

And  harpers  for  envy  pale; 
And  armed  lords  leaned  on  their  swords. 

And  hai-kened  to  the  tale. 

In  numbers  high,  the  witching  tale 

The  prophet  poured  along; 
No  after  bard  might  e'er  avail:^ 

Those  numbers  to  prolong. 

Yet  fragments  of  the  lofty  strain 

Float  down  the  tide  of  years. 
As,  buoyant  on  the  stormy  main, 

A  parted  wreck  appears. 

He  sung  king  Arthur's  table  round: 

The  warrior  of  the  lake; 
How  courteous  Gawaine  met  the  wound,* 

And  bled  for  ladies'  sake. 

But  chief,  in  gentle  Tristrem's  praise. 

The  notes  melodious  swell; 
Was  none  excelled,  in  Arthur's  days. 

The  knight  of  Lionelle. 
For  Marke,  his  cowardly  uncle's  right, 

A  venomed  wound  he  bore; 
When  fierce  Morholde  he  slew  in  fight, 

Upon  the  Irish  shore. 

No  art  the  poison  might  withstand; 

No  medicine  could  be  found. 
Till  lovely  Isolde's  lily  hand 

Had  probed  the  rankling  wound. 

With  gentle  hand  and  soothing  tongue, 

She  bore  the  leeches  part; 
And,-  while  she  o'er  his  sick  bed  hung. 

He  paid  her  with  his  heart. 

O  fatal  was  the  gift,  I  ween! 

For,  doomed  in  evil  tide. 
The  maid  must  be  rude  Cornwall's  queen. 

His  cowardly  uncle's  bride. 


*  Enscnxie — War-cry,  or  gathering  word. 
t  Quajghs — Wooden  cups,  composed  of  staves  hooped 
together.  {  See  introduction  to  this  ballad. 


326 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Their  loves,  their  woes,  the  gifted  bard 

In  f:\iry  tissue  wove; 
Where  lords,  and  knis^hts,  and  ladies  bright, 

In  gay  confusion  strove. 
The  Garde  Joveuse,  amid  the  tale. 

High  reared  its  glittering  head; 
And  Avalon's  enchanted  vale 

In  all  its  wonders  spread. 

Brengwain  was  there,  and  Segramore, 
And  ticnd-born  Merlin's  gramarye; 

Of  that  famed  wizard's  mighty  lore, 
O  who  could  sing  but  he.' 

Througli  many  a  maze  the  winning  song 

In  changeful  passion  led, 
Till  bent  at  length  the  listening  throng 

O'er  Tristrem's  dying  bed. 

His  ancient  wounds  their  scars  expand; 

With  agony  his  heart  is  wrung; 
O  where  is  Isolde's  lily  hand, 

And  where  her  soothing  tongue? 

She  comes,  she  comes !  like  flash  of  flame 

Can  lovers'  footsteps  fly: 
She  comes,  she  comes!  she  only  came 

To  see  her  Tristrem  die. 
She  saw  him  die:  her  latest  sigh 

Joined  in  a  kiss  his  parting  breath: 
The  gentlest  pair,  that  Britain  bare, 

United  are  in  death. 

There  paused  the  harp:  its  lingering  sound 

Died  slowly  on  the  ear; 
The  silent  guests  still  bent  around, 

For  still  tliey  seemed  to  hear. 

Then  wo  broke  forth  in  murmurs  weak, 
ISor  ladies  heaved  alone  the  sigh: 

But,  half  ashamed,  the  rugged  cheek 
Did  many  a  gauntlet  dry. 

On  Leader's  stream,  and  Learmont's  tower, 

The  mists  of  evening  close: 
In  camp,  in  castle,  or  in  bower, 

Each  warrior  sought  repose. 

Lord  Douglas,  in  his  lofty  tent, 

Dreamed  o'er  the  woful  tale; 
When  footsteps  light,  across  the  bent. 

The  warrior's  ears  assail. 

He  starts,  he  wakes;  "  What,  Richard,  ho! 

Arise,  my  page,  arise! 
What  venturous  wight,  at  dead  of  night, 

Dare  step  where  Douglas  lies!" 

Then  forth  they  rushed:  by  Leader's  tide, 

A  selcoutli*  sight  they  see, 
A  hart  and  hind  pace  side  by  side. 

As  white  as  snow  on  Fairnalie.5 

Beneath  the  moon,  with  gesture  proud. 

They  stately  move  and  slow; 
Nor  scare  they  at  tlie  gathering  crowd. 

Who  marvel  as  they  go. 

To  Learmont's  tower  a  message  sped. 

As  fast  as  page  might  run; 
And  Thomas  started  from  his  bed, 

And  soon  his  clothes  did  on. 

First  he  woxe  pale,  and  then  he  woxe  red; 

Never  a  word  he  spake  but  three: 
"  My  sand  is  run;  my  thread  is  spun; 

This  sign  regardeth  me. "  -    .  . 


Selrotith—Wondci-oui. 


The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around, 

In  minstrel  guise,  he  hung; 
And  on  the  wind,  in  doleful  sound, 

Us  dying  accents  rung. 

Then  forth  he  went;  yet  turned  him  oft 

To  view  his  ancient  hall; 
On  the  gray  tower,  in  lustre  soft. 

The  autumn  moonbeams  fall. 

And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen. 

Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray: 
In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen, 

Broad  Soltra's  mountains  lay. 

"  Farewell,  my  father's  ancient  tower! 

A  long  farewell,"  said  he: 
"  The  scene  of  pleasure,  pomp,  or  power. 

Thou  never  more  shall  be. 

"  To  Learmont's  name  no  foot  of  earth 

Shall  here  again  belong, 
And  on  thy  hospitable  hearth 

The  hare  shall  leave  her  young. 

"  Adieu!  adieu!"  again  he  cried, 

All  as  he  turned  him  roun': 
"  Farewell  to  Leader's  silver  tide! 

Farewell  to  Ercildoun!" 

The  hart  and  hind  approached  the  place, 

As  lingering  yet  he  stood: 
And  there,  before  lord  Douglas'  face, 

With  them  he  crossed  the  flood. 

Lord  Douglas  leaped  on  his  berrj-  brown  steed. 
And  spurred  him  the  Leader  o'er; 

But,  though  he  rode  with  lightning  speed. 
He  never  saw  them  more. 

Some  said  to  hill,  and  some  to  glen. 
Their  wonderous  course  had  been; 

But  ne'er  in  haunts  of  living  men 
Again  was  Thomas  seen. 

NOTE  TO  PART  I. 

1. she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree,  &e,— V.  319.  ' 

The  traditional  commentary  upon  this  ballad 
informs  us,  that  the  apple  was  the  produce  of  the 
fatal  tree  of  knowledge,  and  that  the  garden  was 
the  teiTestrial  pai-adise.  The  repugnance  of  Tho- 
mas to  be  debarred  the  use  of  falsehood,  when  he 
might  find  it  convenient,  has  a  comic  effect. 

APPENDIX. 

The  reader  is  here  presented,  from  an  old,  and 
unfortunately  an  imperfect  MS.,  with  the  undoubt- 
ed original  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer's  intrigue  with 
the  queen  of  Faery.  It  will  affoixi  great  amuse- 
ment to  those,  who  would  study  the  nature  of  tra- 
ditional poetry,  and  the  changes  effected  by  oral 
tradition,  to  compare  this  ancient  romance  with 
the  foregoing  ballad.  The  same  incidents  are 
narrated,  even  the  expression  is  often  the  same, 
yet  the  poems  are  as  different  in  appearance,  as  if 
the  older  tale  had  l)een  regularly  and  systemati- 
cally modernized  by  a  poet  of  the  present  day. 
Incipit  Prophfsia  Thome  de  Erseldoun. 

In  a  lunile  as  I  was  lent. 

In  llie  f^rjking  of  the  day. 

Ay  alone  as  I  « tiit, 

1)1  Huntle  Iwnkys  me  for  to  play: 

I  saw  the  throstyl,  and  the  jay, 

Ye  mawes  inovyde  of  )ier  song;, 

Ye  wodwale  sang  notes  gay. 

That  al  the  wod  about  range. 

In  tliat  loiigyng  as  I  lay, 

Uudir  nethe  a  denie  tre, 

I  was  war  of  a  lady  gay, 

Come  rydjnig  oiiyr  a  fair  le; 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER. 


327 


Zogh  I  suld  sitt  to  doomysdaj", 

■\Vith  my  long  to  wrabbe  and  wry, 

Certanly  all  hyr  aray, 

It  beth  ntruyr  diseiyuyd  for  me. 

Hyr  palfra  was  dappyll  gray, 

Sycke  ou  say  neuer  none. 

As  the  son  in  somers  day. 

All  abow  te  that  lady  shone; 

Hyr  sadel  A\-as  of  a  re  wel  bone, 

A  semly  sight  it  was  to  se, 

Bryht  with  mony  a  precyous  stone. 

And  compasyd  all  with  crapste; 

Stones  of  orjens  gret  plente, 

Her  hair  about  her  hede  it  hang, 

She  rode  ouer  the  farnyle. 

A  while  she  blew  a  while  she  sang. 

Her  girths  of  nobil  silke  they  were. 

Her  boculs  were  of  berjl  stone, 

Sadyll  and  brydill  war  —  : 

With  sylk  and  seiidel  aboat  bedone, 

H)T  patyrel  was  of  a  pall  f\"ne. 

And  hyr  e  roper  of  the  arase, 

HjT  brj'dil  was  of  gold  fyne. 

On  euerj-  syde  forsotlie  hong  bells  thre, 

Hyr  brydil  reynes 

A  semly  syzt 

Crop  and  patyrel 

In  ever}'  joynt 

She  led  thre  grew  hounds  in  a  leash. 
And  ratches  cowpled  by  her  ran; 

She  bar  an  honi  about  her  halse, 

And  undir  her  gyrdil  meny  flene. 

Thomas  lay  and  sa 

In  the  bankes  of 

He  sayd  yonder  is  Mary  of  Might, 

That  bar  the  child  that  died  for  me, 

Certes  bot  I  may  sptke  with  that  lady  bright, 

Myd  my  hert  will  breke  in  three; 

I  schal  rae  hye  with  all  my  might, 

Hvr  to  mete  at  Eldyn  ti-ee. 

Thomas  rathly  up  he  rase. 

And  ran  ouer  mountayn  hye. 

If  it  be  sothe  the  stor)'  says. 

He  met  her  eu>-n  at  Eldyn  tre. 

Thomas  knelyd  down  ou  his  kne 

TJndir  nethe  the  grenewood  spray. 

And  3a)d,  Lovely  lady,  thou  rue  on  me, 

Queen  of  heaven  as  you  well  may  be; 

But  I  am  a  lady  of  another  countrie. 

If  I  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

I  ride  after  the  wild  fee. 

My  ratches  rinnen  at  my  devys. 

If  thou  be  pareld  most  of  prise. 

And  rides  a  lady  in  Strang  foly, 

Lovely  lady,  as  thou  art  wise, 

Giue  you  me  leue  to  lig  ye  by. 

Do  way,  Thomas,  that  were  foly, 

I  pray  ye,  Thoraa-;,  late  me  be. 

That  sin  will  fordo  all  my  bewtie: 

Lovely  lady,  rewe  on  mej 

And  euer  more  I  shall  with  ye  dwell. 

Here  my  trowth  I  plyght  to  thee, 

AVhere  you  beleues  in  lieujTi  or  hell. 

Thomas,  and  you  myght  lyge  me  by, 

Undir  nethe  this  grene  wode  spray. 

Thou  would  tell  full  hastely, 

That  thou  had  laj-n  by  a  lady  gay. 

Lady,  I  mote  lyg  by  the, 

Undir  nethe  the  greene  wode  tre. 

For  all  the  gold  in  chrystenty, 

Suld  you  neuer  be  wi-ycde  for  rae. 

Man  on  molde  you  will  me  marre, 

And  yet  bot  you  may  haf  you  will. 

Trow  you  well,  Thomas,  you  cheuyest  ye  warre; 

For  all  my  bewtie  wilt  you  spill. 

Down  lychtyd  that  lady  brj-zt, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray. 

And  as  ye  story  sayth  full  ryzt, 

Seuvn  tymes  by  her  he  lay. 

She  seyd,  man,  you  lyste  thi  play. 

What  berde  in  bouyr  may  dele  with  thee. 

That  maries  me  all  this  long  day; 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  lat  me  be. 

Thomas  stode  up  in  the  stede, 

And  hehelde  the  lady  gay. 

Her  heyre  hang  downe  about  hyr  hede, 

The  tone  was  blak,  the  other  gray. 

Her  eyn  semyt  onte  before  was  g^ray. 

Her  gay  clethyng  was  all  away, 

23 


That  he  before  had  sene  in  that  stedc; 

Hyr  body  as  bio  as  ony  bede. 

Thomas  sighede,  and  sayd,  alias. 

Me  tliynke  this  a  dullfuU  syght. 

That  thou  art  fadyd  in  the  face. 

Before  you  shone  as  son  so  biyzt. 

Take  thy  leue,  Thomas,  at  sou  and  mone. 

At  gresse,  and  at  eueiy  tre. 

This  twelvemonth  sail  you  with  me  gone, 

Medyl  erth  you  sail  not'se. 

Alas,  he  seyd,  full  wo  is  me, 

I  trow  my  dedes  will  werke  me  care, 

Jesu,  my  sole  tak  to  ye. 

Whedir  so  euyr  my  body  sail  fare. 

She  rode  furth  with  all  her  myzt, 

L^ndir  nethe  the  deme  lee. 

It  was  derke  as  at  midnyzt. 

And  euyr  in  water  unto  the  kne; 

Through  the  space  of  days  thre. 

He  herde  but  swowyng  of  a  fiode; 

Thomas  sayd,  ful  wo  is  me, 

Xowe  I  spyll  fur  fawte  of  fode; 

To  a  garden  she  lede  him  tyte. 

There  w  as  fruyte  in  grete  pleute, 

Peyres  and  appless  ther  were  rype, 

The  date  and  the  damese. 

The  figge  and  als  fylbcrt  tre; 

The  nyghtyngale  brcdying  in  her  neste. 

The  papig-aye  about  gan  fie. 

The  thi-ostyicok  sang  wold  liafe  no  rest. 

He  pressed  to  puUe  fru)t  with  his  hand 

As  man  for  faute  that  was  fajTit; 

She  st  yd,  ThomaSj  lat  al  stand. 

Or  els  the  deuyl  wil  the  ataynt. 

Sche  said,  Thomas,  I  the  hyzt, 

To  lay  thi  hede  upon  my  kni-. 

And  thou  shalt  see  fayrer  sight. 

Than  euyr  sawe  man'in  their  kintre. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  fair  way. 

That  lyggs  ouyr  yone  fayr  pla)Ti? 

Yonder  :s  the  waye  to  heuyn  for  ay. 

Whan  synful  sawles  haf  derayed  their  payne. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yone  secund  way, 

That  lygges  lawe  undir  the  r)se? 

Streight  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say. 

To  the  joyes  of  paradyce. 

Sets  thou,  Thomas,  yone  thyrd  way, 

That  ligges  ouyr  yone  how? 

Wide  is  the  way  sothly  to  say. 

To  the  brynyng  fyres  of  hell! 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yone  fayr  castells. 

That  standes  ouyr  yone  fayr  hill? 

Of  town  and  tower  it  bereth  the  belle. 

In  middel  erth  is  non  like  theretill. 

Whan  thou  comyst  in  yon  eastell  gaye 

I  pray  tliu  cuiteis  maii  to  be; 

AVhat  so  any  man  to  you  say. 

Soke  thu  answer  non  but  me. 

My  lord  is  servjed  at  yclie  messe. 

With  XXX  kniztes  fcir  and  fre; 

I  sal  I  say  sj-uyng  on  the  dese, 

I  to.ke  thy  speche  beyonde  the  le. 

Thomas  stode  as  still  as  stone. 

And  btheld  that  ladye  gaye; 

Than  was  sche  fayr  and  nche  anone. 

And  also  ryal  on  hir  palfreye. 

The  gi-ewhoundcs  had  fylde  them  on  the  deie, 

The  ratches  coupletl,  by  my  fay. 

She  blewe  her  horn  'I'homas  to  chere. 

To  the  castle  she  w  ent  her  waj'. 

The  lady  into  the  hall  went, 

Thomas  folowyd  at  her  hand; 

Thar  kept  hyr  mony  a  lady  gent. 

With  cuitasy  and  lawe. 

Harp  and  fedyl  botli  he  fande. 

The  getem  and  the  sawti-y, 

Lut  and  rjbib  ther  gon  gang, 

Thair  was  al  maner  of  mjTistralsy. 

The  most  fertly  that  Thomas  thoght. 

When  he  com  emyddes  the  fiore, 

Fourty  hertes  to  quarry  were  broght, 

That  had  ben  befor  both  long  and  store, 

Lymors  lay  lappjnig  blode. 

And  kokes  standing  with  drcssyng  knife. 

And  dressyd  dere  as  tliai  wer  wode, 

And  rewell  was  tliair  «onder. 

Knyglites  dansyd  by  two  and  thre 

AU'that  leue  long  day. 

Ladyes  that  were  gret  of  gre. 

Sat  and  sang  of  rych  aray. 


328 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS, 


Thomas  sawe  much  more  in  that  place, 

Than  I  can  dfscryve, 

Til  on  a  day  alas,  alas, 

My  lovclyt'  lailye  sayd  to  mc, 

Busk  ye,  Thomas,  you  must  agayn, 

Here  you  may  no  longer  be: 

Hy  then  zerne  that  you  wei-e  at  hame, 

I  sal  ye  bryng  to  Eidyn  tre. 

Thomas  answenl  w-ith  lieuy  cher, 

And  sayd,  lowely  lailyt-,  lat  ma  be. 

For  I  say  ye  cenainly  here 

Haf  I  be  hot  the  space  of  dayes  three. 

Sothly,  Thomas,  us  I  telle  ye, 

You  hath  been  here  tlire  yeres. 

And  here  you  may  no  longer  be; 

And  I  sal  tele  ye  a  skele, 

To-morrowe  of  helle  ye  foule  fende 

Amang  our  folke  shall  chuse  his  fee: 

For  you  ait  a  larg;  man  and  an  hende, 

Trowe  you  wrle  he  will  chuse  thee. 

For  all  the  golde  that  may  be, 

Sal  you  not  be  betrayed  for  me. 

And  thairfor  sal  you  hens  wend. 

She  broght  him  euyn  to  Eldj-n  tre, 

Under  netlie  the  grene  wode  spray. 

In  Huntle  bankes  was  fayr  to  be, 

Ther  bi-eddes  syng  both  nyzt  and  day. 

Ferre  ouyr  montayns  gray. 

There  hathe  my  facon: 

Fare  wele,  Thomas,  I  wende  my  way. 

[The  elfin  queen,  after  restoring  Thomas  to 
earth,  pours  forth  a  string  of  prophecies,  in  which 
■we  distinguish  references  to  the  events  and  per- 
sonages of  the  Scottish  wars  of  Edward  III.  The 
battles  of  Dupplin  and  Halidon  are  mentioned, 
and  also  black  Agnes,  countess  of  Dunbar.  There 
is  a  copy  of  this  poem  in  tlie  museum  in  the  ca- 
thedral of  Lincoln,  another  in  the  collection  of 
Peterborough,  but  unfortunately  they  are  all  in  an 
imperfect  state.  Mr.  Jamieson,  in  his  curious  col- 


lection of  Scottish  ballads  and  songs,  has  an  entire 
copy  of  this  ancient  poem,  with  all  the  collations. 
The  laciinse  of  the  former  edition  have  been  sup- 
plied from  his  copy.] 

KOTES  TO  PART  III. 

1.  And  Ruberslaw  showed  high  Dunyon.— P.  325. 
Ruberslaw  and  Duyon  are  two  high  hills  above 

Jedburgh. 

2.  Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow.— P.  .125. 

An  ancient  tower  near  Ercildoun,  belonging  to 
a  family  of  the  name  of  Home.  One  of  Thomas's 
prophecies  is  said  to  have  run  thus: 

Vengeance,  vengeance.'  when  and  where? 

On  the  house  of  Coldingknow,  now  and  evermair. 
The  spot  is  rendered  classical  by  its  having  given 
name  to  the  beautiful  melody,  called  the  Broom 
o'  the  CoivdenJcrioivs. 

3.  They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead, 

To  distant  Torwoodlee.— P.  325. 
Torwoodlee  and  Caddenhead  are  places  in  Sel- 
kirkshire. 

4.  How  courteous  Gawaine  met  the  wound.— P.  325. 

See  in  the  Fabliaux  of  M.or\siev  le  Grande,  ele- 
gantly translated  by  the  late  Gregory  Way,  esq., 
the  tale  of  the  Knight  and  the  Sviord. 

5.  As  white  as  snow  on  Faimalie. — P.  326. 

An  ancient  seat  upon  the  Tweed,  in  Selkirk- 
shire. In  a  popular  edition  of  the  first  part  of  Tho- 
mas the  Rhymer,  the  fairj'  queen  thus  addresses 
him: 

Gin  ye  wad  meet  wi'  me  again, 

Gang  to  the  bonnie  banks  of  Fairnalie. 


y^uxolti  tfit  l^nuntltm: 


A  POEM. 


INTRODUCTION^. 

There  is  a  mood  of  mind  we  all  have  known. 

On  drowsy  eve,  or  dark  and  low'ring  day, 
When  the  tired  spirits  lose  their  sprightly  tone. 

And  nought  can  chase  the  lingering  hours  away. 
Dull  on  our  soul  falls  fancy's  dazzling  ray, 

And  wisdom  holds  his  steadier  torch  in  vain, 
Obscured  the  painting  seems,  mistuned  the  lay, 

Nor  dare  we  of  our  listless  load  complain, 
For  who  for   sympathy  may  seek  that   cannot  tell 
of  pain? 

The  jolly  sportsruan  knows  such  drearihood, 

When  bursts  in  deluge  the  autumnal  rain. 
Clouding  that  morn  which  threats  the  heath-cock's 
brood; 

Of  such,  in  summer's  drought,  the  anglers  plain. 
Who  hope  the  soft  mild  southern  shower  in  vain; 

But,  more  than  all,  the  discontented  fair. 
Whom  father  stern,  and  sterner  aunt,  restrain 

From  county  ball,  or  race  occuring  rare, 
While  all  her  friends  around  their  vestments  gay 

prepare. 
Ennui! — or,  as  our  mothers  called  thee.  Spleen! 

To  thee  we  owe  full  many  a  rare  device; — 
Thine  is  the  sheaf  of  painted  cards,  1  ween. 

The  rolling  billiard  ball,  the  rattling  dice, 
The  turning  lathe  for  framing  gimcrack  nice. 

The  amateur's  blotched  pallet  thou  may'st  claim, 


Retort,  and  air  pump,  threatening  frogs  and  mice, 

(Murders  disguised  by  philosophic  name,) 
And  much  of  trifling  grave,  and  much  of  buxom 

game. 
Then  of  the  books,  to  catch  thy  drowsy  gls'jce 

Compiled,  what  bard  the  catHlogue  may  quote! 
Plays,  poems,  novels,  never  read  but  once; — 

But  not  of  such  the  tale  fair  Edgeworth  wrote, 
That  bears  thy  name,  and   is  thine  antidote; 

And  not  of  such  the  strain  by  Thomson  sung, 
Delicious  dreams  inspiring  by  his  note, 

What  time  to  indolence  his  harp  he  strung: 
Oh!   might   my  lay  be  ranked  that   happier  list 

among! 
Each  hath  his  refuge  whom  Ihj-  cares  assail. 

For  me,  I  love  my  stud3'-fire  to  trim. 
And  con  right  vacantly  some  idle  tale, 

Displaying  on  the  couch  each  listless  limb. 
Till  on  the  drowsy  page  the  lights  grow  dim. 

And  doubtful  slumber  half  supplies  the  theme; 
While  antique  shapes  of  knight  and  giant  grim. 

Damsel  and  dwarf,  in  long  procession  gleam. 
And  the  romancer's  tale    becomes  the  reader's 

dream. 
'Tis  thus  my  malady  I  well  may  bear, 

Albeit  outstretched,  like  pope's  own  Paridel, 
Upon  the  rack  of  a  too-easy  chair; 

And  find,  to  cheat  the  time,  a  powerful  spell 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS 


329 


In  old  romaunts  of  errantry  that  tell, 

Or  later  legends  of  the  fairy-folk, 
Or  oriental  tale  of  Afrite  fell. 

Of  genii,  talisman,  and  broad-wing'd  roc, 
The'  taste  may  blush  and  frown,  and  sober  reason 
mock. 

Oft  at  such  season,  too,  will  rhymes  unsought. 

Arrange  themselves  in  some  romantic  lay; 
The  which,  as  things  unfitting  graver  thought. 

Are  burnt  or  blotted  on  some  wiser  day; — 
These  few  survive — and  proudly  let  me  say, 

Court  not  the  critic's  smile,  nor  dread  his  frown; 
They  well  may  serve  to  while  an  hour  away, 

Nor  does  tiie  volume  ask  for  more  renown, 
Than  Ennui's  yawning  smile,  what  time  she  drops 
it  down. 


That  which  moulders  hemp  and  steel, 
Mortal  arm  and  nerve  must  feel. 
Of  the  Danish  band,  whom  count  Witikind  led, 
Mail)'  wax'd  aged,  and  manv  were  dead; 
Himself  found  his  armour  full  weighty  to  bear. 
Wrinkled  his  brows  grew,  and  lioary  his  hair; 
He  lean'd  on  a  staft',  when  his  step  went  abroad, 
And  patient  his  palfrey,  when  steed  he  bestrode; 
As  he  grew  feebler  his  wildness  ceased, 
He  made  himself  peace  with  prelate  and  priest, 
Made  his  peace,  and,  stooping  his  head. 
Patiently  listed  the  counsel  tliey  said: 
Saint  Cutlibert's  bishop  was  holy  and  grave. 
Wise  and  good  was  the  counsel  he  gave. 

V. 
"  Thou  hast  murder'd,  robb'd,  and  spoil'd. 
Time  it  is  thv  poor  soul  were  assoil'd; 


9 


Three  earls  came  against  him  with  all  their  train. 

Two  hath  he  taken,  and  one  hath  he  slain: 

Count  Witikind  left  the  Humber's  rich  strand. 

And  he  wasted  and  warr'd  in  Northumberland. 

But  the  Saxon  king  was  a  sire  in  age, 

Weak  in  battle,  in  council  sage; 

Peace  of  that  heathen  leader  he  sought, 

Gifts  he  gave,  and  quiet  he  bought: 

And  the  count  took  upon  iiim  the  peaceable  style. 

Of  a  vassal  and  liegeman  of  Britain's  broad  isle. 

IV. 

Time  will  rust  the  sharpest  sword. 
Time  will  consume  the  strongest  cord; 


At  the  castle-gate  was  young  Harold  mere, 
Couut  Witikind's  only  offspring  and  heir. 

Vlll. 
Young  Harold  was  fear'd  for  his  hardihood. 
His  strength  of  frame,  and  his  fury  of  mood; 
Rude  he  was,  and  wild  to  beholil. 
Wore  neither  colLv  nor  bracelet  of  gold. 
Cap  of  vair,  nor  rich  array, 
Such  as  should  grace  that  festal  day: 
His  doublet  of  bull's  hide  was  all  unbraced, 
Uncovered  his  head,  and  liis  sandal  unlaced - 
His  shaggy  black  locks  on  his  brow  hung  low, 
And  his  eyes  glanctd  thro'  them  a  swarthy  glow; 


528 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Thomas  sawe  inucli  more  in  that  place, 

Than  I  can  desci-yve, 

Til  on  a  day  alas,  alas. 

My  lovelyf  lailyt-  sayd  to  mc, 

Busk  yc,  Thomas,  you  must  ag'ayn, 

Heiv  jou  may  no  longer  be: 

Hy  then  zerne  that  you  wei-e  at  hame, 

I  sal  ye  bryng  to  Rldyn  tie. 

Thomas  answerd  «-ith  lieuy  cher. 

And  sayd,  lowely  ladye,  lat  ma  be. 

For  I  say  ve  certainly  here 

Haf  I  be  b'ol  the  space  of  daycs  three. 

Sothly,  Thomas,  as  I  telle  ye. 

You  hath  beiii  here  thre  yeres. 

And  here  you  may  no  longer  be; 

And  I  sal  tile  ye  a  skele, 

To-morrowe  of  helle  ye  foule  fende 

Amang  our  foike  shall  chuse  his  fee: 

For  you  art  a  larg  man  and  an  hende, 

Trowe  you  wele  he  will  chuse  thee. 

For  all  the  golde  that  may  bo, 

Sal  you  not  be  betrayed  for  me 


lection  of  Scottish  ballads  and  songs,  has  an  entire 
copy  of  this  ancient  poem,  with  all  the  collations. 
The  laauue  of  the  former  edition  have  been  sup- 
plied from  his  copy.] 

NOTES  TO  PART  III. 

1.  And  Ruberslaw  showed  high  Dunyon.— P.  325. 
Ruberslaw  and  Duyon  are  two  high  hills  above 

Jedburgh. 

2.  Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow.— P.  325. 

An  ancient  tower  near  Ercildoun,  belonging  to 
a  family  of  the  name  of  Home.  One  of  Thomas's 
prophecies  is  said  to  have  run  thus: 

Vengeance,  vengeance!  when  and  where? 
On  the  house  of  Coldingknow,  now  and  evermair. 
The  spot  is  renflpfpfl  nioooin"!  I— :»- ' — • ;.,o.. 


\ji  .lucii.  111  summer's  drought,  the  anglers  plain. 
Who  hope  the  soft  mild  southern  shower  in  vain; 

But,  more  than  all,  the  discontented  fair. 
Whom  father  stern,  and  sterner  aunt,  restrain 

From  county  ball,  or  r.'xce  occuring  rare. 
While  all  her  friends  around  their  vestments  gay 

prepare. 
Ennui! — or,  as  our  mothers  called  thee.  Spleen! 

To  thee  we  owe  full  many  a  rare  device; — 
Thine  is  the  sheaf  of  painted  cards,  1  ween. 

The  rolling  billiard  ball,  the  rattling  dice. 
The  turning  lathe  for  framing  gimcrack  nice, 

The  amateur's  blotched  pallet  thou  may'st  claim, 


For  me,  I  love  my  stud3'-fire  to  trim, 
And  con  right  vacantly  some  idle  tale. 

Displaying  on  the  couch  each  listless  limb. 
Till  on  the  drowsy  page  the  lights  grow  dim. 

And  doubtful  slumber  half  supplies  the  theme; 
While  antique  shapes  of  knigiit  and  giant  grim, 

Damsel  and  dwarf,  in  long  procession  gleam. 
And  the  romancer's  tale    becomes  the  reader's 

dream. 
'Tis  thus  my  malady  I  well  may  bear, 

Albeit  outstretched,  like  pope's  own  Paridel, 
Upon  the  rack  of  a  too-easy  chair; 

And  find,  to  cheat  the  time,  a  powerful  spell 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS 


329 


In  old  romaunts  of  errantry  that  tell, 

Or  later  legends  of  the  fairy-folk, 
Or  oriental  tale  of  Afrite  fell, 

Of  genii,  talisman,  and  broad-wing'd  roc, 
Tho'  taste  may  blusii  and  frown,  and  sober  reason 
mock. 

Oft  at  such  season,  too,  will  rhymes  unsought, 

Arrange  themselves  in  some  romantic  lay; 
The  which,  as  things  unfitting  graver  thought. 

Are  burnt  or  blotted  on  some  wiser  day; — 
These  few  survive — and  proudly  let  me  say. 

Court  not  the  critic's  smile,  nor  dread  his  frown; 
They  well  may  serve  to  while  an  hour  away, 

Nor  does  the  volume  ask  for  more  renown. 
Than  Ennui's  yawning  smile,  what  time  she  drops 
it  down. 

HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 

CASTO  I. 
I. 

List  to  the  valorous  deeds  that  were  done 

By  Harold  the  Dauntless,  count  VVitikind's  son! 

Count  Witikind  came  of  a  regal  strain, 

And  roved  with  his  Norsemen  the  land  and  the 

main. 
Wo  to  the  realms  which  he  coasted!  for  there 
Was  shedding  of  blood,  and  rending  of  hair, 
Rape  of  maiden,  and  slaughter  of  priest. 
Gathering  of  ravens  and  wolves  to  the  feast: 
When  he  hoisted  his  standard  black. 
Before  him  was  battle,  behind  him  wrack, 
And  he  burned  the  churches,  that  heathen  Dane, 
To  light  his  band  to  their  barks  again. 

n. 

On  Erin's  shores  was  his  outrage  known, 

The  winds  of  France  had  his  banners  blown; 

Little  was  there  to  plunder,  yet  still 

His  pirates  had  foray'd  on  Scottish  hill: 

But  upon  merry  England's  coast 

More  frequent  he  sail'd,  for  he  won  the  most. 

So  wide  and  so  far  his  ravage  they  knew. 

If  a  sail  but  gleam'd  white  'gainst  the  welkin  blue, 

Trumpet  and  bugle  to  arms  did  call. 

Burghers  hasten'd  to  man  the  wall, 

Feasants  fled  inward  his  fui-y  to  'scape, 

Beacons  were  lighted  on  iieadland  and  cape, 

Bells  were  toU'd  out,  and  aye  as  they  rung, 

Fearful  and  faintly  the  gray  brothers  sung,  ^ 

"  Bless  us,  St.  Mar)',  from  flood  and  from  fire. 

From  famine  and  pest,  and  count  VVitikind's  ire !" 

ni. 

He  liked  the  wealth  of  fair  England  so  well, 
That  he  sought  in  her  bosom  as  native  to  dwell. 
He  enter'd  the  Humber  in  fearful  hour. 
And  disembark'd  witli  i>is  Danish  power. 
Three  earls  came  against  him  with  all  their  train, 
Two  hath  he  taken,  and  one  hath  he  slain: 
Count  Witikind  left  the  Humber's  rich  strand. 
And  he  wasted  and  warr'd  in  Nortliumberland. 
But  the  Saxon  king  was  a  sire  in  age. 
Weak  in  battle,  in  council  sage; 
Peace  of  that  heathen  leader  he  sought, 
Gifts  he  gave,  and  quiet  he  bought: 
And  the  count  took  upon  liim  the  peaceable  style, 
Of  a  vassal  and  liegeman  of  Britain's  broad  isle. 

IV. 

Time  will  rust  the  sharpest  sword, 
Time  will  consume  the  strongest  cord; 


That  which  moulders  hemp  and  steel, 
Mortal  arm  and  nerve  must  feel. 
Of  the  Danish  band,  whom  count  Witikind  led. 
Many  wax'd  aged,  and  many  were  deail; 
Himself  found  his  armour  full  weighty  to  bear, 
Wrinkled  his  brows  grew,  and  hoary  his  hair; 
He  lean'd  on  a  staff,  wlien  his  step  went  abroad, 
And  patient  his  palfrey,  when  steed  he  bestrode; 
As  he  grew  feebler  his  wildness  ceased, 
He  made  himself  peace  with  prelate  and  priest, 
Made  his  peace,  and,  stooping  his  head. 
Patiently  listed  the  counsel  they  said: 
Saint  Cuthbert's  bishop  was  holy  and  grave, 
Wise  and  good  was  the  counsel  he  gave. 

V. 
"Thou  hast  murder'd,  robb'd,  and  spoil'd, 
Time  it  is  thy  poor  soul  were  assoil'd; 
Priest  did'st  thou  slay,  and  churches  burn, 
Time  it  is  now  to  repentance  to  turn; 
Fiends  hast  thou  worshipp'd,  with  fiendish  rite, 
Leave  now  the  darkness,  and  wend  into  light: 
O!  while  life  and  space  are  given. 
Turn  thee  yet,  and  think  of  heaven!" 
That  stern  old  heathen  his  head  he  raised, 
And  on  the  good  prelate  he  steadfastly  gazed: 
"  Give  me  broad  lands  on  the  Wear  and  the  Tync, 
My  faith  1  will  leave,  and  I'll  cleave  unto  thine." 

VI. 
Broad  lands  he  gave  him  on  Tyne  and  on  Wear, 
To  be  held  of  the  church  by  bridle  and  spear; 
Part  of  Monkwearmouth,  of  Tynedale  part. 
To  better  his  will,  and  to  soften  his  heart: 
Count  Witikind  was  a  joyful  man. 
Less  for  the  faith  than  the  lands  that  he  wan. 
The  high  church  of  Durham  is  dress'd  for  the  day. 
The  clerg}'  are  rank'd  in  their  solemn  array; 
There  came  the  count,  in  a  bear-skin  warm, 
Leaning  on  Hilda,  his  concubine's  arm; 
He  kneel'd  before  saint  Cuthbert's  shrine. 
With  patience  unwonted  at  riles  divine: 
He  abjured  the  gods  of  heathen  race. 
And  he  bent  his  head  at  the  font  of  grace; 
But  such  was  the  griesly  old  proselyte's  look, 
That  the  priest  who  baptized  him  grew  pale  atid 

shook: 
And  the  old  monks  mutter'd  beneath  their  hood, 
"  Of  a  stem  so  stubborn  can  never  spring  good!" 

VII. 
Up  then  arose  that  grim  convertite. 
Homeward  he  hied  him  when  ended  the  rite 
The  prelate  in  honour  will  with  him  ride. 
And  feast  in  his  castle  on  Tyne's  fair  side. 
Banners  and  banderols  danced  in  the  wind. 
Monks  rode  before  them,  and  spearmen  behind; 
Onward  they  pass'd,  till  fairly  did  shine 
Pennon  and  cross  on  the  bosom  of  Tyne: 
And  full  in  front  did  that  iortress  lower. 
In  darksome  strength  with  its  buttress  and  tower: 
At  the  castle-gate  was  young  Harold  there, 
Count  VVitikind's  only  offspring  and  heir. 

vm. 

Voung  Harold  was  fear'd  for  his  hardihood, 

His  strength  of  frame,  and  his  fury  of  mood; 

Rude  he  was,  and  wild  to  behold, 

VV^ore  neither  collar  nor  bracelet  of  gold, 

Cap  of  vair,  nor  rich  array, 

Such  as  should  grace  that  festal  day: 

His  doublet  of  bull's  hide  was  all  unbraced. 

Uncovered  his  head,  and  his  sandal  unlaced; 

His  shaggy  black  locks  on  his  brow  hung  low, 

And  his  eyes  glanctd  thro'  them  a  swarthy  glow; 


330 


SCOTT'S  POKTICAL  WORKS. 


A  Danish  club  in  his  hand  he  bore, 

The  spikes  wore  clotted  with  recent  gore; 

At  his  buck  a  slie  wolf,  and  her  wolf  cul)S  twain, 

In  the  dangerous  chase  tiiat  niorniiij;  slmii. 

Rude  was  the  greeting  to  his  father  he  made, 

None  to  the  bishop— while  thus  he  said: 

IX. 
"  M'hat  priest-led  hypocrite  art  thou, 
With  tbv  humbled  look  an<l  thy  monkish  brow. 
Like  a  shaveling  who  studies  to  cheat  his  vow? 
Canst  thou  be  Witikind  the  Waster  known. 
Royal  Eric's  fearless  son, 
Haughty  Gunbilda's  haughtier  lord, 
Who  won  Ills  bride  by  the  axe  and  sword: 
From  the  shrine  of  St.  Peter  the  chalice  who  tore, 
And  melted  to  bracelets  for  Freya  and  Thor; 
MHlhoneblowof  hisgauntletwhobursted  the  skull. 
Before  Odin's  stone,  of  the  mountain  bull? 
Then  ye  worshipp'd  with  rites  that  to  war-gods 

belong. 
With  the  deed  of  the  brave,  and  the  blow  ot  the 

strong, 
And  now,  in  thine  age,  to  dotage  sunk. 
Wilt  tliou  patter  thy  crimes  to  a  shaven  monk. 
Lav  down  thy  mail-shirt  for  clothing  of  hair. 
Fasting  and  scoui-ge,  like  a  slave,  wilt  thou  bear? 
Or,  at  best,  be  admitted  in  slothful  bower 
To  batten  with  priest  and  with  paramour? 
O!  out  upon  thine  endless  shame! 
Each  scald's  his;h  harp  shall  blast  thy  fame. 
And  thy  son  will  refuse  thee  a  father's  name!" 

X. 
Ireful  wax'd  old  Witlkind's  look. 
His  faultering  voice  with  fury  shook; — 
«'  Hear  me,  Harold,  of  harden'd  heart! 
Stubborn  and  wilful  ever  thou  wert. 
Thino  outrage  insane  I  command  thee  to  cease, 
Fear  my  wrath  and  remain  at  peace:— 
Just  is  llie  debt  of  repentance  I've  paid. 
Richly  the  church  has  a  recompense  made. 
And  the  truth  of  her  doctrines  I  prove  with  my 

blade. 
But  reckoning  to  none  of  my  actions  I  owe,      ■ 
And  least  to  my  son  such  accounting  will  show. 
Why  speak  1  to  thee  of  repentance  or  truth. 
Who  ne'er  from  thy  chi  Idhood  knew  reason  or  ruth ' 
Hence!  to  the  wolf  and  the  bear  in  her  den; 
These  are  thy  mates,  and  not  rational  men." 

XL 
Grimly  smiled  Harold,  and  coldly  replied, 
"  We  must  honour  our  sires,  if  we  fear  when  they 

chide. 
For  me,  1  am  yet  what  thy  lessons  have  made, 
1  was  rock'd  in  a  buckler  and  fed  from  a  blade; 
An  infant,  was  taught  to  clap  hands  and  to  shout, 
From  the  roofs  of  the  tower  when  the  flame  had 

broke  out; 
In  the  blood  of  slain  foemen  my  finger  to  dip. 
And  tinge  with  its  purple  my  cheek  and  my  lip. — 
'  ris  thou  know'st  not  truth, that  has  barter'd  in  eld. 
For  a  price,  the  brave  faith  that  thine  ancestors 

held. 
When  this  woir'— and  the  carcass  he  flung  on  the 

plain — 
"  Shall  awake  and  give  food  to  her  nurslings  again. 
The  face  of  his  father  will  Harold  review; 
Till  then,  aged  heathen,  youhg  christian,  adieu!" 

XU. 
Priest,  monk,  and  prelate  stood  aghast. 
As  through  the  pageant  the  heathen  pass'd. 


A  cross-bearer  out  of  his  saddle  he  flung. 
Laid  his  hand  on  the  pommel  and  into  it  sprung; 
Loud  was  tlic  shriek,  and  deep  the  groan. 
When  the  holy  sign  on  the  earth  was  thrown! 
The  fierce  old  count  unsheallied  his  brand. 
But  the  calmer  prelate  stay'd  his  hand; 
"  Let  him  pass  free !— rHeaven  knows  its  hour — 
But  he  must  own  i-cpentance's  power. 
Pray  and  weep,  and  penance  bear, 
Ere  he  hold  land  by  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear. " — 
Thus  in  scorn  and  in  wrath  from  his  father  tt  gone 
Young  Harold  the  Dauntless,   count  Witikind's 
son. 

XIII. 
High  was  the  feasting  in  Witikind's  hall, 
Revell'd  priests,  soldiers,  and  pagans,  and  all; 
And  e'en  the  good  bisiiop  was  lain  to  endure 
The  scandal  which   time  and  instruction  might 

cure: 
It  were  dangerous,  he  deem'd,  at  the  first  to  re- 
strain, 
In  his  wine  and  his  wassail,  a  balf-christen'd  Dane. 
The  mead  flow'd  around,  and  the  ale  was  drain'd 

dry. 
Wild  was  the  laughter,  the  song,  and  the  cry; 
W^ith  Kyrie  Eleison  came  clamorously  in 
The  war-songs  of  Danesman,  Norweyan,  and  Finn, 
Till  man  after  man  the  contention  gave  o'er, 
Outstretch'd  on  the  rushes  tliat  strew'd  the  hall 

floor; 
And  the  tempest  within,  having  ceased  its  wild 

rout. 
Gave  place  to  the  tempest  that  thunder'd  without. 

XIV. 
Apart  from  the  wassail,  in  turret  alone, 
Lay  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar,  old  Ermengarde's  son; 
In  the  train  of  lord  Harold  the  page  was  tiie  first. 
For  Harold  in  childliood  had  Ermengarde  nursed; 
And  grieved  was  young  Gunnar  his  master  should 

roam. 
Unhoused  and  unfriended,  an  exile  from  home. 
He  heard  the  deep  thunder,  the  plasliiiig  of  rain. 
He  saw  the  red  liglituing  through  shot-hole  and 

pane; 
"And  oh!"  said   tlie  page,  "on  the   shelterless 

wold 
Lord  Hai-old  is  wandering  in  darkness  and  cold! 
What  though  he  was  stubborn,  an<l  wayward,  and 

wild. 
He  endur'd  me  because  I  was  Ermengarde's  child, 
And  often  from  dawn  till  the  sol  of  the  sun. 
In  the  chase,  by  his  stirrup,  unchidden  I  run: 
1  would  I  were  older,  and  knightliood  could  bear, 
1  would  soon  quit  the  banks  of  the  Tyne  and  the 

Wear; 
For  my  mother's  command  with  her  last  parting 

breath. 
Bade  me  follow  her  nursling  in  life  and  to  death. 

XV. 
"  It  pours  and  it  thunders,  it  lightens  amain, 
As  ir  Lok,  the  destroyer,  had  burst  from  his  cliain! 
Accursed  by  the  church,  and  expell'd  by  his  sire, 
Nor  christain  nor  Dane  give  him  shelter  or  fire. 
And  this  tempest  wliat  mortal  may  houseless  en- 
dure? 
Unaided,  unmantled,  he  dies  on  the  moor! 
Whate'er  comes  of  Gunnar  he  tarries  not  here." 
He  leapt  from  his  couch  and  he  grasp'd  to  his  spear. 
Sought  the  hall  of  the  feast.    Undisturbed  by  his 

tread. 
The  wassailers  slept  fast  as  the  sleep  of  the  dead: 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


331 


"  Ungrateful  and  bestial !"  his  anger  broke  forth, 
"  To  forget  'mid  your  goblets  the  pride  of  the 

North ! 
And  you,  ye  cowl'd  priests,  who  have  plenty  in 

store. 
Must  give  Gunnar  for  ransom  a  palfrey  and  ore.'' 

XYl. 

Then  heeding  full  little  of  ban  or  of  curse. 
He  has  siezed  on  the  prior  of  Jorvaux's  purse: 
Saint  Meneholt's  abbot  next  morning  has  miss'd 
His  mantle,  deep  furr'd  from  the  cape  to  the  wrist: 
The  seneschal's  keys  from  his  belt  he  has  ta'en, 
(Well  drench'd  on  "that  eve  was  old  Hildebrand's 

brain. ) 
To  the  stable-yard  he  made  his  way, 
And  mounted  "the  bishop's  palfrey  gay. 
Castle  and  hamlet  behind  him  has  cast. 
And  right  on  his  way  to  the  moorlar.d  has  pass'd. 
Sore  snorted  the  palfre}',  unused  to  face 
A  weather  so  wild  at  so  rash  apace; 
So  long  he  snorted,  so  loud  he  neigh'd, 
There  answer'd  a  steed  that  was  bound  beside. 
And  the  red  flash  of  lightning  show 'd  there  where 

lay 
His  master,  lord  Harold,  outstretch'd  on  the  clay. 

xvn. 

Up  he  started,  and  thunder'd  out,  "  Stand!" 

And  rais'd  the  club  in  his  deadly  hand. 

The  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar  his  purpose  told, 

Show'd  the  palfrey  and  profier'd  the  gold. 

"  Back,  b.ick,  and'  home,  thou  simple  boy ! 

Thou  can'st  not  share  my  grief  or  joy: 

Have  I  not  mark'd  thee  wail  and  ci-y 

When  thou  hast  seen  a  sparrow  die? 

And  can'st  thou,  as  my  follower  should. 

Wade  ancle-deep  through  foeman's  blood, 

Dare  mortal  and  immortal  foe, 

The  gods  above,  the  fiends  below. 

And  man  on  earth,  more  hateful  still, 

The  very  fountain  head  of  ill? 

Desperate  of  life,  and  careless  of  death. 

Lover  of  bloodslied,  and  slaughter,  and  scathe, 

Such  must  thou  be  with  me  to  roam. 

And  such  thou  canst  not  be — back,  and  home!" 

XVIII. 
Young  Gunnar  shook  like  an  aspen  bough. 
As  he  heard  the  harsh  voice  and  beheld  the  dark 

brow. 
And  half  he  repented  his  purpose  and  vow. 
But  now  to  draw  back  were  bootless  shame. 
And  he  loved  his  master,  so  urged  his  claim: 
"  Alas!  if  my  arm  and  my  courage  be  weak, 
Bear  with  me  a  while  for  old  Ermengarde's  sake; 
Nor  deem  so  lightly  of  Gunnar's  faith. 
As  to  fear  he  would  break  it  for  peril  of  death. 
Have  1  not  risk'd  it  to  fetch  thee  this  gold. 
This  surcoat  and  mantle  to  fence  thee  from  cold? 
And,  did  I  bear  a  baser  mind. 
What  lot  remains  if  I  stay  behind' 
The  priests'  revenge,  thy  father's  wrath, 
A  dungeon  and  a  shameful  death." 

XIX. 

With  gentler  look  lord  Harold  eyed 

The  page,  then  tui-n'd  his  head  aside; 

And  either  a  tear  did  his  eye  lash  stain. 

Or  it  caught  a  drop  of  the  passing  rain. 

"  Art  thou  an  outcast  then'"  quoth  lie, 

"The  meeter  page  to  follow  me." 

'Twere  bootless  to  tell  what  climes  they  sought. 

Ventures  achieved,  and  battles  fought; 


How  oft  with  few,  how  oft  alone. 

Fierce  Harold's  arm  the  field  hath  won. 

Men  swore  his  eye,  that  flash'd  so  red 

When  each  other  glance  was  quench'd  with  dread, 

Bore  oft  a  light  of  deadly  flame 

That  ne'er  from  morlal  courage  came. 

Those  limbs  so  strong,  that  mood  so  stern, 

That  loved  the  couch  of  heath  and  fern, 

Afar  from  liamlet,  tower,  and  town. 

More  than  to  rest  on  driven  down; 

That  stubborn  frame,  that  sullen  mood. 

Men  deem'd  must  come  of  auglit  but  good; 

And  they  whisper'd,  the  great  master  fiend  was  at 

one 
With  Harold  <he  Dauntless,  count  Witikind's  son. 

XX. 

Years  after  years  had  gone  and  fled. 

The  good  old  pi-elate  lies  lapp'd  in  lead; 

In  the  chapel  still  is  shown 

His  sculptured  form  on  a  marble  stone, 

With  staff"  and  ring  and  scapulaire, 

And  folded  hands  in  the  act  of  prayer. 

Saint  Cuthbert's  mitre  is  resting  now 

On  the  haughty  Saxon,  bold  Aldingar's  brow; 

The  power  of  his  crozier  he  loved  to  extend 

O'er  whatever  would   break  or  whatever  would 

bend: 
And  now  hath  he  cloth'd  him  in  cope  and  in  pall, 
And  the  chapter  of  Durham  has  met  at  his  call. 
"And  hear  ye  not,  brethren,"  the  proud  bishop 

said, 
"That  our  vassal,  the  Danish  count  Witikind's 

dead? 
All  his  gold  and  his  goods  hath  he  given 
To  holy  church  for  the  love  of  heaven. 
And  hath  founded  a  chantry  with  stipend  and  dole, 
That  priests  and  that  beadsmen  may  pray  for  hia 

soul; 
Harold  his  son  is  M'andering  abroad. 
Dreaded  by  man  and  abhorr'd  by  God; 
Meet  it  is  not,  that  such  should  heir 
The  lands  of  the  church  on  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear; 
And  at  her  pleasure,  her  hallow'd  hands 
May  now  resume  these  wealthy  lands." — 

XXI. 

Answer'd  good  Eustace,  a  canon  old, 

"  Harold  is  tameless,  and  furious,  and  bold; 

Ever  renown  blows  a  note  of  fame. 

And  a  note  of  fear,  when  she  sounds  his  name: 

Much  of  bloodshed  and  inucli  of  scathe 

Have  been  their  lot  who  iiave  walced  his  wrath. 

Leave  liim  these  lands  and  lordsiiips  still. 

Heaven  in  its  hour  may  change  his  will; 

But  if  reft  of  gold,  and  of  living  bare. 

An  evil  counsellor  is  despair." — 

More  had  he  said,  but  the  prelate  frown'd. 

And  murmur'd  his  brethren,  who  sate  around. 

And  with  one  consent  have  theygiv'n  their  doom. 

That  the  church  should  the  lands  of  St.  Cuthbert 

resume. 
So  will'd  the  prehite;  and  canon  and  dean, 
Gave  to  his  judgment  their  loud  amen. 

CAXTO  ir. 

I. 

'Tis  merr}'  in  greenwood,  thus  runs  the  old  lay, 

In  the  gladsome  month  of  lively  May, 

When  the  wild  birds'  song  on  stem  and  spray 

Invites  to  forest  bower; 
Then  rears  the  ash  his  airy  crest. 
Then  shines  the  birch  in  silver  vest. 


332 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  the  beech  in  glistening  leaves  is  dress'd, 
And  dark  between  shows  the  oak's  proud  breast, 

Like  a  chieftain's  tVowninn  tower; 
Though  a  thousand  l)i-anciies  join  their  screen, 
Yet  the  broken  sun-beams  glance  between, 
And  tip  the  leaves  with  lighter  green, 

Willi  brighter  tints  tiu;  flower; 
Dull  is  tlie  heart  that  loves  not  then 
The  deep  recess  oftlie  wild-wood  glen, 
\Vhere  roe  and  red-deer  find  sheltering  den. 

When  the  sun  is  in  his  power. 

II. 

Less  merry,  perchance,  is  the  fading  leaf 
That  follows  so  soon  on  the  gather'd  sheaf. 

When  the  green-wood  loses  the  name; 
Silent  is  then  the  forest  bound. 
Save  the  red-breast's  note,  and  the  rustling  sound 
Of  frost-nipt  leaves  that  are  dropping  round, 
Or  the  deep-mouth 'd  cry  of  the  distant  hound 

That  opens  on  his  game; 
Yet  then,  too,  1  love  the  forest  wide, 
Whether  the  sun  in  splendour  ride, 
And  gild  its  many-colour'd  side. 
Or  whether  the  soft  and  silvery  haze. 
In  vapoury  folds,  o'er  the  landscape  strays. 
And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze. 

Like  an  early  widow's  veil. 
Where  wimpling  tissue  from  the  gaze 
The  form  half  hides  and  half  betrays, 

Of  beauty  wan  and  pale. 

in. 

Fair  Metelill  was  a  woodland  maid. 
Her  father  a  rover  of  green-wood  shade. 
By  forest  statutes  undismay'd. 

Who  lived  by  bow  and  quiver. 
Well  known  was  Wulfstane's  archery. 
By  merry  Tyne  both  on  moor  and  lea. 
Through  wooded  Weardale's  glens  so  free, 
Well  beside  Stanhope's  wild-wood  tree, 

And  well  on  Ganlesse  river. 
Y'et  free  though  he  trespass'd  on  woodland  game. 
More  known  and  more  iear'd  was  the  wizard  fame 
Of  Julta  of  Rookhope,  the  outlaw's  dame; 
Fear'd  when  she  frown'd  was  her  eye  of  flame. 

More  fear'd  when  in  wrath  she  laugh'd; 
For  then,  'twas  said,  more  fatal  true 
To  its  dread  aim  her  spell-glance  flew. 
Than  when  fi-om  Wulfstane's  bended  yew 

Sprung  forth  the  gray  goose  shaft. 

IV. 

Yet  had  this  fierce  and  dreaded  pair, 
So  heaven  decreed,  a  daughter  fair; 

None  brighter  crown'd  the  bed,  * 

In  Britain's  bounds,  of  peer  or  prince, 
Nor  hath,  perchance,  a  lovelier  since 

In  this  fair  isle  been  bred. 
And  nought  of  fraud,  or  ire,  or  ill, 
Was  known  to  gentle  Metelill, 

A  simple  maiden  she; 
The  spells  in  dimpled  smiles  that  lie. 
And  a  downcast  blush,  and  tlie  darts  that  fly 
With  the  sidelong  glance  of  a  hazel  eye. 

Were  her  arms  and  witcliery. 
So  young,  so  simple  was  she  yet, 
She  scarce  could  childhood's  joys  forget. 
And  still  she  loved,  in  secret  set 

Beneath  the  green-wood  tree. 
To  plait  the  rushy  coronet. 
And  braid  with  flowers  her  locks  of  j(.-t. 

As  when  in  infancy; — 


Yet  could  that  heart,  so  simple,  prove 
The  early  dawn  of  stealing  love: 

Ah!  gentle  maid,  beware! 
The  power  who,  now  so  mild  a  guest, 
Gives  dangerous,  yet  delicious  zest 
To  the  calm  pleasures  of  thy  breast, 
Will  soon,  a  tyrant  o'er  the  rest, 

Let  none  his  empire  share. 
V. 
One  morn,  in  kirtle  green  array'd, 
Deep  in  the  wood  the  maiden  stray 'd, 

And,  where  a  fountain  sprung. 
She  sat  her  down,  unseen,  to  thread 
The  scarlet  berry's  mimic  braid,  i 

And  while  her  beads  she  strung. 
Like  the  blith  lark,  whose  carol  gay 
Gives  a  good  morrow  to  the  day, 

So  lightsomely  she  sung: 
VI. 

SONG. 

"  Lord  William  was  born  in  gilded  bower. 
The  heir  of  Wilton's  lofty  tower; 
Yet  better  loves  lord  William  now 
To  roam  beneath  wild  Rookhope's  brow; 
And  William  has  lived  where  ladies  fair 
With  gauds  and  jewels  deck  their  hair. 
Yet  better  loves  the  dew-drops  still 
That  pearl  the  locks  of  Metelill. 
"  The  pious  palmer  loves,  I  wis. 
Saint  Cuthbert's  hallow'd  beads  to  kiss; 
But  I,  though  simple  girl  I  be. 
Might  have  such  homage  paid  to  me; 
For  did  lord  William  see  me  suit 
This  necklace  of  the  bramble's  fruit. 
He  fain — but  must  not  have  his  will, — 
Would  kiss  the  beads  of  Metelill. 
'•■  My  nurse  has  told  me  many  a  tale, 
How  vows  of  love  are  weak  and  frail; 
My  mother  says  that  courtly  youth 
By  rustic  maid  means  seldom  sooth. 
What  should  they  mean  ?  it  cannot  be, 
That  such  a  warning's  meant  for  me. 
For  nought — oh!  nought  of  fraud  or  ill 
Can  W^illiam  mean  to  Metelill!" — 

VII. 
Sudden  she  stops — and  starts  to  feel 
A  weighty  hand,  a  glove  of  steel. 
Upon  her  shrinking  shoulders  laid; 
Fearful  she  turn'd,  and  saw,  dismay'd, 
A  knight  in  plate  and  raail  array'd, 
His  crest  and  bearing  worn  and  fray'd, 

His  surcoat  soil'd  and  riven; 
Form'd  like  that  giant  race  of  yore. 
Whose  long-continued  crimes  outwore 

The  sufferance  of  heaven. 
Stern  accents  made  his  pleasure  known. 
Though  then  he  used  his  gentlest  tone: 
"  Maiden,"  he  said,  "  sing  forth  thy  gleej 
Start  not — sing  on — it  pleases  me. " 

VIII. 
Secured  within  his  powerful  hold. 
To  bend  her  knee,  her  hands  to  fold. 

Was  all  the  maiden  might; 
And  "  Oh!  forgive,"  she  faintly  said, 
"  The  terrors  of  a  simple  maid. 

If  thou  art  mortal  wight! 
But  if— of  such  strange  tales  are  told, — 
Unearthly  warrior  of  the  wold. 
Thou  coni'st  to  chide  mine  accents  bold, 
My  mother,  Jutta,  knows  the  spell. 
At  noon  and  midnight  pleasing  well, 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


333 


The  disembodied  ear; 
Oh !  let  her  powerful  charms  atone 
For  aught  my  rashness  may  have  done, 

And  cease  thv  grasp  of  fear. " 
Then  laughed  the  knight— his  laughter's  sound 
Half  in  the  hollow  helmet  drown'd; 
His  barred  visor  then  he  raised, 
And  steady  on  the  maiden  gazed. 
He  smooth'd  his  brows,  as  best  he  might, 
To  the  dread  calm  of  autumn  night, 

When  sinks  the  tempest's  roar; 
Yet  slill  the  cautious  fishers  eye 
The  clouds,  and  fear  the  gloomy  sky, 

And  haul  their  barks  on  shore. 
IX, 
"  Damsel,"  he  said,  "  be  wise,  and  learn 
Matters  of  weight  and  deep  concern; 

From  distant  realms  I  come. 
And,  wanderer  long,  at  length  have  planned 
In  this  my  native  northern  land 

To  seek  myself  a  home. 
Nor  that  alone — a  mate  1  seek; 
She  must  be  gentle,  soft,  and  meek, — 

No  lordly  dame  for  me: 
Myself  am  something  rough  of  mood. 
And  feel  the  fire  of  royal  blood, 
And  therefore  do  not  hold  it  good 

To  match  in  my  degree: 
Then,  since  coy  maidens  say  my  face 
Is  harsh,  my  form  devoid  of  grace. 
For  a  fair  lineage  to  provide, 
'Tis  meet  that  my  selected  bride 

In  lineaments  be  fair; 
I  love  thine  well — till  now  I  ne'er 
Look'd  patient  on  a  face  of  fear. 
But  now  that  tremulous  sob  and  tear 

Become  thy  beauty  rare. 
One  kiss — nay,  damsel,  coy  it  not; 
And  now,  go  seek  thy  parents'  cot. 
And  say,  a  bridegroom  soon  I  come. 
To  woo  my  love  and  bear  her  home. " 

X. 

Home  sprung  the  maid  without  a  pause 
As  levret  'scaped  from  greyhound's  jaws; 
But  still  she  lock'd,  howe'er  distress'd. 
The  secret  in  her  boding  breast; 
Dreading  her  sire,  who  oft  forbade 
Her  steps  should  stray  to  distant  glade. 
Night  came — to  her  accustom'd  nook 
Her  distaff  aged  Jutta  took, 
And,  by  the  lamp's  imperfect  glow, 
Rough  Wulfstane  trimm'd  his  shafts  and  bow. 
Sudden  and  clamorous,  from  the  ground 
Upstarted  slumbering  brach  and  hound;- 
Loud  knocking  next  the  lodge  alarms, 
And  Wulfstane  snatches  at  his  arms. 
When  open  flew  the  yielding  door. 
And  that  grim  warrior  press'd  the  floor. 

XL 

"  All  peace  be  here — What!  none  replies? 
Dismiss  your  fears  and  your  surprise. 
'Tis  I — that  maid  hath  told  my  tale. 
Or,  trembler,  did  thy  courage  fail  ? 
It  reeks  not — it  is  1  demand 
Fair  Metelill  in  marriage  band; 
Harold  the  Dauntless  I,  whose  name 
Is  brave  men's  boast  and  caitiff's  shame." 
The  parents  sought  each  other's  eyes. 
With  awe,  resentment,  and  sui-prise: 
Wulfstane,  to  quarrel  prompt,  began 
The  stranger's  size  and  thewes  to  scan; 


But,  as  he  scann'd,  his  courage  sunk, 
And  from  unequal  strife  he  shrunk. 
Then  forth,  to  blight  and  blemish,  flies 
Tiie  harmful  curse  from  Julia's  eyes; 
Yet  fatal  howsoe'er  the  spell 
On  Harold  innocently  fell ! 
And  disappointment  and  amaze 
Were  in  the  witch's  wilder'd  gaze. 

XII. 

But  soon  the  wit  of  woman  woke. 

And  to  the  warrior  mild  she  spoke: 

"  Her  child  was  all  too  yoflng." — "  A  toy, 

Tlie  refuge  of  a  maiden  co)-." 

Again,  "  A  powerful  baron's  heir 

Claims  in  her  heart  an  interest  fair." 

"  A  trifle — whisper  in  his  ear 

That  Harold  is  a  suitor  here!" 

Baffled  at  length,  she  sought  delay: 

"  Would  not  the  knight  till  morning  stay' 

Late  was  the  hour — he  there  might  rest. 

Till  morn,  their  lodge's  honoured  guest." 

Such  were  her  words — her  craft  might  cast, 

Her  honour'd  guest  should  sleep  his  last: 

"  No,  not  to  night — but  soon,"  he  swore, 

"  He  would  return,  nor  leave  them  more," 

The  threshold  then  his  huge  stride  crost, 

And  Boon  he  was  in  darkness  lost. 

XIll. 

Appall'd  awhile  the  parents  stood. 
Then  changed  their  fear  to  angry  mood, 
And  foremost  fell  their  words  of  ill 
On  unresisting  Metelill: 
Was  she  not  cautioned  and  forbid, 
Forewarn'd,  implored,  accused,  and  chid. 
And  must  she  still  to  greenwood  roam. 
To  marshal  such  misfortune  home' 
"  Hence,  minion — to  thy  cliamber  hence. 
There  prudence  learn  and  penitence." 
She  went — her  lonely  couch  to  steep 
In  tears  which  absent  lovers  weep; 
Or  if  she  gain'd  a  troubled  sleep. 
Fierce  Harold's  suit  was  still  the  theme 
And  ten-or  of  her  feverish  dream. 

XIV. 

Scarce  was  she  gone,  her  dame  and  sire 

Upon  each  other  bent  their  ire: 

"  A  woodsman  thou,  and  hast  a  spear, 

And  couldst  thou  such  an  insult  bear?" 

Sullen  he  said,  "A  man  contends 

With  men — a  witch  with  sprites  and  fiends; 

Not  to  mere  mortal  wight  belong 

Von  gloomy  brow  and  frame  so  strong: 

But  thou — is  this  thy  promise  fair. 

That  your  lord  William,  wealthy  heir 

To  Ulrick,  baron  of  Witton-le-wear, 

Should  Metelill  to  altar  bear? 

Do  all  the  spell's  thou  boast'st  as  thine 

Serve  but  to  slay  some  peasant's  kine, 

Hisgi-ain  in  autumn's  storms  to  steep. 

Or  thorough  fog  and  fen  to  sweep. 

And  hag-ride  some  poor  rustic's  sleep? 

Is  such  mean  mischief  worth  the  fame 

Of  sorceress  and  witch's  name' 

Fame,  which  with  all  men's  wish  conspires, 

With  thy  deserts  and  my  desires. 

To  damn  thy  corpse  to  penal  fires' 

Out  on  thee,  witch!  aroint!  aroint! 

What  now  shall  put  thy  schemes  in  joint? 

What  save  this  trusty  arrow's  point. 

From  the  dark  dingle  when  it  flies. 

And  he  who  meets  it  gasps  and  dies." 


334 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XV. 

Stern  she  replied,  "  1  will  not  wage 
War  with  thy  folly  or  thy  rage; 
But  ere  the  morrow's  siiti  be  low, 
Wiilfstane  of  Rookhope,  thou  shalt  know, 
If  I  can  venge  me  on  a  foe. 
Believe  ihe'while,  that  whatsoe'er 
1  spoke,  in  ire,  of  bow  and  spear, 
It  is  not  Harold's  destiny 
The  death  of  pilfer'd  deer  to  die. 
But  he,  and  thou,  and  yon  pale  moon, 
That  shall  be  yet  more  pallid  soon, 
Before  she  sink  behind  the  dell. 
Thou,  she,  and  Harold  too,  shall  tell 
What  JutUi  knows  of  charm  or  spell." 
Thus  muttering,  to  the  door  she  bent 
Her  wayward  steps,  and  forth  she  went. 
And  left  alone  the  moody  sire, 
To  cherish  or  to  slake  his  ire. 

XVI. 

Far  faster  than  belonged  to  age. 

Has  Julta  made  her  pilgrimage. 

A  priest  has  met  her  as  she  pass'd, 

And  crosi'd  himself  and  stood  aghast: 

She  traced  a  hamlet — not  a  cur 

His  throat  would  ope,  his  foot  would  stir; 

By  crouch,  by  trembling,  and  by  groan. 

They  made  her  hated  presence  known! 

But  when  she  trode  the  sable  fell. 

Were  wilder  sounds  her  way  to  tell, — 

For  far  was  heard  the  fox's  yell. 

The  black-cock  w.-jked  and  faintly  crew, 

Scream'd  o'er  the  moss  the  scared  curlew; 

Where  o'er  the  cataract  the  oak 

Lav  slant,  was  heard  tlie  raven's  croak; 

The  mountain-cat,  which  sought  his  prey, 

Glared,  scream'd,  and  started  from  her  way. 

Such  music  cheer'd  her  journey  lone 

To  the  deep  dell  and  rocking  stone: 

There,  with  unhuUow'd  hymn  of  praise, 

She  call'd  a  god  of  heathen  days. 

XVII. 

ijrvocATiox. 
From  thy  Pomeranian  throne, 
Hewn  in  rock  of  living  stone. 
Where,  to  thy  godhead  faithful  yet, 
Bend  Esthonian,  Finn,  and  Lett, 
And  their  swords  in  vengeance  whet, 
That  shall  make  thine  altars  wet — 
Wet  and  red  for  ages  more 
With  the  christians'  hated  gore, — 
Hear  me!  sovereign  of  the  rock, 
Hear  me!  mighty  Zernebock. 

Mightiest  of  the  mighty  known. 
Here  thy  wonders  have  been  shown: 
Hundred  tribes  in  various  tongue 
Oft  have  here  thy  praises  sung; 
Down  that  stone  with  runic  seam'd, 
Hundred  victims'  blood  hath  stream'd! 
Now  one  woman  comes  alone. 
And  but  wets  it  with  her  own. 
The  last,  the  feeblest  of  thy  flock;— 
Hear — and  be  present,  Zernebock ! 

Hark!  he  comes;  the  night-blast  cold 
Wilder  sweeps  along  the  wold; 
The  cloudless  moon  grows  dark  and  dim, 
And  bristling  hair  and  quaking  limb 
Proclaim  the  master  demon  nigh, — 
Those  who  view  his  form  shall  die! 


Lo!  I  stoop  and  veil  my  head. 
Thou  who  rid'st  the  tempest  dread. 
Shaking  hill  and  rending  oak — 
Spare  me!  spare  me!  Zernebock. 

He  comes  not  yet!    Shall  cold  delay 
Thy  votaress  at  her  need  repay: 
Thou — shall  I  call  thee  god  or  fiend? — 
Let  others  on  thy  mood  attend 
\Vith  prayer  and  ritual — Jutla's  arms 
Are  necromantic  words  and  charms; 
Mine  is  the  spell,  that  utter'd  once, 
Shall  wake  thy  master  from  his  trance, 
Shake  his  red  mavsion-house  of  pain. 
And  burst  his  seven-times  twisted  chain. 
So!  com'st  thou  ere  the  spell  is  spoke? 
I  own  thy  presence,  Zernebock. 

XVIII. 

"Daughter  of  dust,"  the  deep  voice  said, 

— Shook  while  it  spoke  the  vale  for  dread; 

Rock'd  on  the  base  that  massive  stone. 

The  evil  deity  to  own, — 

"  Daughter  of  dust!  not  mine  the  power 

Thou  seek'st  on  Harold's  fatal  hour. 

'Twixt  heaven  and  hell  there  is  a  strife 

Waged  for  his  soul  and  for  his  life, 

And  fain  would  we  the  combat  win. 

And  snatch  him  in  his  hour  of  sin. 

Tliere  is  a  star  now  rising  red, 

That  threats  him  with  an  influence  dread: 

Woman,  thine  arts  of  malice  whet. 

To  use  the  space  before  it  set. 

Involve  him  with  the  church  in  strife. 

Push  on  adventurous  chance  his  life; 

Ourself  will  in  the  hour  of  need. 

As  best  we  may,  thy  counsels  speed." 

So  ceased  the  voice;  for  seven  leagues  round 

Each  hamlet  started  at  the  sound; 

But  slept  again,  as  slowly  died 

Its  thunders  on  the  hill's  brown  side. 

XIX. 

"  And  is  this  all,"  said  Jutta  stern, 

"  That  thou  canst  teach  and  I  can  learn? 

Hence !  to  the  land  of  fog  and  waste ! 

There  fittest  is  thine  influence  placed. 

Thou  powerless  sluggish  deity ! 

But  ne'er  shall  Briton  bend  the  knee 

Again  before  so  poor  a  god." 

She  struck  the  altar  with  her  rod; 

Slight  was  the  touch,  as  when  at  need 

A  damsel  stirs  her  tardy  steed; 

But  to  the  blow  the  stone  gave  place, 

And,  starting  from  its  balanced  base, 

RoU'd  thundering  down  the  moon-light  dell, — 

Re-echoed  moorland,  rock,  and  fell; 

Into  the  moon-light  tarn  it  dash'd. 

Their  shores  the  sounding  surges  lash'd, 

And  there  was  ripple,  rage,  and  foam; 
But  on  that  take,  so  dark  and  lone. 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeam  shone, 

As  Julta  hied  her  home. 

CANTO  III. 

I. 

Gray  towers  of  Durham!  there  was  once  a  time 
1  view'd  yoiu"  battlements  with  such  vague  hope, 

As  brightens  life  in  its  first  dawning  prime; 
Not  that  e'en  then  came  within  fancy's  scope 

A  vision  vain  of  mitre,  throne,  or  cope; 
Yet,  gazing  on  the  venerable  hall, 

Her  flattering  dreams  would  in  perspective  ope 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


535 


Some  reverend  room,  some  prebendan-'s  stall, 
And  thus  hope  me  deceived  as  she  deceiveth  all, 

Well  yet  T  love  thy  mix'd  and  massive  piles, 

Half  church  of  God,  half  castle  'gainst  the  Scot, 
And  long  to  roam  these  venerable  aisles, 

Willi  records  stored  of  deeds  long  since  forgot: 
There  might  1  share  my  Surtees'  happier  lot. 

Who  leaves  at  will  his  patrimonial  field 
To  ransack  every  cr}'pt  and  hallow'd  spot. 

And  from  oblivion  rend  the  spoils  they  yield, 
Restoring  priestly  chant,  and  clang  of  knightly 
shield. 

V^ain  is  the  wish — since  other  cares  demand 

Each  vacant  hour,  and  in  another  clime; 
But  still  that  northern  harp  invites  my  hand, 

Which  tells  the  wonder  of  thine  earlier  time; 
And  fain  its  numbers  would  1  now  command. 

To  paint  the  beauties  of  thy  dawning  fair, 
When  Harold,  gazing  from  its  lofty  stand 

Upon  the  western  heights  of  Beaurepaire, 
Saw  Saxon  Eadmer's  towers  begirt  by  winding 
Wear. 

II. 
Fair  on  the  half-seen  stream  the  sunbeams  danced, 

Betraying  it  beneath  the  woodland  bank. 
And  fair  between  the  Gothic  turrets 


Fearful  to  move  the  slumbering  ire 
Of  his  stern  lord,  thus  stood  the  squire, 

Till  Harold  raised  his  eye. 
That  glanced  as  when  athwart  the  shroud 
Of  the  dispersing  tempest-cloud 

The  bursting  sunbeams  fly. 

V. 

"Arouse  thee,  son  of Ermengarde, 
Offspring  of  prophetess  and  bard ! 
Take  harp,  and  greet  this  lovely  prime 
With  some  high  strain  of  runic  rhyme, 
Strong,  deep,  and  powerful!  Peal  it  round 
Like  that  loud  bell's  sonorous  sound. 
Yet  wild  by  fits,  as  when  the  lay 
Of  bird  and  bugle  hail  the  day. 
Such  was  my  grandsire,  Erick's  sport, 
When  dawn  gleara'd  on  his  martial  court. 
Heymar  the  scald,  with  harp's  high  sound, 
Sumnion'd  the  chiefs  who  slept  around; 
Couch'd  on  the  spoils  of  wolf  and  hear, 
They  roused  like  lions  from  their  lair, 
Then  rush'd  in  emulation  forth 
To  enhance  the  glories  of  the  north. — 
Proud  Erick,  mightiest  of  thy  race. 
Where  is  thy  shadowy  restii  g  place? 
In  wild  Valhalla  hast  thou  quafi'd 


Broad  lights,  and'sL^d^wTfeiron  ft4t  and  flank,  I  ^™'"  foeman's  skull  raetlieglin  draught, 
Wliere  tower  and  buttress  rose  in  martial  rank,       I^;';  ^^ander  st  where  thy  cairn  was  piled. 

And  girdled  in  the  massive  donjon  keep, 
And  from  their  circuit  peal'd  o'er  bush  and  bank 

The  matin  bell  with  summons  long  and  deep. 
And   echo   anewer'd   still   with  long-resounding 
sweep 


III. 

The  morning  mists  rose  from  the  ground, 
Each  merrj"  bird  awaken'd  round 

As  if  in  revelry; 
Afar  the  bugles'  clanging  sound 
Call'd  to  the  chase  the  lagging  hound; 

The  gale  breathed  soft  and  free. 
And  seera'd  to  linger  on  its  way. 
To  catch  fresh  odours  from  the  spray, 
And  waved  it  in  its  wanton  play 

So  light  and  gamesomely. 
The  scenes  which  morning  beams  reveal. 
Its  sounds  to  hear,  its  gales  to  feel 
In  all  their  fragrance  round  him  steal. 
It  melted  Harold's  heart  of  steel, 

And,  hardly  wotting  why, 
He  doflf'd  his  helmet's  gloomy  pride. 
And  hung  it  on  a  tree  beside. 

Laid  mace  and  falchion  by. 
And  on  the  green  sward  sate  him  down. 
And  from  his  dark  habitual  frown 

Relax'd  his  rugged  brow — 
Whoever  hath  the  doubtful  task 
From  that  stern  Dane  a  boon  to  ask 

Were  wise  to  ask  it  now 

IV. 

His  place  beside  young  Gunnar  took, 
And  mark'd  his  master's  softening  look, 
And  in  his  eye's  dark  mirror  spied 
The  gloom  of  stormy  thought  subside, 
And  cautious  watch'd  the  fittest  tide 

To  speak  a  warning  word. 
So  when  the  torrent's  billows  shrink, 
The  timid  pilgrim  on  the  brink 
Waits  long  to  see  them  wave  and  sink, 

Ere  he  dare  brave  the  ford; 
And  often,  after  doubtful  pause. 
His  step  advances  or  withdraws; 


To  frown  o'er  oceans  wide  and  wild? 
Or  have  the  milder  christians  given 
Thy  refuge  in  their  peaceful  heaven? 
Where'er  thou  art,  to  thee  are  known 
Our  toils  endured,  our  trophies  won, 
Our  wars,  our  wanderings,  and  our  woes." — 
He  ceased,  and  Gunnar's  song  arose. 
VI. 

SONG. 

"  Hawk  and  osprey  scream'd  for  joy. 
O'er  the  beetling  cliffs  of  Hoy, 
Crimson  foam  the  beach  o'erspread. 
The  heatii  was  dyed  with  darker  red. 
When  o'er  Erick,  Inguar's  son, 
Dane  and  Northman  piled  tiie  stone; 
Singing  wild  the  war-song  stern. 
Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  ttie  Cairn  I 

"  Where  eddying  currents  foam  and  boil 
By  Bersa's  burgh  and  Grsemsay's  isle, 
The  seaman  sees  a  martial  form 
Half  mingled  with  the  mist  and  storm. 
In  anxious  awe  he  bears  away 
To  moor  his  bark  in  Stromna's  bay. 
And  murmurs  from  the  bounding  stern, 
'  Rest  thee.  Dweller  of  the  Cairn!' 

"  What  cares  disturb  the  mighty  dead? 

Each  honoured  rite  was  duly  paid; 

No  daring  hand  ihy  helm  uiilaced. 

Thy  sword,  thy  shield,  were  near  thee  placed. 

Thy  flinty  couch  no  tear  profaned, 

W^ithout,  with  hostile  blood  'twas  stained; 

Within,  'twas  lined  with  mass  and  fern. 

Then  rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn! 

"  He  may  not  rest;  from  realms  afar 

Comes  voice  of  battle  and  of  war. 

Of  conquest  wrought  with  bloody  hand 

On  Carmel's  cliffs  and  Jordan's  strand, 

When  Odin's  warlike  son  could  daunt 

The  turban'd  race  of  Termagaunt •" 

\TI. 

"  Peace,"  said  the  knight,  "  the  noble  scald 

Our  warlike  fathers'  deeds  recall'd. 


336 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS- 


But  never  strove  to  sooth  the  son 

\Vith  tales  of  what  liimsellhad  done. 

At  Odin's  hoard  llic  bard  sits  liigh 

"Whose  harp  ne'er  sloop'd  to  flattery; 

But  higliesl  lie  whose  dariiia;  lay 

Hath  dared  unwelcome  truths  to  say." 

With  iloubtl'ul  smile  young  (iunnar  eyed 

His  master's  looks,  and  nought  replied— 

But  well  that  smile  his  master  led 

To  construe  what  he  left  unsaid. 

"  Is  it  to  me,  tiiou  timid  youth, 

Thou  foar'st  to  speak  unwelcome  truth? 

My  soul  no  more  thy  censure  grieves 

Than  frosts  rob  laurels  of  their  leaves. 

Say  on — and  yet — beware  the  rude 

And  wild  distemper  of  my  blood; 

Loth  were  1  that  mine  ire  should  wrong 

The  youtii  that  bore  my  shield  so  long, 

And  wlio,  in  service  constant  still, 

Thougli  weak  in  frame,  art  strong  in  will." 

"  Oh!"  quotli  the  page,  "  even  there  depends 

My  counsel — tliere  my  warning  tends. 

Oft  seems  as  of  ni)'  master's  breast 

Some  demon  were  the  sudden  guest; 

Tiien  at  the  first  misconstrued  word 

His  hand  is  on  the  mace  and  sword. 

From  her  firm  seat  his  wisdom  driven, 

His  life  to  countless  dangers  given. 

O!  would  that  Gunnar  could  suffice 

To  be  the  fiend's  last  sacrifice, 

So  that,  when  glutted  with  my  gore. 

He  fled  and  tempted  thee  no  more ! " 

VIII. 
Then  waved  his  hand,  and  shook  his  head, 
The  impatient  Dane,  while  thus  he  said: 
"  Profane  not,  youth — it  is  not  thine 
To  judge  the  sj)irit  of  our  line, 
The  bold  Berserkar's  rage  divine. 
Through  whose  inspiring,  deeds  are  wrought 
Past  human  strength  and  human  thought. 
When  full  upon  his  gloomy  soul 
The  champion  feels  the  influence  roll, 
He  swims  the  lake,  he  leaps  the  wall — 
Heeds  not  the  depth,  nor  plumbs  the  fall — 
Unshielded,  mail-less,  on  he  goes 
Singly  against  a  host  of  foes; 
Their  spears  he  holds  like  wither'd  reeds. 
Their  mail  like  maiden's  silken  weeds; 
One  'gainst  a  hundred  will  he  strive, 
Take  countless  wounds,  and  yet  survive. 
Then  rush  the  eagles  to  his  cry 
Of  slaughter  and  of  victory, 
And  blood  he  quaffs  like  Odin's  bowl. 
Deep  drinks  his  sword, — deep  drinks  his  soul; 
And  all  that  meet  him  in  his  ire 
He  gives  to  ruin,  rout,  and  fire, 
Then,  like  gorged  lion,  seeks  some  den. 
And  couches  till  he's  man  agen. — 
Thou  know'st  the  signs  of  look  and  limb. 
When  'gins  that  rage  to  over-brim. 
Thou  know'st  when  I  am  mov'd,  and  why; 
And  when  thou  seest  me  roll  mine  eye. 
Set  my  teeth  thus,  and  stamp  my  foot. 
Regard  tiiy  safety,  and  be  mute; 
But  else,  speak  boldly  out  whate'er 
Is  fitting  that  a  kniglit  sliould  hear. 
I  love  tiiee,  youtli.    Thy  lay  has  power 
Upon  my  ila'rk  and  sullen  hour; 
So,  christian  monks  are  wont  to  say. 
Demons  of  old  were  cliarm'd  away: 
Then  fear  not  I  will  rasldy  deem 
111  of  tl»y  speech,  whate'er  the  theme." 


IX. 

As  down  some  strait  in  doubt  and  dread 
The  watchful  pilot  drops  the  lead. 
And,  cautious  in  the  midst  to  steer. 
The  shoaling  channel  sounds  w  ith  fear; 
So,  lest  on  dangerous  ground  he  swerved, 
The  page  his  master's  brow  observed, 
Pausing  at  intervals  to  fling 
His  hand  on  the  melodious  string, 
And  to  his  moody  breast  apply 
The  soothing  charm  of  harmony, 
While  hinted  half,  and  half  exprest, 
This  warning  song  conveyed  the  rest: 
1. 
"  III  fares  the  bark  M'ith  tackle  riven, 
And  ill  when  on  the  breakers  driven, 
111  when  the  storm-sprite  shrieks  in  air. 
And  the  scared  mermaid  tears  her  hair; 
But  worse  when  on  her  helm  the  hand 
Of  some  false  traitor  holds  command. 

"  111  fares  the  fainting  palmer,  placed 

'Mid  Hebron's  rocks  or  llama's  waste, 

III  when  the  scorching  sun  is  high, 

And  the  expected  font  is  dry. 

Worse  when  his  guide  o'er  sand  and  heath, 

The  barbarous  Copt,  has  plann'd  his  death. 

S. 
"  III  fares  the  knight  with  buckler  cleft. 
And  ill  when  of  his  helm  bereft, 
III  when  his  steed  to  earth  is  flung. 
Or  from  his  grasp  his  lalchion  wrung; 
But  worse,  if  instant  ruin  token. 
When  he  lists  rede  by  woman  spoken." 
X. 
"  How  now,  fond  boy' — Canst  thou  think  ill," 
Said  Harold,  "  of  fair  Metelill'" 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  the  page  replied. 

As  through  the  strings  he  rang'd, 
"She  may  De  fair;  but  yet," — he  cried, 
And  then  the  strain  he  changed. 
1. 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  he  sang,  "  but  yet 

Far  fairer  have  I  seen 
Than  she,  for  all  her  locks  of  jet, 

And  eyes  so  dark  and  sheen. 
Were  I  a  Danish  knight  in  arms, 

As  one  day  I  may  be, 
My  heart  should  own  no  foreign  charms, 
A  Danish  maid  for  me. 
2. 

"  I  love  ray  father's  northern  land. 

Where  the  dark  pine  trees  grow. 
And  the  bold  Baltic's  echoiiig  strand 

Looks  o'er  each  grassy  oe.* 
I  love  to  mark  the  lingering  sun, 

From  Denmark  loth  to  go, 
And  lea\ing  on  the  billows  bright. 
To  cheer  the  short-lived  summer  night, 

A  path  of  ruddy  glow. 
.3. 
"  But  most  the  northern  maid  I  love, 

With  breast  like  Denmark's  snow, 
And  form  as  fair  as  Denmark's  pine. 
Who  loves  with  purple  heath  to  twine 

Her  locks  of  sunny  glow; 
And  sweetly  blends  that  shade  of  gold 

With  the  cheek's  rosy  hue. 
And  faith  might  for  her  mirror  hold 

That  eye  of  matchless  blue. 


•  Off,  island. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


337 


4. 

"  Tis  hers  the  manly  sports  to  love 
That  southern  maidens  fear, 

To  bend  the  bow  by  stream  and  grove, 
And  lift  the  hunter's  spear. 

She  can  her  chosen  champion's  fight 
With  eye  undazzled  see, 

Clasp  him  victorious  from  the  strife, 

Or  on  his  corpse  yield  up  her  life, — 
A  Danish  maid  for  me ! " 
Then  smiled  the  Dane — "  thou  canst  so  well 
The  virtues  of  our  maidens  tell. 
Half  could  1  wish  my  choice  had  been 
Blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  golden  sheen. 
And  lofty  soul, — yet  what  of  ill 
Hast  thou  to  charge  on  Metelill?" 
"  On  herself  nought,"  young  Gunnar  said, 
•'  But  her  base  sire's  ignoble  trade. 
Her  mother,  too — the  general  fame 
Hath  given  to  Jutta  evil  name, 
And  in  her  gray  eye  is  a  flame 
Art  cannot  hide,  nor  fear  can  tame. 
That  sordid  woodman's  peasant  cot 
Twice  have  thine  honour'd  footsteps  sought. 
And  twice  return'd  with  such  ill  rede 
As  sent  thee  on  some  desperate  deed." 

XI. 
'*  Thou  errest;  Jutta  wisely  said, 
He  that  comes  suitor  to  a  maid. 
Ere  link'd  in  marriage,  should  provide 
Lands  and  a  dwelling  for  his  bride — 
My  father's  by  the  Tyne  and  Wear 
I  have  reclaim'd." — "  O,  all  too  dear, 
And  all  too  dangerous  the  prize, 
E'en  were  it  won," — young  Gunnar  cries. 
*'  And  then  this  Jutta's  fresh  device. 
That  thou  shouldst  seek,  a  heathen  Dane, 
From  Durham's  priests  a  boon  to  gain. 
When  thou  hast  left  their  vassals  slain 
In  their  own  halls!" — Flash 'd  Harold's  eye — 
Thunder'd  his  voice, — "  False  page,  you  lie! 
The  castle,  hall,  and  tower,  is  mine, 
Built  by  old  Witikind  on  Tyne. 
The  wild-cat  will  defend  his  den, 
Fights  for  her  nest  the  timid  wren; 
And  think'st  thou  I'll  forego  my  right 
For  dread  of  monk  or  monkish  knight? — 
Up  and  away,  that  deepening  bell 
Doth  of  the  bishop's  conclave  tell. 
Thither  will  1,  in  manner  due. 
As  Jutta  bade,  my  claim  to  sue; 
And,  if  to  right  me  they  are  loth. 
Then  wo  to  church  and  chapter  both!" 
Now  shift  the  scene  and  let  the  curtain  fall. 
And  our  next  entry  be  saint  Cuthbert's  hall. 

CAXTO  IV. 

I. 

FcLi  many  a  bard  hath  sung  the  solemn  gloom, 

Of  the  long  Gothic  aisle  and  stone-ribb'd  roof, 
O'er  canopying  shrine,  and  gorgeous  tomb. 

Carved  screen,  and  altar  glimmering  far  aloof. 
And  bending  with  the  shade — a  matchless  proof 

Of  high  devotion,  which  hath  now  wax'd  cold; 
Yet  legends  say,  that  luxury's  brute  hoof 

Intruded  oft  within  such  sacred  fold, 
Like  step  of  Bel's  false  priest,  irack'd  in  his  fane 

of  old. 
Well  pleas'd  am  I,  howe'er,  that  when  the  route 

Of  our  rude  neighbours  whilome  deign 'd  to 
come, 


Uncali'd,  and  eke  unwelcome,  to  sweep  out 
And  cleanse  our  chancel  from  the  rage  of  Rome, 

They  spoke  not  on  our  ancient  fane  the  doom 
To  which  their  bigot  zeal  gave  o'er  their  own, 

But  spared  the  martyr'd  saint  and  storied  tomb, 
Though  papal  miracles  had  graced  the  stone. 

And  though  the  aisles  stiU  loved  the  organ's  swel« 
ling  tone. 

And  deem  not,  though  'tis  now  my  part  to  paint 

A  prelate  sway'd  by  love  of  power  and  gold. 
That  all  who  wore  the  mitre  of  our  saint 

Like  to  ambitious  Aldingar  1  hold; 
Since  both  in  modern  times  and  days  of  old 

It  sate  on  those  whose  virtues  miglit  atone 
Their  predecessors'  frailties  trebly  told: 

Matthew  and  Morton  we  as  such  may  own — 
And  such  (if  fame  speak  truth)  the  honoured  Bar- 
rington. 

II. 

But  now  to  earlier  and  to  ruder  times. 

As  subject  meet,  I  tune  my  rugged  rhymes. 

Telling  how  fairly  tlie  chapter  was  met. 

And  rood  and  books  in  seemly  order  set; 

Huge  brass-clasp'd  volumes,  which  the  hand 

Of  studious  priest  but  rarely  seann'd, 

Now  on  fair  carved  desk  display 'd, 

'Twas  theirs  the  solemn  scene  to  aid. 

O'erhead  with  many  a  scutcheon  graced. 

And  quaint  devices  interlaced, 

A  labyrinth  of  crossing  rows. 

The  roof  in  lessening  arches  shows; 

Beneath  its  shade,  placed  proud  and  high. 

With  footstool  and  with  canopy. 

Sate  Aldingar,  and  prelate  ne'er 

More  haughty  graced  saint  Cuthbert's  chair. 

Canons  and  deacons  were  placed  below. 

In  due  degree  and  lengthen'd  row. 

Unmoved  and  silent  each  sate  there. 

Like  image,  in  his  oaken  chair; 

Nor  head,  nor  hand,  nor  foot,  they  stlrr'tl, 

Nor  lock  of  hair,  nor  tress  of  beard. 

And  of  their  eyes  severe  alone 

The  twinkle  show'd  they  were  not  stone. 

IlL 

The  prelate  was  to  speech  address'd, 

Each  head  sunk  reverend  on  each  breast: 

But  ere  his  voice  was  heard — without 

Arose  a  wild  tumultuous  shout, 

Offspring  of  wonder  mix'd  with  fear. 

Such  as  in  crowded  streets  we  hear, 

Hailing  the  flames,  that,  bursting  out. 

Attract  yet  scarce  the  rabble  rout. 

Ere  it  had  ceas'd  a  giant  hand 

Shook  oaken  door  and  iron  band. 

Till  oak  and  iron  both  gave  way, 

Clash'd  the  long  bolts,  the  hinges  bray, 

And  ere  upon  angel  or  saint  they  can  call. 

Stands  Harold  the  Dauntless  in  midst  of  the  hall. 

IV. 

"  Now  save  ye,  my  masters,  both  rocket  and  rood. 
From  bishop  with  mitre  to  deacon  with  hood! 
For  here  stands  count  Harold,  old  Witikind's  son. 
Come  to  sue  for  the  lands  which  his  ancestors  won." 
The  prelate  look'd  round  him  with  sore  troubled 

eye. 

Unwilling  to  grint,  yet  afraid  to  deny. 
While  each  canon  and  deacon  who  heard  the  Dane 

speak. 
To  be  safeiv  at  home  would  have  fasted  a  week: — 


338 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  Al<linp;ar  roused  liim  and  answer'd  again: 
"  Thou  suest  for  a  boon  which  thou  canst  not  ob- 
tain; 
The  cluirch  liath  no  fiefs  for  an  unchristcn'd  Dane. 
Thy  father  was  wise,  and  his  treasure  hath  given, 
That  tlie  priests  of  a  chantry  might  hymn  him  to 

heaven: 
And  the  fiefs  which  whilome  he  possess'd  as  his 

due, 
Have  lapsed  to  the  chiuxh,  and  been  granted  anew 
To  Antliony  Conyers  and  Aiberic  Verc, 
For  the  service  saint  Cuthbert's  bless'd  banner  to 

bear, 
"\\Tien  the  bands  of  the  north  come  to  foray  the 

Wear. 
Then  disturb  not  our  conclave  with  wrangling  or 

blame, 
But  in  peace  and  in  patience  pass  hence  as  ye 

came. " 

V. 

Loud  laughed  the  stem  pagan — "  They're  free 

from  the  care 
Of  fief  and  of  service,  both  Conyers  and  Vere, 
Six  feet  of  your  chancel  is  all  they  will  need, 
A  buckler  of  stone  and  a  corselet  of  lead. 
Ho,  Gunnar! — the  tokens!" — and,  sever'd  anew, 
A  head  and  a  hand  on  the  altar  he  threw. 
Then  shudder'd  with  terror  both  canon  and  monk, 
They  knew  the  glazed  eye  and  the  countenance 

shrunk. 
And  of  Anthonj-  Conyers  the  half-grizzled  hair, 
And  the  scar  on  the  hand  of  sir  Aiberic  Vere. 
There  was  not  a  churchman  or  priest  that  was 

there, 
But  grew  pale  at  the  sight,  and  betook  him  to 

prayer. 

VI. 

Count  Harold  laugh 'd  at  their  looks  of  fe.ir: 

"  Was  this  the  hand  should  your  banner  bear? 

Was  that  the  head  should  wear  the  casque 

In  battle  at  the  church's  task? 

Was  it  to  such  j'ou  gave  the  place 

Of  Harold  with  the  heavy  mace? 

Find  me  between  the  Wear  and  Tyne 

A  knight  will  wield  this  club  of  mine. 

Give  him  my  fiefs,  and  I  will  say 

There's  wit  beneath  the  cowl  of  gray." 

He  raised  it,  rough  with  many  a  stain. 

Caught  from  crush'd  scull  and  spouting  brain; 

He  wheel'd  it  that  it  shrilly  sung. 

And  the  aisles  echoed  as  it  swung. 

Then  dash'd  it  down  with  sheer  descent. 

And  split  king  Osric's  monument. 

"  How  like  ye  this  music?  How  trow  ye  the  hand 

That  can  wield  such  a  mace  may  be  reft  of  its  land^ 

No  answer? — I  spare  je  a  space  to  agree. 

And  saint  Cuthbert  inspire  you,  a  saint  if  he  be. 

Ten  strides  through  your  chancel,  ten  strokes  on 

your  bell, 
And  again  1  am  with  you — grave  fathers,  farewell." 

Vll. 

He  turn'd  from  their  presence,  he  clash'd  the  oak 
door. 

And  the  clang  of  his  stride  died  away  on  the  floor; 

And  his  head  from  his  bosom  the  prelate  uprears 

With  a  ghost-seer's  look  when  the  ghost  disap- 
pears. 

♦•  Ye  priests  of  saint  Cuthbert,  now  give  me  your 
rede. 

For  never  of  counsel  had  bishop  more  need ! 


Were  the  arch-fiend  incarnate  in  flesh  and  in  bene, 
The  language,  the  look,  and  the  laugh  were  his 

own._ 
In  the  bounds  of  saint  Cuthbert  there  is  not  a 

knight 
Dare  confront  in  our  quarrel  yon  goblin  in  figlit. 
Then  rede  me  aright  to  his  claim  to  reply, 
'Tis  unlawful  to  grant,  and  'tis  deatii  to  deny." 

VIII. 
On  ven'son  and  malmsie  that  morning  had  fed 
The  cellarer  Vinsauf,  'twas  thus  that  he  sai»l: 
"  Delay  till  to-morrow  the  chajjter's  re])ly; 
Let  the  feast  be  spread  fair,  and  the  wine  bepour'd 

high: 
If  he's  mortal  he  drinks, — if  he  drinks,he  is  ours — 
His  bracelets  of  iron,— his  bed  in  our  towers." 
Tiiis  man  had  a  laughing  eye. 
Trust  not,  friends,  when  such  you  spy; 
A  beaker's  depth  he  well  could  drain, 
Revel,  sport,  and  jest  amain — 
The   hauncli  of  the  deer  and  the  gi-ape's  bright 

dye 
Never  bard  loved  them  better  than  I; 
Bui  sooner  than  Vinsauf  filled  me  my  wine, 
Pass'rf  me  his  jest,  and  laughed  at  mine. 
Though  the  buck  were  of  liearpark,  of  Bordeaux 

the  wine. 
With  the  dullest  hermit  I'd  rather  dine 
On  an  oaten  cake  and  a  draught  of  the  Tyne. 

IX. 
Walwayn  the  leech  spoke  next — he  knew 
Each  plant  that  loves  the  sun  and  dew. 
But  special  those  whose  juice  can  gain 
Dominion  o'er  the  blood  and  brain; 
The  peasant  who  shw  him  by  pale  moonbeam 
Gathering  such  herbs  by  bank  and  stream, 
Deem'd  his  thin  form  and  soundless  tread 
Were  those  of  wanderer  from  the  dead. 
"Vinsauf,  thj'  wine,"  he  said,  "hath  power, 
Our  gyves  are  heavy,  strong  our  tower; 
Yet  three  drops  from  tliis  flask  of  mine. 
More  strong  than  dungeons,  gyves,  or  wine, 
Shall  give  him  prison  under  ground 
More  dark,  more  narrow,  more  jirofound. 
Short  rede,  good  rede,  let  Harold  have — 
A  dog's  death  and  a  heathen's  grave." 
I  have  lain  on  a  sick  man's  bed. 
Watching  for  hours  for  the  leech's  tread, 
As  if  I  deera'd  that  his  presence  alone 
Were  of  power  to  bid  my  pain  begone; 
I  have  listed  his  words  of  comfort  given, 
As  if  to  oracles  from  heaven; 
I  have  counteil  his  steps  from  my  chamber  door, 
And  bless'd  them  when  they  were  heard  no  more; 
But  sooner  than  Walwayn  my  sick  couch  should 

nigh, 
My  choice  were  by  leech-craft  unaided  to  die. 

X. 
'•'  Such  service  done  in  fervent  zeal 
The  church  may  pardon  and  conceal," 
The  doubtful  prelate  said,  "  but  ne'er 
Tlie  counsel  ere  the  act  should  hear. 
Anselm  of  Jarrow,  advise  us  now. 
Tile  stamp  of  wisdom  is  on  thy  brow; 
Thy  days,  thy  nights  in  cloister  pent, 
Are  still  to  mystic  learning  lent; 
Anslem  of  Jarrow,  in  thee  is  my  hope. 
Thou  well  canst  give  counsel  to  prelate  or  pope." 

XI. 

Answer'd  the  prior — "  'Tis  wisdom's  use 
Still  to  delay  what  we  dare  not  refuse; 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


339 


Ere  granting  the  boon  he  comes  hither  to  ask, 

Shape  for  the  giant  gigantic  task; 

Let  us  see  how  a  step  so  sounding  can  tread 

In  paths  of  darkness,  danger,  and  dread; 

He  may  not,  he  will  not,  impugn  our  decree, 

That  calls  but  for  proof  of  his  chivalrj'. 

And  were  Guy  to  return,  or  sir  Bevis  the  Strong, 

Our  wilds  have  adventure  might  cumber  them  long, 

The  castle  of  seven  shields" — "Kind  Anselm,  no 

more! 
The  step  of  the  pagan  approaches  the  door." 
The  churchmen  were  hush'il.  In  his  mantle  of  skin, 
With  his  mace  on  his  shoulder,   count  Harold 

strode  in. 
There  was  foam  on  his  lip,  there  was  fire  in  his  eye. 
For,  chafed  by  attendance,  his  fury  was  high. 
"  Ho!  bishop,"  he  said,  "  dost  thou  grant  me  my 

claim? 
Or  must  1  assert  it  by  falchion  and  flame?" 

XII. 

"On  thy  suit,  gallant  Harold,"  the  bishop  replied, 
In  accents  which  trembled,  "  we  might  not  decide. 
Until  proof  of  your  strength  and  your  valour  we 

saw — 
'Tis  not  that  we  doubt  them,  but  such  is  the  law." 
♦'And  would  you,  sir  Prelate,  have  Harold  make 

sport 
For  the  cowls  and  the  shavelings  that  herd  in  thy 

court ' 
Say  what  shall  he  do  ?  From  the  shrine  shall  he  tear 
The  lead  bier  of  thy  patron  and  heave  it  in  air, 
And  through  the  long  chancel  make  Cuthbert  take 

wing. 
With  the  speed  ofabulletdismiss'd  from  the  sling'" 
";Nay,  spare  such  probation,"  the  cellarer  said, 
"  From  the  mouth  of  our  minstrels  thy  task  shall 

be  read. 
While  the  wine  sparkles  high  in  the  goblet  of  gold. 
And  the  revel  is  loudest,  thy  task  shall  be  told; 
And  thyself,  gallant  Harold,  shall,  hearing  it,  tell 
That  the  bishop,  his  cowls,  and  his  shavelings 

meant  well." 

XIII. 

Loud  revell'd  the  guests,  and  the  goblets  loud  rang. 
But  louder  the  minstrel,  Hugh  Meneville,  sang; 
And  Harold,  the  hurry  and  pride  of  whose  soul. 
E'en  when  verging  to  fury,  own'd  music's  control, 
Still  bent  on  the  harper  his  broad  sable  eye, 
And  often  untasted  the  goblet  pass'd  by; 
Than  wine,  or  than  wassail,  to  him  was  more  dear 
The  minstrel's  high  tale  of  enchantment  to  hear; 
And  the  bishop  that  day  mightofVinsauf  complain 
That  his  art  had  but  wasted  his  wine-casks  ia.vain. 

XIV. 

THE  CASTLE  OV  THE  SETEN  SHIELDS. — A  BALLAD. 

The  druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven. 
Their  skill  could  call  the  moon  from  heaven; 
So  fair  their  forms,  and  so  high  their  fame. 
That  seven  proud  kings  for  their  suitors  came. 

King  Mador  and  Rhys  came  from   Powis  and 

Wales, 
Unshorn  was  their  hair,  and  unpruned  vi^ere  their 

nails; 
From  Strath  Clwyde  came  Ewain,  and  Ewain  was 

lame. 
And  the  red-bearded  Donald  from  Galloway  came. 

Lot,  kingof  Lodon,  was  hunch-back 'd  from  youth; 
Dunmail  of  Cumbria  had  never  a  tooth; 
But  Adolph  of  Bambrough,  Northumberland's  heir, 
Was  gay  and  was  gallant,  was  young  and  was  fair. 


There  was  strife  'mongst  the  sisters,  for  each  one 

would  have 
For  husband  king  Adolph,  the  gallant  and  brave, 
And  envy  bred  liate,  and  hate  urged  them  to  blows. 
When  the  firm  earth  was  cleft,  and  the  arch-Send 

arose ! 
He  swore  to  the  maidens  their  wish  to  fulfil — 
They  swore  to  the  foe  they  would  work  by  his  will. 
A  spindle  and  distaff  to  each  has  he  given, 
"Now  hearken  my  spell,"  said  the  outcast  of 

heaven. 

"  Ye  shall  ply  these  spindles  at  midnight  hour, 

And  for  every  spindle  shall  rise  a  tower. 

Where  the  right  shall  be  feeble,  the  wrong  shall 

have  power. 
And  there  shall  ye  dwell  with  your  paramour. " 

Beneath  the  pale  moon-light  they  sate  on  the  wold. 
And  the  rhymes  which  they  chanted  must  never 

be  told; 
And  as  the  black  wool  from  the  distaff  they  sped. 
With  blood  from  their  bosom  they  moisten'd  the 

thread. 
As  light  danc'd  the  spindles  beneath  the  cold 

gleam, 
Tlie  castle  arose  like  the  birth  of  a  dream — 
The  seven  towers  ascended  like  mist  from  the 

ground, 
Seven  portals  defend  them,  seven  ditches  surround, 
Within  that  dread  castle  seven  monarchs  were  wed. 
But  six  of  the  seven  ere  the  morning  lay  dead; 
With  their  eyes  all  on  fire,  and  theu-  daggers  all 

red. 
Seven  damsels  surround  the  Northumbrian's  bed. 
"  Six  kingly  bridegrooms  to  death  we  have  done. 
Six  gallant  kingdoms  king  Adolf  hath  won. 
Six  lovely  brides  all  his  pleasure  to  do. 
Or  the  bed  of  the  seventh  shall  be  husbaudless  too." 

Well  chanced  it  that  Adolf,  Ihe  night  when  he  wed, 
Had  confess'd  and  had  sain'd  him  ere  boune  to  his 

bed; 
He  sprung  from  the  couch,  and  his  broadsword  he 

drew. 
And  there  the  seven  daughters  of  Urien  he  slew. 
The  gate  of  the  castle  he  bolted  and  seal'd, 
And   hung  o'er  each  arch-stone  a  crown  and  a 

shield; 
To  the  cells  of  saint  Dunstan  then  wended  his  way. 
And  died  in  his  cloister  an  anchorite  gray. 

Seven  monarchs'  wealth  in  tliat  castle  lies  stow'd. 
The  foul  fiends  brood  o'er  them  like  raven  and  toad. 
Whoever  shall  guesten  these  cliambers  within. 
From  curfew  till  matins,  that  treasure  shall  win. 
But  manhood  grows  faint  as  the  world  waxes  old ! 
There  lives  not  in  Britain  a  champion  so  bold. 
So  dauntless  of  heart,  and  so  prudent  of  brain. 
As  to  dare  the  adventure  that  treasure  to  gain. 
The  waste  ridge  of  Cheviot  shall  wave  with  ther3'e. 
Before  the  rude  Scots  shall  Northumberland  fly. 
And  the  flint  clifts  of  Banibro'  shall  melt  in  the 

sun. 
Before  that  adventure  be  peril'd  and  won. 

XV. 
"  And  is  this  my  probation  ?"  wild  Harold  he  said, 
"  Within  a  lone  castle  to  press  a  lone  bedf — 
Good  even,   my  lord  bishop — saint  Cuthbert  to 

borrow, 
The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields  receives  me  to-mor- 
row." 


340 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


CANTO  T. 
I. 

Denmakk's  sage  courtier  to  her  princely  youth, 

Granting  his  cloud  an  ouzel  or  a  whale, 
Spoke,  though  unwittingly,  a  partial  truth; 

For  phantasy  embroiders  nature's  veil. 
The  tints  of  ruddy  eve,  or  dawning  pale. 

Of  the  swart  thunder-cloud,  or  silver  haze. 
Are  but  the  ground-work  of  the  rich  detail 

Which  pluuitasy  with  pencil  wild  portrays. 
Blending  what  seems  and  is,  in  the  rapt  muser's 

gaze. 
Nor  are  the  stubborn  forms  of  earth  and  stone 

Less  to  the  sorceress's  empire  given: 
For  not  with  unsubstantial  hues  alone. 

Caught  from  the  varying  surge,  or  vacant  heaven, 
From  bursting  sunbeam,  or  from  flashing  levin, 

She  limns  her  pictures— on  the  earth,  as  air. 
Arise  her  castles,  and  her  car  is  driven; 

And  never  gazed  the  eye  on  scene  so  fair, 
But  of  its  boasted  charms  fancy  gave  half  the  share. 

II. 
Up  a  wild  pass  went  Harold,  bent  to  prove, 

Hugh  Meneville,  the  adventure  of  thy  lay; 
Gunnar  pursued  his  steps  in  faith  and  love. 

Ever  companion  of  his  master's  way. 
Midward  their  path,  a  rock  of  granite  gray 

From  the  adjoining  cliff  had  made  descent, — 
A  barren  mass — yet  with  her  drooping  spray, 

Had  a  young  birch-tree  crowned  its  battlement. 
Twisting  her  fibrous  roots  through  cranny,  flaw, 

and  rent. 
This  rock  and  tree  could  Gunnar's  thought  engage. 

Till  fancy  brought  the  tear-drop  to  his  eye. 
And  at  his  master  asked  the  timid  page, 

"  What  is  the  emblem  that  a  bard  sliould  spy 
In  that  rude  rock  and  its  green  canopy?" 

And  Harold  said,  "  Like  to  the  helmet  brave 
Of  warrior  slain  in  fight  it  seems  to  lie. 

And  these  same  drooping  boughs  do  o'er  it  wave 
Not  all  unlike  the  plume  his  lady's  favour  gave." 
"Ah,  no!"  replied  the  page;  " the ill-starr'd  love 

Of  some  poor  maid  is  in  the  emblem  shown. 
Whose  fates  are  with  some  hero's  interwove, 

And  rooted  on  a  heart  to  love  unknown: 
And  as  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven  alone 

Nourish  those  drooping  boughs,  and  as  the  scathe 
Of  the  red  lightning  rends  both  tree  and  stone. 
So  fares  it  with  her  unrequited  faith 

Her  sole  relief  is  tears— her  only  refuge  death." 
III. 

"Thou  art  a  fond  fantastic  hoy," 

Harold  i-eplied,  "to  females  coy, 
Yet  prating  still  of  love: 

Even  so  amid  the  clash  of  war 

I  know  thou  Invest  to  keep  afar. 

Though  destined  by  thy  evil  star 
With  one  like  me  to  rove. 

Whose  business  and  whose  joys  are  found 

Upon  the  bloody  battle-ground. 

Yet,  foolish  trembler  as  thou  art. 

Thou  hast  a  nook  of  my  rude  heart. 

And  thou  and  I  will  never  part; 
Harold  would  wrap  the  world  in  flame 

Ere  injury  on  Gunnar  caine." 

IV. 
The  gratetul  page  made  no  reply. 
But  turn'd  to  heaven  his  gentle  eye, 
And  clasp'd  his  hands,  as  one  «ho  said, 
"  Mv  toils — my  wanderings  ar«  o'erpaid!" 


Then  in  a  gayer,  lighter  strain, 
Compell'd  himself  to  speech  again; 

And,  as  they  flow'd  along, 
His  words  took  cadence  soft  and  slow. 
And  liquid,  like  dissolving  snow. 

They  melted  into  song. 
V. 
"  What  though  through  fields  of  carnage  wide 
1  may  not  follow  Harold's  stride. 
Yet  who  with  faithful  Gunnar's  pride 

Lord  Harold's  feats  can  see' 
And  dearer  tlian  the  couch  of  pride 
He  loves  the  bed  of  gray  wolf's  hide. 
When  slumbering  by  lord  Hai'old's  side, 

In  forest,  field,  or  lea. " 

VI. 

"Break  off!"  said  Harold,  in  a  tone 
Where  huiTy  and  surprise  were  shown, 

AVith  some  slight  touch  of  fear, 
"  Break  off,  we  are  not  here  alone; 
A  palmer  form  comes  slowly  on ! 
By  cowl,  and  staft",  and  mantle  known, 

My  monitor  is  near. 
Now  mark  him,  Gunnar,  heedfuUy; 
He  pauses  by  the  blighted  tree — 
Dost  see  hijm,  youth? — Thou  couH'st  not  see 
When  in  the  vale  of  Galilee 

I  first  beheld  his  form. 
Nor  when  we  met  that  other  while 
In  Cephalonia's  rocky  isle. 

Before  the  fearful  storm — 
Dost  see  him  now?" — The  page,  distraught 
With  terror,  answer'd,  "I  see  nought. 

And  there  is  nought  to  see. 
Save  that  the  oak's  scathed  boughs  fling  down 
Upon  the  path  a  shadow  brown. 
That,  like  a  pilgrim's  dusky  gown. 

Waves  with  the  waving  tree." 

VII. 

Count  Harold  gazed  upon  the  oak 

As  if  his  eye-strings  would  have  broke, 

And  then  resolvedly  said, 
"  Be  what  it  will,  yon  phantom  gray, 
Nor  heaven,  nor  hell,  shall  ever  say 
That  for  their  shadows  from  his  way 

Count  Harold  turn'd  dismay 'd: 
I'll  speak  him,  though  his  accents  fill 
My  heart  with  that  unwonted  thrill 

Which  vulgar  minds  call  fear. 
I  will  subdue  it!" — Forth  he  strode. 
Paused  where  the  blighted  oak-tree  show'd 
Its  sable  shadow  on  the  road. 
And,  folding  on  his  bosom  broad 

His  arms,  said,  "  Speak — I  hear." 
VIII. 
The  deep  ^oice  said,  "  O  wild  of  will, 
Furious  thy  purpose  to  fulfil — 
Heart-sear'd  and  unrepentant  still. 
How  long,  O  Harold,  shall  thy  tread 
Disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  dead? 
Each  step  in  thy  wild  way  thou  makesl 
The  ashes  of  the  dead  thou  wakest; 
And  shout  in  triumph  o'er  thy  path 
The  fiends  of  bloodshed  and  of  wrath. 
In  this  thine  hour,  yet  turn  and  hear! 
For  life  is  brief  and  judgment  near." 

IX. 
Then  ceased  the  voice.— The  Dane  replied 
In  tones  wliere  awe  and  inborn  pride^ 
For  mastery  strove,— "In  vain  ye  chide 


HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS. 


341 


The  wolf  for  ravaging  the  flock, 

Or  with  its  hardness  taunt  the  rock, — 

I  am  as  they — my  Danish  strain 

Sends  streams  of  fire  through  every  vein. 

Amid  thy  realms  of  goule  and  ghost, 

Say,  is  the  fame  of  Erick  lost? 

Or  Witikind's  the  Waster,  known 

Where  fame  or  spoil  was  to  he  won; 

Whose  galleys  ne'er  bore  off  a  shore 
They  left  not  black  with  flame  ? 

He  was  ray  sire, — and  sprung  of  him, 

That  rover  merciless,  and  grim. 
Can  I  be  soft  and  tame? 
Part  hence,  and  with  my  crimes  no  more  upbraid 

me, 
1  am  that  Waster's  son,  and  am  but  what  he  made 
me." 

X. 
The  phantom  groan'd;  the  mountain  shook  around, 
The  fawn  and  wild-doe  started  at  the  sound, 
The  gorse  and  fern  did  wildly  round  them  wave. 
As  if  some  sudden  storm  the  impulse  gave. 
"  All  thou  hast  said  is  truth — Yet  on  the  head 
Of  that  bad  sire  let  not  the  charge  be  laid. 
That  he,  like  thee,  with  unrelenting  pace. 
From  grave  to  cradle  ran  the  evil  race: 
Relentless  in  his  avai-ice  and  ire. 
Churches  and  towns  he  gave  to  sword  and  fire;    . 
Shed  blood  like  water,  wasted  every  land. 
Like  the  destroying  angel's  burning  brand; 
FulfiU'd  whate'er  of  ill  might  be  invented: 
Yes — all  these  things  he  did — he  did,  but  he  BE- 

PENTED ! 

Perchance  it  is  part  of  his  punishment  still, 
That  his  offspring  pursues  his  example  of  ill. 
But  thou,  when  thy  tempest  of  wrath  shall  next 

shake  thee. 
Gird  thy  loins  for  resistance,  my  son,  and  awake 

thee; 
If  thou  yield'st  to  thy  fury,  how  tempted  soever, 
The  gate  of  repentance  shall  ope  for  thee  never!" 

XI. 
"  He  is  gone,"  said  lord  Harold,  and  gazed  as  he 

spoke; 
"  There  is  nought  on  the  path  but  the  shade  of  the 

oak — 
He  is  gone,  whose  strange  presence  my  feelings 

oppress'd, 
Likje  the  night-hag  that  sits  on  the  slumberer's 

breast. 
My  heart  beats  as  thick  as  a  fugitive's  tread. 
And  cold  dews  drop  from  my  brow  and  my  head. 
Ho !  Gunnar,  the  flasket  yon  almoner  gave; 
He  said  that  three  drops  would  recal  fronJ  the 

grave. 
For  the  first  time  count  Harold  owns  leech-craft 

has  power. 
Or,  his  courage  to  aid,  lacks  the  juice  of  a  flower! " 
The  page  gave  the  flasket,  which  Walwayn  had 

fill'd 
With  the  juice  of  wild  roots  that  his  art  had  dis- 

till'd 
So  baneful  their  influence  on  all  that  had  breath, 
One  drop  had  been  frenzy,  and  two  had  been  death. 
Harold  took  it,  but  drank  not:  for  jubilee  shrill. 
And  music  and  clamour,  were  heard  on  the  hill, 
And  down  the  steep  pathway,  o'er  stock,  and  o'er 

stone. 
The  train  of  a  bridal  came  blithsomely  on; 
There  was  song,  there  was  pipe,  there  was  timbrel, 

and  still 
The  burden  was,  "  Joy  to  the  fair  Metelill!" 


xn. 

Harold  might  see  from  his  high  stance. 
Himself  unseen,  that  train  advance 

With  mirth  and  melody; — 
On  horse  and  foot  a  mingled  throng. 
Measuring  their  steps  to  bridal  song 

And  bridal  minstrelsy; 
And  ever  when  the  blilhsome  rout 
Lent  to  the  song  their  choral  shout. 
Redoubling  echoes  roU'd  about. 
While  echoing  cave  and  cliff  sent  out 

The  answering  symphony. 
Of  all  those  mimic  notes  which  dwell 
In  hollow  rock  and  sounding  dell. 

XIU. 
Joy  shook  his  torch  above  the  band, 
By  many  a  various  passion  fann'd; 
As  elemental  sparks  can  feed 
On  essence  pure  and  coarsest  weed. 
Gentle,  or  storm)',  or  refined, 
Joy  takes  the  colours  of  the  mind. 
Lightsome  and  pure,  but  unrepress'd, 
He  fired  the  bridegroom's  gallant  breast; 
More  feebly  strove  with  maiden  fear. 
Yet  still  joy  glimmer'd  through  the  tear 
On  the  bride's  blushing  cheek,  that  shows 
Like  dew-drop  on  the  budding  rose; 
While  Wulfstane's  gloomy  smile  declared 
The  joy  that  selfish  avarice  shared. 
And  pleased  revenge  and  malice  high 
Its  semblance  took  in  Jutta's  eye. 
On  dangerous  adventure  sped, 
The  witch  deem'd  Harold  with  the  dead. 
For  thus  that  morn  her  demon  said: — 
"  If,  ere  the  set  of  sun,  be  tied 
The  knot  'twixt  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 
The  Dane  shall  have  no  power  of  ill 
O'er  William  and  o'er  Metelill." 
And  the  pleased  witch  made  answer,  "  Then 
Must  Harold  have  pass'd  from  the  paths  of  men! 
Evil  repose  may  his  spirit  have — 
May  hemlock  and  mandrake  find  root  in  his  grave, 
May  his  death-sleep  be  dogg'd  by  dreams  of  dismay, 
And  his  waking  be  worse  at  the  answering  day!" 
XIV. 
Such  was  their  various  mode  of  glee 
Blent  in  one  shout  of  ecstasy. 
But  still  when  joy  is  brimming  highest, 
Of  sorrow  and  misfortune  nighest. 
Of  terror  with  her  ague  cheek. 
And  lurking  danger,  sages  speak: — 
These  haunt  each  path,  but  chief  they  lay 
Their  snares  beside  the  primrose  way. — 
Thus  found  that  bridal  band  their  path 
Beset  by  Harold  in  his  wrath. 
Trembling  beneath  his  maddening  mood. 
High  on  a  rock  the  giant  stood; 
His  shout  was  like  the  doom  of  death 
Spoke  o'er  their  heads  that  pass'd  beneath. 
His  destined  victims  might  not  spy 
The  reddening  terrors  of  his  eye — 
The  frown  of  rage  that  writhed  his  face — 
The  lip  that  foam'd  like  boar's  in  chase; — 
But  all  could  see — and,  seeing,  all 
Bore  back  to  shun  the  threatened  fall — 
The  fragment  whicli  their  giant  foe 
Rent  from  the  cliff  and  heaved  to  throw. 

XV. 
Backward  they  bore; — yet  are  there  two 

For  battle  who  prepare: 
No  pause  of  dread  lord  William  knew 
Ere  his  good  blade  was  bare; 


342 


SCOTT'S  POEllCAL  WORKS. 


And  \Vulfstanc  bent  his  fatal  vew, 
But  CTi-  llif  silken  cord  lie  dre«', 
As  liiitrd  from  Hecla's  tliunder,  flew 

That  ruin  through  the  air; 
Full  on  the  outlaw's  front  it  came, 
And  all  that  late  had  human  name. 
And  human  face,  and  human  frame, 
That  lived,  and  moveil,  and  had  free  will 
To  cltoosc  llie  path  oi"  good  or  ill, 

Is  to  its  reckoning  gone; 
And  nouglit  of  Wulfslane  rests  behind, 

Save  tliat  beneatli  tliat  stone, . 
Half  buried  in  the  dinted  clay, 
A  red  and  shajjeless  mass  there  lay, 

Of  mingled  flesh  and  bone ! 

XVI. 

As  from  the  bosom  of  tlie  sky 

The  eagle  darts  amain. 
Three  hounds  from  yonder  summit  high 

Placed  Harold  on  the  plain. 
As  the  scared  wild-fowl  scream  and  fly, 

So  fled  the  bridal  train; 
As  'gainst  the  eagle's  peerless  might 
The  noble  falcon  dares  the  fight. 

But  dares  the  fight  in  vain, 
So  fought  the  bridegroom;  from  his  hand 
Tlie  Dane's  rude  mace  has  struck  his  brand. 
Its  glittering  fragments  strew  the  sand, 

Its  lord  lies  on  the  plain. 
Now,  heaven!  take  noble  William's  part, 
And  melt  that  yet  unmelted  heart, 
Or,  ere  his  bridal  hour  depart, 

The  hapless  bridegroom's  slain ! 

XVII. 

Count  Harold's  frenzied  rage  is  high, 

There  is  a  death-fire  in  his  eye, 

Deep  furrows  on  his  brow  are  trench'd, 

His  teeth  are  set,  his  hand  is  clench'd, 

The  foam  upon  his  lip  is  white, 

His  deadly  arm  is  up  to  smite! 

But,  as  the  mace  aloft  he  swung. 

To  stop  the  blow  young  Gunnar  sprung. 

Around  his  master's  knees  he  clung. 

And  cried,  "  In  mercy  spare! 
O,  think  upon  the  words  of  fear 
Spoke  by  that  visionary  seer. 
The  crisis  he  foretold  is  here — 

Grant  mercy — or  despair!" 
This  word  suspended  Harold's  mood. 
Yet  still  witli  arm  upraised  he  stood. 
And  visage  like  the  headanan's  rude 

That  pauses  for  the  sign. 
"  O  mark  thee  with  the  blessed  rood," 
The  page  implored:  "  Speak  word  of  good. 
Resist  the  fiend,  or  be  subdued!" 

He  signed  the  cross  divine — 
Instant  his  eye  hath  human  light, 
Less  red,  less  keen,  less  fiercely  bright; 
His  brow  relax'd  the  obdurate  frown. 
The  fatal  mace  sinks  gently  down. 

He  turns  and  strides  away; 
Yet  oft,  like  revellers  who  leave 
Unfinish'd  feast,  looks  back  to  grieve. 
As  if  repenting  the  reprieve 

He  granted  to  his  prey. 
Yet  still  of  forbearance  one  sign  hath  he  given. 
And  fierce  Wilikind's  sou  made  one  step  towards 
heaven. 

XVIII. 
But  though  his  dreaded  footsteps  part. 
Death  is  behind  and  shakes  his  dart: 


Lord  William  on  the  \>\a\n  is  Iving, 

Beside  him  Metelill  seems  dying! 

Bring  odours — essences  in  haste — 

And  io!  a  flasket  richly  chased. 

But  Jutla  tlie  elixir  ])roves 

Ere  pouring  it  for  those  she  loves — 

Then  Walwayn's  potion  was  not  wasted, 

For  when  three  drojis  the  hag  had  tasted. 

So  dismal  was  her  yell, 

Eacli  bird  of  evil  omen  woke, 

Tlie  raven  gave  his  fatal  croak. 

And  shriek'd  the  niglil-crow  from  the  oak, 

The  screecii-owl  from  the  thicket  broke. 

And  flutter'd  down  the  dell ! 
So  fearful  was  the  sound  and  stern. 
The  slumbers  of  the  full-gorged  erne 
Were  startled,  and  from  furze  and  fern, 

Of  forest  and  of  fell, 
The  fox  and  famish 'd  wolf  replied, 
(For  wolves  then  prowl'd  the  Cheviot  side,) 
From  mountain  head  to  mountain  head 
Tlie  unhallow'd  sounds  around  were  sped; 
But  when  their  latest  echo  fled. 
The  sorceress  on  the  gi-ound  lay  dead. 

xix. 

Such  was  the  scene  of  blood  and  woes, 
With  which  the  bridal  morn  arose 

Of  William  and  of  Metelill; 
But  oft,  when  dawning  'gins  to  spread. 
The  summer-morn  peeps  dim  and  red 

Above  the  eastern  hill, 
Ere,  bright  and  fair,  upon  his  road 
The  king  of  splendour  walks  abroad; 
So,  when  this  cloud  had  pass'd  away, 
Bright  was  the  noon-tide  of  their  day. 
And  all  serene  its  setting  ray. 

CANTO  TI. 

I. 

Well  do  I  hope  that  this  my  minstrel  tale 

Will  tempt  no  traveller  from  southern  fieU^-, 
Whether  in  tilbury,  barouche,  or  mail. 

To  view  the  castle  of  these  seven  proud  shields. 
Small  confirmation  its  condition  yields 

To  Meneville's  high  lay— no  towers  are  seen 
On  the  wild  heath,  but  those  that  fancy  builds. 

And,  save  a  fosse  which  tracks  the  moor  witli 
green. 
Is  nought  remains  to  tell  of  what  may  there  have 

been. 
And  yet  grave  authors,  with  the  no  small  waste 

Of  their  grave  time,  have  dignified  the  spot 
By  theories,  to  prove  the  fortress  placed 

"Bv  Roman  hands,  to  curb  the  invading  Scot. 
Hutchinson,  Horsley,  Camden,  1  might  quote. 

But  rather  choose  the  theory  less  civil 
Of  boors,  who,  origin  of  things  forgot. 

Refer  still  to  the  origin  of  evil, 
Aud  for  their  master-mason  choose  that  master- 
fiend  the  devil. 

n. 

Therefore,  I  say,  it  was  on  fiend-built  towers 

That  stout  count  Harold  bent  his  wond'ring  gaze, 
When  evening  dew  was  on  the  heather  flowers. 

And  the  last  sunbeams  bade  the  mountain  blaze, 
And  tinged  the  battlements  of  other  days 

Witii  a  bright  level  light  ere  sinking  down. 
Illumined  thus,  tlie  dauntless  Dane  surveys 

The  seven  proud   shields  that  o'er  the  portal 
frown. 
And  on  their  blazons  traced  high  marks  of  old  re- 
nown. 


HAROLD  THE  DAUXTLRSS. 


:43 


A  wolf  North  Wales  had  on  his  armour-coat, 

And  Rhys  of  Powis-land  a  couchant  stag; 
Strath-CIwjde's  strange  emblem  was  a  stranded 
boat; 

Donald  of  Galloway  a  trotting  nag; 
A  corn-sheaf  gilt  was  fertile  Lodon's  l)rag; 

A  dudgeon-dagger  was  by  Dunmail  worn; 
Northurabrian  Adolf  gave  a  sea-beat  crag 

Surmounted  by  a  cross — such  signs  were  borne 
Upon  these  antique  shields,  all  wasted  now  and 
worn. 

HI. 
These  scann'd,  count  Harold  sought  the  castle  door, 

Whose  ponderous  bolts  were  rusted  to  decay; 
Yet  till  that  hour  adventurous  knight  forbore 

The  unobstructed  passage  to  essay. 
More  strong  than  armed  warders  in  array, 

And  obstacle  more  sur*^thaii  bolt  or  bar, 
Sate  in  the  portal  Terror  and  Dismay, 

While  Superstition,  who  forbade  to  war 
With  foes  of  other  mould  than  mortal  clay. 
Cast  spells  across  the  gate,  and  barr'd  the  onward 
way. 

Vain  now  those  spells — for  soon  with  heavy  clank 

The  feebly-fasten'd  gate  was  inward  push'd. 
And,  as  it  oped,  through  that  emblazon'd  rank 

Of  antique  shields  the  wind  of  evening  rush'd 
With  sound  most  like  a  groan,  and  then  was  hush'd. 

Is  none  who  on  such  spot  such  sounds  could  hear 
But  to  his  heart  the  blood  had  faster  rush'd. 

Yet  to  bold  Harold's  breast  .hat  throb  was  dear, 
It  spoke  of  danger  nigh,  but  had  no  touch  of  fear. 

IV. 

Yet  Harold  and  his  page  no  signs  have  traced 

Within  the  castle  that  of  danger  show'd; 
For  still  the  halls  and  courts  were  wild  and  waste. 

As  through  their  precincts  the  adventurers  strode. 
The  seven  huge  towers  rose  stately,  tall,  and  broad. 

Each  tower  presenting  to  their  scrutiny 
A  hall  in  which  a  king  might  make  abode. 

And  fast  beside,  garnish'd  both  proud  and  high, 
Was  placed  a  bower  for  rest  in  which  a  king  might 
lie. 

As  if  a  bridal  there  of  late  had  been, 

Deck'd  stood  the  table  in  each  gorgeous  hall; 
And  yet  it  was  two  hundred  years,  I  ween, 

Since  date  of  that  unhallow'd  festival. 
Flagons,  and  ewers,  and  standing  cups,  were  all 

Of  tarnish 'd  gold,  or  silver  nothing  clear, 
With  throne  begilt,  and  canopy  of  pall. 

And  tapestry  clothed  the  walls  with  fragments 
sear, — 
Frail  as  the  spider's  mesh  did  that  rich  woof  ap- 
pear. 

V. 
In  every  bower,  as  round  a  hearse,  was  hung 

A  dusky  crimson  curtain  o'er  the  bed. 
And  on  each  couch  in  ghastly  wise  were  flung 

The  wasted  relics  of  a  monarclj  dead; 
Bai'baric  ornaments  around  were  spread, 

Vests  twined  with  gold,  and  chains  of  precious 
stone, 
And  golden  circlets,  meet  for  monarch's  head; 
While  grinn'd,   as  if  in  scorn  amongst  them 
thrown. 
The  wearer's  fleshless  scull,  alike  with  dust  be- 
strown. 

For  these  were  they  who,  drunken  with  delight, 

On  pleasure's  opiate  pillow  laid  their  head, 

24 


For  whom  the  bride's  shy  footstep,  slow  and  light, 
I      Was  chunged  ere  morning  to  the  murderer' 

tread. 
For  human  bliss  and  wo  in  the  frail  thread 

Of  human  life  are  all  so  closely  twined. 
That  till  the  shears  of  fate  the  texture  shred, 

The  close  succession  cannot  be  disjoin'd, 
Nor  dare  we  from  one  hour  judge  that  which  comes 
behind. 

VI. 
But  where  the  work  of  vengeance  had  been  done, 

In  that  seventh  chamber  was  a  sterner  sight; 
There  of  the  witch-brides  lay  each  skeleton. 

Still  in  the  posture  as  to  death  when  dight. 
For  this  lay  prone,  by  one  blow  slain  outright; 

And  iliat,  as  one  who  struggled  long  in  dying; 
One  bony  hand  held  knife  as'if  to  smite; 

One  bent  on  fleshless  knees  as  mercy  crying; 
One  lay  across  the  dooi-,  as  kill'd  in  act  of  flving. 
The  stern  Dane  smiled  this  charnel-house  to  see — 

For  his  chafed  thought  return 'd  to  Metelill; 
And,  "  Well,"  he  said,*  "hath  woman's  perfidy, 

Empty  as  air,  as  water  volatile. 
Been  here  avenged. — The  origin  of  ill 

Thro'  woman  rose,  the  christian  doctrine  saith; 
Nor  deem  I,  Guniiar,  that  thy  minstrel  skill 

Can  show  example  where  a  woman's  breath 
Hath  made  a  true-love  vow,  and  tempted,  kept  her 
faith." 

VII. 

The  minstrel  boy  half  smiled,  half  sigh'd. 

And  his  half  filling  eyes  he  dried. 

And  said,  "The  theme  I  should  but  wrong, 

Unless  it  were  my  dying  song, 

(Our  scalds  have  said  in  dying  hour 

The  northern  harp  has  treble  power,) 

Else  could  I  tell  of  woman's  faith 

Defying  danger,  scorn,  and  death. 

Firm  was  that  faith — as  diamond  stone 

Pure  and  unflaw'd — her  love  unknown, 

And  unrequited;  firm  and  pure, 

Her  stainless  taith  could  all  endure; 

From  clime  to  clime — from  place  to  place — 

Tlirough  want,  and  danger,  and  disgrace, 

A  wanderer's  wayward  steps  could  trace. 

All  this  she  did,  and  guerdon  none 

Required,  save  that  her  burial-stone 

Should  make  at  length  her  secret  known.' 

Thus  hath  a  fiiithful  woman  done. 

Not  in  each  breast  such  truth  is  laid, 

But  Eivir  was  a  Danish  maid." 

V  HI. 

"  Thou  art  a  wild  enthusiast,"  said 
Count  Harold,  "  for  thy  Danish  maid; 
And  yet,  young  Gunnar,  I  will  own 
Her's  were  a  faith  to  rest  upon. 
But  Eivir  sleeps  beneath  her  stone. 
And  all  resemliling  her  are  gone. 
What  maid  e'er  show'd  such  constancy 
In  plighted  faith,  like  thine  to  me? 
But  couch  thee,  boy;  the  darksome  shade 
Falls  thickly  round,  nor  be  dismay'd 

Because  the  dead  are  by. 
They  were  as  we;  our  Utile  day 
O'erspent,  and  we  shall  be  as  they. 
Yet  near  me,  Gunnar,  be  thou  laid. 
Thy  couch  upon  my  mantle  made. 
That  thou  may'st  think,  should  fear  invade. 

Thy  master  slumbers  nigh." 
Thus  couch 'd  they  in  that  dread  abode 
Until  the  beams  of  dawning  glow'd. 


5U 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


IX. 


An  alter'd  man  lord  Harold  rose, 
When  he  beheld  that  dawn  unclose — 

There's  trouble  in  his  eyes. 
And  traces  on  his  brow  and  cheek 
Of  mingled  awe  and  wonder  speak: 

"  My  pa;j;e,"  he  said,  "arise; 
Leave  we  this  place,  my  page."     Nor  more 
He  utter'd  till  the  castle  door 
They  cross'd — but  tliere  he  paused  and  said, 
"  My  wildness  hath  awaked  the  dead — 

Disturb'd  the  sacred  tomb! 
Methoup;ht  this  night  I  stood  on  high 
Where  Flecla  roars  in  middle  sky. 
And  in  her  cHvern'd  gulfs  could  spy 

The  central  place  of  doom! 
And  there  before  my  mortal  eye 
Souls  of  the  dead  came  flitting  by. 
Whom  fiends,  with  many  a  fiendish  cry, 

Bore  to  that  evil  den! 
Mv  eyes  grew  dizzy,  and  my  brain 
Was  wilder'd,  as  the  elvisli  train. 
With  shriek  and  howl,  dragg'd  on  amain 

Those  who  had  late  been  men. 


"  With  haggard  eyes  and  streaming  hair, 

Jutta,  the  sorceress,  was  there, 

And  there  pass'd  Wulfstane,  lately  slain. 

All  crush'd  and  foul  with  bloody  stain. 

More  had  I  seen,  but  that  uprose 

A  whirlwind  wild,  and  swept  the  snows; 

And  with  such  sound  as  when  at  need 

A  champion  spurs  his  horse  to  speed. 

Three  armed  knights  rush  on,  who  lead 

Caparison'd  a  sable  steed. 

Sable  their  harness,  and  there  came 

Through  their  closed  visors  sparks  of  flame. 

The  first  proclaim'd,  in  sounds  of  fear, 

•  Harold  the  Dauntless,  welcome  here!' 
The  next  cried,  'Jubilee!  we've  won 
Count  Wilikind  the  Waster's  son!' 
And  the  third  rider  sternly  spoke, 

•  Mount,  in  the  name  of  Zernebock ! 
From  us,  O  Harold,  were  thy  powers. 
Thy  strength,  thy  dauntlessness,  are  ours; 
Nor  think,  a  vassal  thou  of  hell. 

With  hell  canst  strive.'  The  fiend  spoke  true! 
My  inmost  soul  the  summons  knew, 

As  captives  know  the  knell. 
That  says  the  headsman's  sword  is  bare. 
And  with  an  accent  of  despair 

Commands  them  quit  their  cell. 
I  felt  resistance  was  in  vain. 
My  foot  had  tliat  fell  stirrup  ta'en, 
Mv  baud  was  on  the  fatal  mane, 

When  to  my  rescue  sped 
That  palmer's  visionary  form. 
And,  like  the  passing  of  a  storm, 

The  demons  yell'd  and  fled! 

XI. 
"His  sable  cowl,  flung  back,  reveal'd 
The  features  it  before  conceal'd; 

And,  Gunnar,  I  could  find 
In  him  whose  counsels  strove  to  stay 
So  oft  mv  course  on  wilful  way. 

My  father  Wilikind! 
Doom'd  for  his  sins,  and  doom'd  for  mine, 
A  wanderer  upon  earth  to  pine. 
Until  his  son  shall  turn  to  grace, 
And  smooth  for  him  a  resting-place! 


Gunnar,  he  must  not  haunt  in  vain 
This  world  of  wretchedness  and  pain: 
I'll  t^nie  my  w  ilful  heart  to  live 
In  peace — to  jiity  and  forgive — 
And  thou,  for  so  the  vision  said. 
Must  in  thy  lord's  repentance  aid. 
Thy  mother  was  a  prophetess," 
He  said,  "  who  by  iier  skill  could  guess 
How  close  the  fatal  textures  join 
Wiiich  knit  that  thread  of  lite  with  mine; 
Then,  dark,  he  hinted  of  disguise 
She  framed  to  cheat  too  curious  eyes, 
That  not  a  moment  might  divide 
Thy  fated  footsteps  from  my  side. 
Methought,  while  tlius  my  sire  did  teach, 
1  caught  the  meaning  of  his  speech. 
Yet  seems  its  purport  doubtful  now. " 
His  hand  tlieu  sought  his  thoughtful  brow, 
Then  first  he  niark'd,  that  in  the  tower 
His  glove  was  left  ut  waking  hour^ 

Xll. 

Trembling  at  first,  and  deadly  pale. 
Had  Gunnar  heard  the  vision'd  tale; 
But  when  he  learn'd  the  dubious  close, 
He  blushed  like  any  opening  rose. 
And,  glad  to  hide  his  tell-tale  cheek. 
Hied  back  that  glove  of  mail  to  seek; 
When  soon  a  shriek  of  deadly  dread 
Sunimon'd  his  master  to  his  aid. 

XIII. 

What  sees  count  Harold  in  that  bower, 

So  late  his  resting  place' 
The  semblance  of  the  Evil  Power, 

Adored  by  all  his  race! 
Odin  in  living  form  stood  there. 
His  cloak  the  spoils  of  polar  bear; 
For  plumy  crest,  a  meteor  shed 
Its  gloomy  radiance  o'er  his  head, 
"Yet  veil'd  its  haggard  majesty 
To  the  wild  lightnings  of  his  eye. 
Such  height  was  his,  as  when  in  stone 
O'er  Upsal's  giant  altar  shown; 

So  flow'd  his  hoary  beard; 
Such  was  his  lance  of  mountain-pine, 
So  did  his  sevenfold  buckler  shine; 

But  when  iiis  voice  he  rear'd. 
Deep,  without  harshness,  slow  and  strong. 
The  powerful  accents  roll'd  along. 
And,  while  he  spoke,  his  hand  was  laid 
On  captive  Gunnar's  shrinking  head. 

XIV. 

"  Harold,"  he  said,  "  What  rage  is  thine 

To  quit  the  worship  of  thy  line, 

To  leave  thy  warrior  god? 

With  me  is  glory  or  disgrace. 

Mine  is  the  onset  and  the  chase. 

Embattled  hosts  before  ray  face 

Are  withered  by  a  nod. 

Wilt  thou  then  forfeit  that  high  seat, 

Deserved  by  many  a  dauntless  feat 

Among  the  heroes  of  thy  line, 

Eric  and  fiery  Thorarine? 

Thou  wilt  not.   Only  I  can  give 

The  joys  for  which  the  valiant  live. 

Victory  and  vengeance — only  I 

Can  give  tlie  joys  for  which  they  die, 

The  immortal  tilt — the  banquet  full. 

The  brimming  drauglit  from  foeman's  skull. 

Mine  art  thou,  witness  this  thy  glove. 

The  faithful  pledge  of  vassal's  love." 


HAROLD   THE  DAUNTLESS. 


345 


XV. 

"  Tempter!"  said  Harold,  firm  of  heart, 

«'  I  charge  thee,  hence!  whate'er  thou  art, 

I  do  defy  thee — and  resist 

The  kindling  frenzy  of  my  breast. 

Waked  by  thy  worcls;  and  of  my  mail 

Nor  glove,  nor  buckler,  splent,  nor  nail, 

Shall  rest  with  thee — that  youth  release. 

And  god,  or  demon,  part  in  peace." 

"  Eivir,"  the  shape  replied,  "  is  mine, 

Mark'd  in  the  birth-hour  with  my  sign. 

Think'st  thou  that  priest  with  drops  of  spray 

Could  wash  that  blood-red  mark  away? 

Or  that  a  borrow'd  sex  and  name 

Can  abrogate  a  godhead's  claim'" 

Thrill'd  this  strange  speech  thro'  Harold's  brain, 

He  clench'd  his  teetli  in  high  disdain, 

For  not  his  new-born  faith  subdued 

Some  tokens  of  his  ancient  mood. 

"  Now,  by  the  hope  so  lately  given 

Of  better  trust  and  purer  heaven, 

I  will  assail  thee,  fiend  !"    Then  rose 

His  mace,  and  with  a  storm  of  blows 

The  mortal  and  the  demon  close. 

XVJ. 

Smoke  roll'd  above,  fire  flash 'd  around, 
Darken'd  the  skj'  and  shook  the  ground  ^ 

But  not  the  artillen^  of  hell, 
The  bickering  lightning,  nor  the  rock 
Of  turrets  to  the  earthquake's  shock, 

Could  Harold's  courage  quell. 
Sternly  the  Dane  his  purpose  kept. 
And  blows  on  blows  resistless  heap'd, 

Till  quail 'd  that  demon  form; 
And — for  his  power  to  hurt  or  kill 
Was  bounded  by  a  higher  will — 

Evanish 'd  in  the  storm. 
Nor  paused  the  champion  of  the  north. 
But  raised,  and  bore  his  Eivir  forth 
From  that  wild  scene  of  fiendish  strife. 
To  light,  to  liberty,  and  life ! 

xvu. 

He  placed  her  on  a  bank  of  moss, 

A  silver  runnel  bubbled  by, 
And  new-born  thoughts  his  soul  engross. 
And  tremors  yet  unknown  across 

His  stubborn  sinews  fly; 
The  whilewith timid  hand  the  dew 
Upon  her  brow  and  neck  he  threw, 
And  mark'd  how  life  with  rosy  hue 
On  her  pale  cheek  revived  anew. 


And  glimmer'd  in  her  eye. 
Inly  he  said,  "  That  silken  tress, 
What  blindness  mine  that  could  not  guess, 
Or  how  could  page's  rugged  dress 

That  bosom's  pride  belie'  ' 

O,  dull  of  heart,  through  wild  and  wave 
In  search  of  blood  and  death  to  rave, 

With  such  a  partner  nigh ! " 

xvm. 

Then  in  the  mirror'd  pool  he  peer'd, 
Blamed  his  rough  locks  and  shaggy  beard, 
The  stains  of  recent  conflict  clear'd — 

And  thus  the  champion  proved, 
That  he  fears  now  who  never  fear'd, 

And  loves  who  never  loved. 
And  Eivir — life  is  on  her  cheek, 
And  yet  she  will  not  mov,';  or  speak. 

Nor  will  her  eyelid  fully  ope; 
Perchance  it  loves,  that  half-shut  eye. 
Through  its  long  fringe,  reserved  and  shy, 
Aftection's  opening  dawn  to  spy; 
And  the  deep  blush,  which  bid's  its  dye 
O'er  cheek,  and  brow,  and  bosom  fly. 

Speaks  shame-facedness  and  hope. 

XIX. 

But  vainly  seems  the  Dane  to  seek 
For  terms  his  new-born  love  to  speak, — 
For  words,  save  those  of  wrath  and  wrong, 
Till  now  were  strangers  to  his  tongue; 
So,  when  he  raised  the  blushing  maid. 
In  blunt  and  honest  terms  he  said, — 
(Twere  well  that  maids,  when  lovers  woo, 
Heard  none  more  soft,  were  all  as  true.) 
"  Eivir!  since  thou  for  many  a  day 
Hast  followed  Harold's  wayward  way. 
It  is  but  meet  that  in  the  line 
Of  after-life  1  follow  thine. 
To  morrow  is  saint  Cuthbert's  tide. 
And  we  will  grace  his  altar's  side, 
A  christian  knight  and  christian  bride; 
And  of  Witikind's  son  shall  the  marvel  be  said 
That  on  the  same  morn  he  was  christen'd  and  wed." 

COJfCLUSIOX. 

And  now,  Ennui,  what  ails  thee,  weary  maid  ? 

And  why  these  listless  looks  ofyawiiin"-  sorrow. 
No  need  to  turn  the  page,  as  if  'twere  lead. 

Or  fling  aside  the  volume  till  to-morrow. 
Be  cheer'd — 'tis  ended — and  1  will  not  boiTOW, 

To  try  thy  patience  more,  one  anecdote 
From  Bartholine,  or  Perinskiold,  or  Snorro. 

Then  pardon  thou  thy  mthstrel,  who  hath  wrote 
A  tale  six  cantos  long,  yet  scom'd  to  add  a  note. 


on, 

THE  VALE  OF  ST,  JOHN. 

A  LOVER'S  TALE. 


An  elf-qiiene  wo!  I  lore  J'wis, 
For  in  this  world  no  woman  is 

Worthy  to  be  my  make  in  toun: 
All  other  women  I  forsake, 
And  to  an  elf-qviene  I  me  take 

By  dale  and  eke  by  douii. 

JRime  oj'sir  Thopas. 


PREFACE. 

In  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  the  year 
1809,  three  fragments  were  inserted,  -written  in 
imitation  of  living  poets.  It  must  have  been  ap- 
parent, that  by  these  prolusions,  nothing  burlesque 
or  disrespectful  to  tlie  authors  was  intended,  but 
that  they  were  offered  to  tiie  public  as  serious, 
though  certainly  very  imperfect,  imitations  of  that 
style  of  composition,  by  which  each  of  the  writers 
is  supposed  to  be  distinguished.  As  tliese  exer- 
cises attracted  a  greater  degree  of  attention  than 
the  author  anticipated,  he  has  been  induced  to 
complete  one  of  them,  and  present  it  as  a  separate 
publication. 

It  is  not  in  this  place  that  an  examination  of  the 
■works  of  the  master  whom  he  has  here  adopted  as 
his  model  can,  with  propriety,  be  introduced; 
since  his  general  acquiescence  in  the  favourable 
suffrage  of  the  public  must  necessarily  be  inferred 
from  the  attempt  he  has  now  made,  lie  is  induced, 
by  the  nature  of  his  subject,  to  offer  a  few  remarks 
on  what  has  been  called  Romantic  Poetry, — the 
popularity  of  which  has  been  revived  in  the  pre- 
sent day,  under  the  auspices,  and  by  the  unparal- 
leled success  of  one  individual. 

The  original  purpose  of  poetry  is  either  reli- 
gious or  historical,  or,  as  must  frequently  happen, 
a  mixture  of  both.  To  modern  readers,  the  jioems 
of  Homer  have  many  of  the  features  of  pure  ro- 
mance; but,  in  the  estimation  of  his  contempora- 
ries, they  probably  derived  their  chief  value  from 
their  supposed  historical  authenticity.  The  same 
may  be  generally  said  of  the  poetry  of  all  early 
ages.  The  marvels  and  miracles  which  the  poet 
blends  with  his  song  do  not  exceed  in  number  or 
extravagance  the  figments  of  the  historians  of  the 
same  period  of  society;  and,  indeed,  the  difference 
betwixt  poetry  and  prose,  as  the  vehicles  of  his- 
torical truth,  isalwaysof  late  introduction.  Poets, 
under  various  denominations  of  Bards,  Scalds, 
Chroniclers,  and  so  forth,  are  the  first  historians 
of  all  nations.  Their  intention  is  to  relate  the 
events  tliey  have  witnessed,  or  the  ti-aditions  tliat 
have  reached  them;  and  they  clothe  the  relation 
in  rhyme,  merely  as  the  means  of  rendering  it 
more  solemn  in  the  narrative,  or  more  easily  com- 
mitted to  memory.  But  as  the  poetical  historian 
improves  in  the  art  of  conveying  information,  the 
authenticity  of  his  narrative  unavoidably  declines. 
He  is  tempted  to  dilate  and  dwell  upon  the  events 
that  are  interesting  to  his  imagination,  and,  con- 
scious how  different  bis  audience  is  to  the  naked 
truth  of  his  poem,  his  history  gradually  becomes 
n  romance. 


It  is  in  this  situation  that  those  epics  are  found 
which  have  been  generally  regarded  the  standards 
of  poetry;  and  it  has  happened  somewhat  strange- 
ly, that  the  moderns  have  pointed  out,  as  the  cha- 
racteristics and  peculiar  excellences  of  narrative 
poetry,  the  very  circumstances  which  the  authors 
themselves  adopted,  oidy  because  their  art  involv- 
ed the  duties  of  tlie  historian  as  well  as  the  poet. 
It  cannot  be  believed,  for  example,  that  Homer 
selected  the  siege  of  Troy  as  the  most  appropriate 
subject  for  poetry;  his  purjtose  was  to  write  the 
early  history  of  his  country:  the  event  he  has 
chosen,  though  not  very  fruitful  in  varied  incident, 
nor  perfectl)'  well  adapted  for  poetry,  was  never- 
theless combined  witli  traditionary  and  genealogi- 
cal anecdotes  extremely  interesting  to  those  who 
were  to  listen  to  iiim;  and  this  he  lias  adorned  by 
the  exertions  of  a  genius,  which,  if  it  has  been 
equalled,  has  certainly  never  been  surpassed.  It 
was  not  till  comparatively  a  l;\te  period  that  the 
general  accuracy  of  his  narrative,  or  his  purpose 
in  composing  it,  was  brought  into  question.  Aoxe; 
■TrpaiTc;  o  Ava^ctyofi^c  (nciB-J.  ipit;i  ^aCoptvo;  iv  Trav- 
T5<f^7r/]a'T0f/aj  t«v  Ofxufov  toihitiv  a.7rop;vct3-dm 
iivo-v  o-piTiff  K'Jt.1  StKctaa-vv));.*  But  whatever  the- 
ories might  be  framed  by  speculative  men,  his 
work  was  of  an  historical,  not  of  an  allegorical  na- 
ture.       Y'.VctUTIKKiTO  fJtiTOt  TOW  MevTJSI;,  Xat/  OTTOU 

SKaLa-roTi  ctpix-onoi  Tnvnt  ■tu  iTt^uipiA  SupooTit- 

TO,    K.a.1    IfTCpiua'V     iTTVvhxviTO     ilno;  Si  fXlV  HV   KXl 

/uv>i/Aoo-uvdt.  TrctvTcev  ■ypai(pi7bxi.i'  Instead  of  re- 
commending the  choice  of  a  subject  similar  to  that 
of  Homer,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  critics  should 
liave  exhorted  tlie  poets  of  these  later  days  to  adopt 
or  invent  a  narrative  in  itself  more  susceptible  of 
poetical  ornament,  and  to  avail  themselves  of  that 
advantage  in  order  to  compensate,  in  some  degree, 
tlie  inferioritj'  of  genius.  The  contrary  course  has 
been  inculcated  by  almost  all  the  writers  upon  the 
Epopseia;  with  what  success,  tlie  fate  of  Homer's 
numerous  imitators  may  best  shoiv.  The  nltimnm 
supplichim  of  criticism  was  inflicted  on  the  author 
if  he  did  not  choose  a  subject  which  at  once  de- 
prived him  of  all  claim  to  originality,  and  placed 
him,  if  not  in  actual  contest,  at  least  in  fatal  com- 
parison, with  those  giants  in  the  land,  whom  it 
was  most  his  interest  to  avoid.  The  celebrated 
recipe  for  writing  an  epic  poem,  which  appeared 
in  the  Guardian,  was  the  first  instance  in  which 
common  sense  was  applied  to  this  department  of 
poetry;  and  indeed,  it  the  question  be  considered 
on  its  own  merits,  we  must  be  satisfied  thatnarra- 


•  Diogenes  Laertius,  1.  xi,  p.  8. 


t  Homeri  Vita. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


347 


tive  poetn',  if  stricti)'  confined  to  the  great  occur- 
rences of  history,  •would  be  deprived  of  the  indi- 
vidual interest  which  it  is  so  well  calculated  to 
excite. 

Modern  poets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in 
seeking  simpler  subjects  of  verse,  more  interesting 
in  proportion  to  their  simplicity.  Two  or  three 
figures,  well  grouped,  suited  the  artist  better  than 
a  crowd,  for  whatever  purpose  assembled.  For 
the  same  reason  a  scene  immediately  presented  to 
the  imagination,  and  directly  brought  home  to  the 
feelings,  though  involving  the  fate  but  of  one  or  two 
persons,  is  more  favourable  for  poetry  than  the 
political  struggles  and  convulsions  which  influence 
the  fate  of  kingdoms.  The  former  are  within  the 
reach  and  comprehension  of  all,  and,  if  depicted 


treated,  have  still  the  interest  and  charm  of  novel- 
ty, and  which  thus  prevents  them  from  adding  in- 
sipidity to  their  otlier  more  insuperable  defects. 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 

INTRODCCTIOS^. 
J. 

Come,  Lucy !  while  'tis  morning  hour, 
The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass; 

So,  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power. 

We  shelter  in  our  poplar  bower. 

Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower, 
Though  vanished  from  the  velvet  grass. 

Curbing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 

May  serve  us  for  a  sylvan  bridge; 


free  and  unembarrassed  as  he  is,  he  has  no  man- 
ner of  apology.  Tbose,  it  is  probable,  will  be  found 
the  peculiarities  of  this  species  of  composition: 
and,  before  joining  the  outc:T  against  the  vitiated 
taste  that  fosters  and  encourages  it,  tlie  justice  and 
grounds  of  it  ought  to  be  made  perfectly  apparent. 
If  the  want  of  sieges  and  battles  and  great  militarj- 
evolutions  in  our  poetrv'  is  complained  of,  let  us 
reflect,  that  the  campaigns  and  lieroes  of  our  day 
are  perpetuated  in  a  record  that  neither  requires 
nor  admits  of  the  aid  of  fiction;  and  if  the  complaint 
refers  to  the  inferiority  of  our  bards,  let  us  pay  a 
just  tribute  to  their  motlesty,  limiting  them,  as  it 
does,  to  subjects,  which,    however   indifferently 


How  deep  that  blush! — how  deep  that  sigh! 
And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye' 
Is  it  because  that  crimson  draws 
Its  colour  from  some  secret  cause. 
Some  hidden  movement  of  the  breast. 
She  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guess'd? 
O!  quicker  far  is  lovers'  ken 
Than  the  dull  glance  of  common  men, 
And  by  strange  sympathy,  can  spell 
The  thoughts  tiie  loved  one  will  not  tell! 
And  mine,  in  Lucy's  blush,  saw  met 
The  hue  of  pleasure  and  regret; 
Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice. 

And  shared  with  Love  the  crimson  glow; 


STfte  mwnl  oi  ^tittmuin; 

on, 

THE  VALE  OF  ST.  JOHN. 

A  LOVER'S  TALE. 


An  elf-ouene  wol  I  lore  ywis, 
For  in  this  world  no  woman  is 

Worthy  to  be  mj-  make  in  toun: 
All  other  women  I  forsake, 
And  to  an  elf-quene  I  me  take 

By  dale  and  eke  by  doun. 

Jiime  of  sir  Thopas. 


Chroniclers,  and  so  forth,  are  the  first  historians 
of  all  nations.  Tlieir  intention  is  to  relate  the 
events  they  have  witnessed,  or  the  traditions  tliat 
have  reached  them;  and  tiiej-  clothe  the  relation 
in  rhyme,  merely  as  the  means  of  rendering  it 
more  solemn  in  the  narrative,  or  more  easily  com- 
mitted to  memory.  But  as  the  poetical  historian 
improves  in  the  art  of  conveying  information,  the 
authenticity  of  his  narrative  unavoidably  declines. 
He  is  tempted  to  dilate  and  dwell  upon" the  events 
that  are  interesting  to  his  imagination,  and,  con- 
scious how  different  his  audience  is  to  the  naked 
truth  of  his  poem,  his  history  gradually  becomes 
fl  romaace. 


Epopxia;  with  what  success,  the  fate  ot  Homer's 
numerous  imitators  may  best  sho«v.  The  vltimnm 
siipplichim  of  criticism  was  inflicted  on  the  author 
if  he  did  not  choose  a  subject  which  at  once  de- 
prived him  of  all  claim  to  originality,  and  placed 
him,  if  not  in  actual  contest,  at  least  in  fatal  com- 
parison, with  those  giants  in  the  land,  whom  it 
was  most  his  interest  to  avoid.  The  celebrated 
recipe  for  writing  an  epic  poem,  which  appeared 
in  the  Guardian,  was  the  first  instance  in  which 
common  sense  was  applied  to  this  department  of 
poetry;  and  indeed,  it  tiie  question  be  considered 
on  its  own  merits,  we  must  be  satisfied  thatnarra- 


•  Diogenes  Laertius,  1.  xi,  p.  8. 


t  Homeri  Vita. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


347 


tire  poetry,  if  strictl)'  confined  to  the  great  occur- 
rences of  history,  would  be  deprived  of  the  indi- 
vidual interest  which  it  is  so  well  calculated  to 
excite. 

Modern  poets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in 
seeking  simpler  subjects  of  verse,  more  interesting 
in  proportion  to  their  simplicity.  Two  or  three 
figures,  well  grouped,  suited  the  artist  better  than 
a  crowd,  for  whatever  purpose  assembled.  For 
the  same  reason  a  scene  immediately  presented  to 
the  imagination,  and  directly  brought  home  to  the 
feelings,  though  involving  the  fate  but  of  one  or  two 
persons,  is  more  favourable  for  poetry  than  the 
political  struggles  and  convulsions  which  influence 
the  fate  of  kingdoms.  The  former  are  within  the 
reach  and  comprehension  of  all,  and,  if  depicted 
with  vigour,  seldom  fail  to  fix  attention:  the  other, 
if  more  sublime,  are  more  vague  and  distant,  less 
capable  of  being  distinctly  understood,  and  infi 
nitely  less  capable  of  exciting  those  sentiments 
•which  it  is  the  very  purpose  of  poetry  to  inspire. 
To  generalize  is  always  to  destroy  effect.  We 
■would,  for  example,  be  more  interested  in  the  fate 
of  an  individual  soldier  in  combat,  than  in  the 
grand  event  of  a  general  action;  with  the  happiness 
of  two  lovers  raised  from  misery  and  anxiety  to 
peace  and  union,  than  with  the  successful  exertions 
of  a  whole  nation.  From  what  causes  this  may 
originate,  is  a  separate,  and  obviously  an  immate- 
rial consideration.  Before  ascribing  this  peculia- 
rity to  causes  decidedly  and  odiously  selfish,  it  is 
proper  to  recollect,  that  while  men  see  only  a  li- 
mited space,  and  while  their  affections  and  eon- 
duct  are  regulated,  not  by  aspiring  at  an  universal 
good,  but  by  exerting  their  power  of  making  them- 
selves and  others  happy  within  the  limited  scale 
allotted  to  each  individual,  so  long  will  individual 
history  and  individual  virtue  be  the  readier  and 
more  accessible  road  to  general  interest  and  atten- 
tion; and  perhaps  we  may  add,  that  it  is  the  more 
useful,  as  well  as  the  more  accessible,  inasmuch 
as  it  affords  an  example  capable  of  being  easily 
imitated. 

According  to  the  author's  idea  of  Romantic  Po- 
etrv',  as  distinguished  from  Epic,  the  former  com- 
prehends a  fictitious  narrative,  framed  and  com- 
bined at  the  pleasure  of  the  writer;  beginning  and 
ending  as  he  may  judge  best;  which  neither  exacts 
nor  refuses  the  use  of  supernatural  machinerj-; 
■which  is  free  from  the  technical  rules  of  the  JEpee; 
and  is  subject  only  to  those  which  good  sense,  good 
taste,  and  good  morals  apply  to  every  species  of 
poetry  without  exception.  The  date  may  be  in  a 
remote  age,  or  in  the  present;  the  story  may  de- 
'  ail  the  adventures  of  a  prince  or  of  a  peasant.  In 
a  word,  the  author  is  absolute  master  of  his  counti-y 
and  its  inhabitants,  and  every  thing  is  permitted 
to  him,  excepting  to  be  heavy  or  prosaic,  for  which, 
free  and  unembarrassed  as  he  is,  he  has  no  man- 
ner of  apology.  Those,  it  is  probable,  will  be  found 
the  peculiarities  of  this  species  of  composition: 
and,  before  joining  the  outciy  against  the  vitiated 
taste  that  fosters  and  encourages  it,  the  justice  and 
grounds  of  it  ought  to  be  made  perfectly  apparent. 
If  the  want  of  sieges  and  battles  and  great  militarj- 
evolutions  in  our  poetrv'  is  complained  of,  let  us 
reflect,  that  the  campaigns  and  heroes  of  our  day 
are  perpetuated  in  a  record  that  neither  requires 
nor  admits  of  the  aid  of  fiction;  and  if  the  complaint 
refers  to  the  inferiority  of  our  bards,  let  us  pay  a 
Just  tribute  to  their  modesty,  limiting  them,  as  it 
does,  to  subjects,   ■«hich,    however   indiff'erently 


treated,  have  still  the  interest  and  charm  of  noTel- 
ty,  and  which  thus  prevents  them  from  adding  in- 
sipidity to  their  other  more  insuperable  defects, 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 

IXTB.0DCCTI0:y. 

I. 

Come,  Lucy!  while  'tis  morning  hour, 

The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass; 
So,  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power, 
We  shelter  in  our  poplar  bower. 
Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower, 

Though  vanished  from  the  velvet  grass. 
Curbing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 
May  serve  us  for  a  sylvan  bridge; 
For  here,  compelled  to  disunite, 

Round  petty  isles  the  runnels  glide, 
And,  chafing  off  tlieir  puny  spite. 
The  shallow  murmurs  waste  their  might. 
Yielding  to  footsteps  free  and  light 

A  dry-shod  pass  from  side  to  side. 

II. 

Nay,  why  this  hesitating  pause' 
And,  Lucy,  as  thj'  step  withdraws. 
Why  sidelong  eye  the  streamlet's  brimr 

Titania's  foot  without  a  slip. 
Like  tliine,  though  timid,  light,  and  slim, 

From  stone  to  stone  might  safely  trip, 

Nor  risk  the  glow-worm  clasp  to  dip 
That  binds  her  slipper's  silken  rim. 
Or  trust  thy  lover's  strength;  nor  fear 

That  this  same  strJwart  arm  of  mine, 
Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  upreai. 
Shall  sink  beneath  the  burthen  dear 

Of  form  so  slender,  light,  and  fine. — 
So, — now,  the  danger  dared  at  last. 
Look  back  and  smi]e  at  perils  past! 

III. 

And  now  we  reach  the  favourite  glade, 

Paled  in  by  copse-wood,  cliff,  and  stone. 
Where  never  harsher  sounds  itivade. 

To  break  affection's  whis])ering  tone. 
Than  the  deep  breeze  that  waves  the  shade. 

Than  the  small  brooklet's  feeble  moan. 
Come!  rest  thee  on  thy  wonted  seat; 

Moss'd  is  the  stone,  the  turf  is  green, 
A  place  where  lovers  best  may  meet. 

Who  would  not  that  their  love  be  seen. 
The  boughs,  that  dim  the  summer  skv, 
Shall  hido  us  from  each  lurking  spv. 

That  fain  would  spread  the  invidious  tale. 
How  Lucy  of  the  loftj-  eye, 
Xoble  in  birth,  in  fortunes  high, 
She  for  whom  lords  and  barons  sigh, 

Meets  her  poor  Arthur  in  the  dale. 

IV. 

How  deep  that  blush! — how  deep  that  sigh! 
And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye' 
Is  it  because  that  crimson  draws 
Its  colour  from  some  secret  cause. 
Some  iiidden  movement  of  the  breast, 
Siie  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guess'd? 
O!  quicker  far  is  lovers'  ken 
Than  the  dull  glance  of  common  men, 
And  by  strange  sympathy,  can  spell 
The  thoughts  the  loved  one  will  not  tell! 
And  mine,  in  Lucy's  blush,  saw  met 
The  hue  of  pleasure  and  regret; 
Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice, 

And  shared  with  Love  the  crimson  glow; 


348 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Well  pleased  thnt  thou  art  Arthur's  choice, 
Yet  shamed  thine  own  is  placed  so  low. 

Thou  liirn'sl  tliy  selt-contessiiip;  cheek, 
As  it'll)  meet  tlie  hreeze's  cooling; 

Then,  Lucy,  hear  thy  tutor  speak, 

For  Love,  too,  hashis  hours  of  schooling. 

^^ 

Too  oft  my  anxious  eye  has  spied 
That  secret  grief  thou  Hiin  wouUI'st  hide, 
The  passing  ])ang  of  humhled  pride: 
Too  oft,  wiien  through  the  splendid  hall, 

Tiie  load-star  of  each  heart  and  eye. 
My  fair  one  leads  tl»e  glittering  ball, 
>Vill  her  stolen  glance  on  Arthur  fall. 

With  such  a  blush  and  such  a  sigh! 
Thou  would'st  not  yield,  for  wealth  or  rank. 

The  heart  thy  worth  and  beauty  won, 
Nor  leave  me  on  this  mossy  bank, 

To  meet  a  rival  on  a  throne: 
Why,  then,  should  vain  repinings  rise. 
That  to  thy  lover  fate  denies 
A  nobler  name,  a  wide  domain, 
A  baron's  birth,  a  menial  train. 
Since  heaven  assign'd  him,  for  his  part, 
A  lyre,  a  falchion,  and  a  heart? 

VL 
My  sword its  master  must  be  dumb; 

But,  when  a  soldier  names  my  name, 
Approach,  my  Lucy !  fearless  come. 

Nor  dread  to  hear  of  Arthur's  shame. 
My  heart 'mid  all  yon  courtly  crew. 

Of  lordly  rank  and  lofty  line. 
Is  there  to  love  and  honour  true. 

That  boasts  a  pulse  so  warm  as  mine? 
1  Wy  praised  thy  diamond's  lustre  rare — 

Matched  with  thine  eyes,  I  thought  it  faded; 
They  praised  the  pearls  that  bound  thy  hair — 

I  only  saw  the  locks  tli^y  braided; 
They  talked  of  wealthy  dower  and  land. 

And  titles  of  high  birth  the  token — 
I  thought  of  Lucy's  heart  and  hand. 

Nor  knew  the  sense  of  what  was  spoken. 
And  yet,  if  ranked  in  fortune's  roll, 

I  might  have  learn'd  their  choice  unwise, 
Who  rate  the  dower  above  the  soul, 

And  Lucy's  diamonds  o'er  her  eyes. 
VIL 
My  lyre — it  is  an  idle  toy. 

That  borrows  accents  not  its  own, 
Like  warbler  of  Columbian  sky. 

That  sings  but  in  a  mimic  tone.* 
Ne'er  did  it  sound  o'er  sainted  well. 
Nor  boasts  it  aught  of  border  spell; 
Its  strings  no  feudal  slogan  pour. 
Its  heroes  draw  no  broad  claymore; 
No  shouting  clans  applauses  raise, 
Because  it  sung  tiieir  father's  praise; 
On  Scottish  moor,  or  English  down. 
It  ne'er  was  graced  with  fair  renown. 
Nor  won, — best  meed  to  minstrel  true, — 
t»ne  favouring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch! 
By  one  poor  streamlet  sounds  its  tone, 
And  heard  by  one  dear  maid  alone. 

VIll. 
But,  if  thou  bid'st,  these  tones  shall  tell 
Of  errant  knight  and  damozelle; 
Of  the  dread  knot  a  wizard  tied, 
In  punishment  of  maiden's  pride, 
In  notes  of  marvel  and  of  fear. 
That  best  may  charm  romantic  ear. 


'  The  Mucking;  bird. 


For  Lucy  loves, — like  Collins,  ill-starr'd  name!' 
Whose  lay's  retpiital  was,  that  tardy  fame. 
Who  bound  no  laurel  round  hir.  living  head. 
Should  hang  it  o'er  his  monument  when  dead, — 
For  Lucy  loves  to  tread  enchanted  strand. 
And  thread,  like  him,  the  maze  of  fairy-land; 
Of  golden  battlements  to  view  the  gleam. 
And  sliunber  soft  by  some  Elysian  stream: 
Such  lay  s  she  loves, — and,  such  my  Lucy's  choice, 
What  other  song  can  claim  her  poet's  voice? 

CANTO  I. 

I. 

Where  is  the  maiden  of  mortal  strain. 

That  may  watch  with  the  baron  of  TriermaiD?2 

She  must  be  lovely  and  constant  and  kind. 

Holy  and  pure  and  humble  of  mind, 

Blith  of  cheer  and  gentle  of  mood. 

Courteous  and  generous  and  noble  of  blood — 

Lovely  as  the  sun's  first  ray. 

When  it  breaks  the  clouds  of  an  April  day; 

Constant  and  true  as  the  widow'd  dove, 

Kind  as  a  minstrel  that  sings  of  love; 

Pure  as  the  fountain  in  rocky  cave. 

Where  never  sun-beam  kissed  the  wave: 

Humble  as  maiden  that  loves  in  vain, 

Holy  as  hermit's  vesper  strain; 

Gentle  as  breeze  that  but  whispers  and  dies. 

Yet  blith  as  the  light  leaves  tliat  dance  in  its  sighs; 

Courteous  as  monarch  the  morn  he  is  crown'd, 

Gen'rous  as  spring-dews  that  bless  the  glad  ground, 

Noble  her  blood  as  the  currents  that  met 

In  the  veins  of  the  noblest  Platagenet 

Such  must  her  form  be,  her  mood,  and  her  strain, 
That  shall  match  with  sir  Roland  of  Trierraain. 

[L 

Sir  Roland  de  Vaux  he  hath  laid  him  to  sleep, 
His  blood  it  was  fevered, his  breathing  was  deep. 
He  had  been  pricking  against  the  Scot, 
The  foray  was  long  and  the  skirmish  hot; 
His  dinted  helm  and  his  buckler's  plight 
Bore  token  of  a  stubborn  fight. 

All  in  the  castle  must  hold  them  still, 
Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest. 
With  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best. 
Till  sleep  sink  down  upon  his  breast. 

Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill. 

III. 
It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost  fog  gray, 
That  like  a  silvery  crape  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head. 
And  faintly  gleam'd  each  painted  pane 
Of  the  lordly  halls  of  Triermain, 

When  that  baron  bold  awoke. 
Starting  he  woke,  and  loudly  did  call. 
Rousing  his  menials  in  bower  and  hall, 

While  hastily  he  spoke. 

IV. 

"  Hearken,  my  minstrels!  WTiich  of  ye  all 
Touch'd  his  harp  with  that  dying  fall. 

So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  faint. 
It  seera'd  an  angel's  whisper'd  call 

To  an  expiring  saint? 
And  hearken,  my  merry  men!  what  time  or  where 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heav'nly  brow 
With  her  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air. 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  ilark  brown  hair, 

That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now'"— 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


349 


Answer'd  him  Richard  de  Brettville;  he 
Was  chief  of  the  baron's  minstrelsy, — 
"  Silent,  noble  chieftain,  we 

Have  sate  since  midnight  close, 
When  such  lulling  sounds  as  the  brooklet  sings, 
Murmur'd  from  our  melting  strings, 

And  liush'd  you  to  repose. 
Had  a  harp-note  sounded  here, 
It  had  caught  ray  watchful  ear. 

Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 

As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh, 
When  she  thinks  her  lover  near." — 
Answer'd  Philip  of  Fasthwaite  tall. 
He  kept  guard  in  the  outer  hall, — 
"  Since  at  eve  our  watch  took  post, 
Not  a  foot  has  thy  portal  cross'd; 

Else  had  I  heard  the  steps,  though  low 
And  light  they  fell  as  when  earth  receives. 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  withered  leaves. 

That  drop  when  no  winds  blow." 
VI. 
"  Then  come  thou  hither,  Henry,  my  page, 
Whom  1  saved  from  sack  of  Hermitage, 
When  that  dark  castle,  tower,  and  spire, 
Rose  to  the  skies  a  pile  of  fire, 

And  redden'd  all  the  Nine-stane  hill, 
■  And  the  shrieks  of  death,  that  wildly  broke 
Thro'  devouring  flame  and  smothering  smoke. 

Made  the  warrior's  heart-blood  chill! 
The  trustiest  thou  ol  all  my  train. 
My  fleetest  courser  thou  must  rein. 

And  ride  to  Lyulph's  tower, 
And  from  the  baron  of  Triermain 

Greet  well  that  sage  of  power. 
He  is  sprung  from  druid  sires. 
And  British  bards  that  tuned  their  lyres 
To  Arthur's  and  Pendragon's  praise. 
And  his  who  sleeps  at  Dunmailraise.^ 
Gifted  like  his  gifted  race, 
He  the  characters  can  trace. 
Graven  deep  in  elder  time 
Upon  Helvellyn's  cliffs  sublime; 
Sign  and  sigil  well  doth  he  know, 
And  can  bode  of  weal  and  wo. 
Of  kingdoms'  fall,  and  fate  of  wars. 
From  mystic  dreams  and  course  of  stars. 
He  shall  tell  if  middle  earth 
To  that  enchanting  shape  gave  birth. 
Or  if 'twas  but  an  airy  thing, 
Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring, 
Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes. 
Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies. 
For,  bj'  the  blessed  rood  I  swear. 
If  that  fair  form  breathe  vital  air, 
No  other  maiden  by  my  side 
Shall  ever  rest  De  Vaux's  bride!" 

VII. 
The  faithful  page  he  mounts  his  steed. 
And  soon  he  cross'd  green  Irthing's  mead, 
Dash'd  o'er  Kirkoswald's  verdant  plain, 
And  Eden  barr'd  his  course  in  vain. 
He  pass'd  red  Penrith's  Table  Round,* 
For  feats  of  chivaliy  renown'd. 
Left  Mvburgh's  mound  and  stones  of  pow'r,^ 
By  druids  raised  in  magic  hour. 
And  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way, 
Till  Ulfo's  lake  beneath  him  lay. 

VIII. 
Onward  he  rode,  the  path-way  still 
Winding  betwi;<t  the  lake  and  hilli 


Till  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock, 

Struck  from  its  base  by  lightning  shock. 

He  saw  the  Jioary  sage: 
The  silver  moss  and  lichen  twined. 
With  fern  and  deer-hair  check'd  and  lined, 

A  cushion  fit  for  age; 
And  o'er  him  shook  the  aspen  tree, 
A  restless  rustling  canopy. 
Then  sprung  young  Henry  from  his  selle, 

And  greeted  Lyulph  grave, 
And  then  his  master's  tale  did  tell, 

And  then  for  counsel  crave. 
The  man  of  years  mused  long  and  deep, 
Of  time's  lost  treasures  taking  keep. 
And  then,  as  rousing  from  a  sleep. 

His  solemn  answer  gave. 

IX. 

"  That  maid  is  born  of  middle  earth. 

And  may  of  man  be  won. 
Though  there  have  glided  since  her  birth. 

Five  hundred  years  and  one. 
But  Where's  the  knight  in  all  the  north. 
That  dare  the  adventure  follow  forth. 
So  perilous  to  knightly  worth. 

In  the  valley  of  saint  John' 
Listen,  youth,  to  what  I  tell. 
And  bind  it  on  thy  memory  well: 
Nor  muse  that  I  cimmence  the  rhyme 
Far  distant  'mid  the  wrecks  of  time. 
The  mystic  tale,  by  bard  and  sage. 
Is  handed  down  from  Merlin's  age." 


ltulph's  tale. 
King  Authuh  has  ridden  from  merry  Carlisle, 

When  pentecosl  was  o'er; 
He  journeyed  like  errant  knight  the  whiU: 
And  sweetly  the  summer  sun  did  smile 

On  mountain,  moss,  and  moor. 
Above  his  solitary  track 
Rose  Glaramara's  ridgy  back. 
Amid  wiiose  yawning  gulfs  the  sun 
Cast  umbered  radian.ce  red  and  dun. 
Though  never  sun-beam  could  discern 
The  surface  of  tliat  sable  tarn,s 
In  whose  black  mirror  you  may  spy 
The  stars,  wiiile  noontide  lights  tiie  skv. 
The  gallant  king,  he  skirted  slill 
The  margin  of  that  miglity  hill; 
Rocks  upon  rocks  incumbent  hung. 
And  torrents,  down  the  gullies  fl      r, 
Join'd  tiie  rude  river  that  brawl'u  on, 
Recoiling  now  from  crag  and  stone. 
Now  diving  deep  from  human  ken, 
And  raving  down  its  darksome  glen. 
The  monarch  judged  this  desert  wild, 
With  such  romantic  ruin  piled, 
VVas  theatre  by  Nature's  hand 
For  feat  of  high  achievement  plann'd. 

XI. 

O  rather  he  chose,  that  monarch  bold, 

On  vent'rous  quest  to  ride. 
In  plate  and  mail,  by  wood  and  wold, 
Tlian,  with  ermine  trapp'd  and  cloth  of  gold. 

In  princely  bower  to  bide; 
The  bursting  crasli  of  a  foeman's  spear, 

As  it  shiver'd  against  his  mail, 
VVas  merrier  music  to  iiis  ear 

Than  courtier's  whisper'd  tale: 
And  the  clash  of  Caliburn  more  dear, 


360 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  on  the  hostile  casque  it  rung, 
Than  :ill  the  lays 
To  tiK-ir  monarch's  praise 
Thai  the  hari)crs  of  Ue;;c(l  sung. 
He  loved  better  to  rest  hy  wood  or  river, 
Than  in  bower  oriiis  briile,  dame  (iucncver; 
For  he  left  that  lady  sn  lovely  of  cheer, 
To  follow  advenlui-es  of  daiij^er  and  fear; 
And  the  frank  heatted  monarch  full  little  did  wot, 
That  she  smiled,  in  his  absence,  on  brave  Lancelot. 

XII. 

He  rode,  till  over  down  and  dell 

The  sliade  more  broad  and  deeper  fell; 

And  tliough  around  the  mountain's  head 

Flow'd  streams  of  purple,  and  gold,  and  red, 

Dark  at  the  base,  unblest  by  beam, 

Frown'd  the  black  rocks,  and  roar'd  the  stream. 

With  toil  tlie  king  his  way  pursued 

By  lonely  Tiirelkeld's  waste  and  wood, 

Till  on  his  course  obliquely  shone 

The  narrow  valley  of  saint  John, 

Down  sloping  to  the  western  sky. 

Where  lingering  sun-beams  love  to  lie. 

Right  glad  to  feel  tliose  beams  again. 

The  king  drew  up  liis  charger's  rein; 

With  gauntlet  raised  he  skreen'd  his  sight, 

As  dazzled  with  the  level  light. 

And,  from  beneath  his  glove  of  mail, 

Scann'd  at  his  ease  the  lovel)'  vale. 

While  'gainst  the  sun  his  armour  bright 

Gleam'd  ruddy  like  the  beacon's  light. 

XIll. 

Paled  in  by  many  a  lofty  hill. 
The  narrow  dale  lay  smooth  and  still. 
And,  down  its  verdant  bosom  led, 
A  winding  brooklet  found  its  bed. 
But,  midmost  of  the  vale,  a  mound 
Arose,  with  airy  turrets  crown'd. 
Buttress  and  rampire's  circling  bound. 

And  mighty  keep  and  tower; 
Seem'd  some  primeval  giant's  hand 
The  castle's  massive  walls  had  plann'd, 
A  ponderous  bulwark,  to  withstand 

Ambitious  JJimrod's  power. 
Above  the  mbated  entrance  slung. 
The  balanced  draw-bridge  trembling  hung, 

As  jealous  of  a  foe; 
Wicket  of  oak,  as  iron  hard. 
With  iron  studded,  clenched,  and  barr'd, 
And  prong'd  portcullis,  joined  to  guard 

The  gloomy  pass  below. 
But  the  gray  walls  no  banners  crown'd, 
Upon  the  watch  tower's  airy  round 
No  warder  stood  his  horn  to  sound, 
No  guard  beside  the  bridge  was  found, 
And,  where  the  Gothic  gateway  frown'd, 

Glanced  neither  bill  nor  bow. 

XIV. 

Beneath  the  castle's  gloomy  pride, 
In  ample  round  did  Arthur  ride 
Three  times;  nor  living  thing  he  spied. 

Nor  heard  a  living  sound. 
Save  that,  awakening  from  her  dream. 
The  owlet  now  began  to  scream, 
In  concert  with  the  rusliing  stream. 

That  washed  the  battled  mound. 
lie  lighted  from  his  goodly  steed. 
And  he  left  him  to  graze  on  bank  and  mead; 
And  slowly  he  climbed  the  narrow  «av, 
That  reached  the  entrance  grim  and  gray. 


And  he  stood  the  outward  arch  below, 
And  his  bugle  horn  prepar'd  to  blow, 

In  simimojis  blith  and  bold. 
Deeming  to  rouse  from  iron  sleep 
The  guardian  of  this  dismal  keep, 

Which  well  he  guess'd  the  hold 
Of  wizard  stern,  or  goblin  grim, 
Or  pagan  of  gigantic  limb. 

The  t)  rant  of  the  weld. 

XV. 

The  ivory  bugle's  golden  tip 

Twice  touched  the  monarch's  manly  lip. 

And  twice  his  hand  withdrew. 
Think  not  but  Arthur's  heart  was  good! 
His  sliield  was  cross'd  by  the  blessed  rood. 
Had  a  pagan  host  before  him  stood, 

He  had  ciiarged  them  through  and  through; 
Yet  the  silence  of  that  ancient  place 
Sunk  on  his  heart,  and  he  paused  a  space 

Ere  yet  his  horn  he  blew. 
But,  instant  as  its  larum  rung, 
The  castle-gale  was  open  flung. 
Portcullis  rose  with  crashing  gi'oan. 
Full  harshly  up  its  groove  ot  stone; 
The  balance  beams  obeyed  the  blast. 
And  down  tiie  trembling  draw-bridge  cast; 
The  vaulted  arch  before  him  lay. 
With  nought  to  bar  the  gloomy  way. 
And  onward  Arthur  paced,  with  hand 
On  Caliburn's  resistless  brand. 

XVI. 
A  hundred  torches,  flashing  bright. 
Dispelled  at  once  the  gloomy  night 

That  loured  along  the  walls. 
And  showed  the  king's  astonished  sight 

The  inmates  of  the  halls. 
Nor  wizard  stern,  nor  goblin  grim. 
Nor  giant  huge  of  form  and  limb. 

Nor  heathen  knight  was  there; 
But  the  cressets,  which  odours  flung  aloft. 
Showed,  by  their  yellow  light  and  soft, 

A  band  of  damsels  fair. 
Onward  they  came,  like  summer  wave 

That  dances  to  the  shore; 
An  hundred  voices  welcome  gave, 

And  welcome  o'er  and  o'er! 
An  hundred  lovely  hands  assail 
The  bucklers  of  the  monarch's  mail. 
And  busy  laboured  to  unhasp 
Rivet  of  steel  and  iron  clasp. 
One  wrapp'd  him  in  a  mantle  fair. 
And  one  flung  odours  on  his  hair; 
His  short  curled  ringlets  one  smooth'd  down. 
One  wreathed  them  with  a  myrtle  crown. 
A  bride,  upon  her  wedding  day. 
Was  tended  ne'er  by  troop  so  gay, 

XVII. 

Loud  laughed  they  all, — the  king,  in  vain. 
With  questions  tasked  the  giddy  train; 
Let  iiim  entreat,  or  crave,  or  call, 
'Twas  one  replj', — loud  laughed  they  all. 
Then  o'er  him  mimic  chains  they  fling. 
Framed  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  spring. 
While  some  their  gentle  force  unite. 
Onward  to  drag  the  wondering  knight. 
Some,  bolder,  urge  his  pace  with  blows, 
Dealt  witli  the  lily  or  the  rose. 
Behind  him  were  in  triumph  borne 
Tiie  warlike  arms  he  late  had  worn. 
Four  of  ihe  train  combined  to  rear 
The  terrors  of  Tintagel's  spear;'' 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAEST. 


351 


Two,  laughing  at  their  lack  of  strength, 
Dragg'd  Caliburn  in  cumbrous  lengthjS 
One,  while  she  aped  a  martial  striile, 
Placed  on  her  brows  the  helmet's  pride. 
Then  scream'd,  'twixt  laughter  and  surprise, 
To  feel  its  depth  o'erwhelm  her  ejes. 
With  revel-shout  and  triumph-song. 
Thus  gayly  marched  the  giddy  throng. 

XVIII. 

Through  many  a  gallery  and  hall 
They  led,  I  ween,  their  royal  thrall; 
At  length,  beneath  a  fair  arcade 
Their  march  and  song  at  once  they  staid. 
The  eldest  maiden  of  the  band, 

(The  lovely  maid  was  scarce  eighteen,) 
Raised,  with  imposing  air,  her  hand, 
And  reverend  silence  did  command, 

On  entrance  of  their  queen; 
And  they  were  mute. — But  as  a  glance 
They  steal  on  Ai-thur's  countenance, 

Bewildered  with  sui-prise. 
Their  smothered  mirth  again  'gan  speak. 
In  archly  dimpled  chin  and  cheek, 

And  laughter-lighted  eyes. 

XIX. 

The  attributes  of  those  high  days 
Now  only  live  in  minstrel  lays. 
For  nature,  now  exhausted,  still 
Was  then  profuse  of  good  and  ill. 
Strength  was  gigantic,  valour  high, 
And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky. 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam, 
As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream. 
Yet,  e'en  in  that  romantic  age, 

Ne'er  were  such  charms  by  mortal  seeu 
As  Arthur's  dazzled  eyes  engage, 
When  forth  on  that  enchanted  stage, 
With  glittering  train  of  maid  and  page, 

Advanced  the  castle's  queen ! 
While  up  the  hall  she  slowly  passed, 
Her  dark  eye  on  the  king  she  cast, 

That  flash'd  expression  strong; 
The  longer  dwelt  that  lingering  look, 
Her  cheek  the  livelier  colour  took. 
And  scarce  the  shame-faced  king  could  brook 

The  gaze  that  lasted  long. 
A  sage,  who  had  that  look  espied, 
Where  kindling  passion  strove  with  pride, 

Had  whisper'd,  "  Prince,  beware! 
From  the  chafed  tyger  rend  the  prey, 
Rush  on  the  lion  when  at  bay, 
Bar  the  fell  dragon's  blighted  way, 

But  shun  that  lovely  snare  I " 

XX. 

At  once,  that  inward  strife  suppress'd. 
The  dame  approached  her  warlike  guest. 
With  greeting  in  that  fair  degree. 
Where  female  pride  and  courtesy 
Are  blended  with  such  passing  art 
As  awes  at  once  and  charms  the  heart. 
A  courtly  welcome  first  she  gave. 
Then  of  his  goodness  'gan  to  crave 

Construction  fair  and  true 
Of  her  light  maidens'  i<lle  mirth. 
Who  drew  from  lonely  glens  their  birth, 
Nor  knew  to  pay  to  stranger  wortii 

And  dignity  their  due; 
And  then  she  pray'd  tiiat  he  would  rest 
That  night  her  castle's  honoured  guest. 
The  monarch  meetly  thanks  express'd; 


The  banquet  rose  at  her  behest; 
With  lay  and  tale,  and  laugh  and  jest. 
Apace  the  evening  flew. 

XXI. 

The  lady  sate  the  monarch  by, 
Now  in  her  turn  abashed  and  shy. 
And  with  indifference  seemed  to  hear 
The  toys  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 
Her  bearing  modest  was  and  fair. 
Yet  shadows  of  constraint  were  there, 
That  show'd  an  over-caulious  care 

Some  inward  thougiit  to  iiide; 
Oft  did  she  pause  in  full  reply. 
And  oft  cast  down  her  large  dark  eye. 
Oft  check 'd  the  soft  voluptuous  sigh. 

That  heav'd  lier  bosom's  pride. 
Slight  symptoms  these;  but  sliepherds  know 
How  hot  the  mid-day  sun  shall  glow, 

From  the  mist  of  morning  sky; 
And  so  the  wily  monarch  guess'd. 
That  this  assumed  restraint  express'd 
More  ardent  passions  in  the  breast. 

Than  ventuied  to  the  eye. 
Closer  he  press'd,  wiiile  beakers  rang. 
While  maidens  laughed  and  minstrels  sang. 

Still  closer  to  her  ear — 
But  why  pursue  the  common  tale? 
Or  wherefore  show  how  knights  prevail 

When  ladies  dare  to  hear' 
Or  wherefore  trace,  fi-om  what  slight  cause 
Its  source  one  tyrant  passion  draws. 

Till,  mastering  all  within. 
Where  lives  the'man  tliat  has  not  tried, 
How  mirth  can  into  folly  glide, 

And  folly  into  sin! 

CANTO  II. 

ltulph's  tale,  continueb. 
I. 

Another  day,  another  day. 
And  yet  another,  glides  away ! 
The  Saxon  stern,  the  pagan  Dane, 
Maraud  on  Britain's  shores  again. 
Arthur,  of  Christendom  the  flower, 
Lies  loitering  in  a  lady's  bower; 
The  horn,  that  foemen  wont  to  fear. 
Sounds  but  to  wake  the  Cumbrian  deer. 
And  Caliburn,  the  British  pride, 
Hangs  useless  by  a  lover's  side. 

II. 
Another  day,  another  day, 
And  yet  another,  glides  away! 
Heroic  plans  in  pleasure  drown'd, 
He  thinks  not  of  the  Table  Round; 
In  lawless  love  dissolved  his  life. 
He  thinks  not  of  his  beauteous  wife; 
Better  he  loves  to  snatch  a  flower 
From  bosom  of  his  paramour. 
Than  from  a  Saxon  knigiit  to  wrest 
The  honours  of  his  heathen  crest; 
Better  to  wreath,  'mid  tresses  brown. 
The  heron's  plume  her  hawk  struck  down, 
Than  o'er  the  altar  give  to  flow 
The  banners  of  a  Paynim  foe. 
Thus,  week  by  week,  and  day  by  dav, 
His  life  inglorious  glides  awav;  ' 
But  slie,  that  sooths  his  (h-eam,  wilh  fear 
Beholds  liis  hour  of  waking  near. 

ni. 

Much  force  have  mortal  charms  to  stay 
Our  peace  in  Virtue's  toilsome  way; 


352 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


But  Guendolen's  might  far  outshine 
Each  maiil  of  merely  mortal  line. 
Her  mother  was  of  human  birth, 
Her  sire  a  sjenie  of  tlie  earth, 
In  (lavs  of  old  deemed  to  preside 
O'er  lovers'  w  iles  and  beauty's  pride. 
By  youths  and  virgins  worsiiipped  long, 
With  festive  dance  and  choral  song. 
Till,  when  the  cross  to  Hritain  came, 
On  heathen  altars  died  the  flame. 
Now,  deep  in  Wastdale's  solitude, 
The  downfall  of  his  rites  he  rued. 
And,  horn  of  his  resentment  heir, 
He  trained  to  guile  that  lady  fair. 
To  sink  in  slothful  sin  and  shame 
The  champions  of  the  christian  name. 
NX'ell-skilled  to  keep  vain  thoughts  alive. 
And  all  to  promise,  nought  to  give. 
The  timid  youth  had  hope  in  store. 
The  bold  and  pressing  gained  no  more. 
As  wildered  children  leave  their  home, 
After  the  rainbow's  arch  to  roam, 
Her  lovers  bartered  fair  esteem, 
Faith,  fame,  and  honour,  for  a  dream. 

IV. 
Her  sire's  soft  arts  the  soul  to  tame 
She  practised  thus— till  Arthur  came, 
Then  frail  humanity  had  part. 
And  all  the  mother  claimed  her  heart. 
Forgot  each  rule  her  father  gave. 
Sunk  from  a  princess  to  a  slave, 
Too  late  must  Guendolen  deplore. 
He,  that  has  all,  can  hope  no  more ! 
Now,  must  she  see  her  lover  strain. 
At  every  turn,  her  feeble  chain; 
Watch,  to  new-bind  each  knot,  and  shrink 
To  view  each  fast-decaying  link. 
Art  she  invokes  to  nature's  aid, 
Her  vest  to  zone,  her  locks  to  braid; 
Each  varied  pleasure  heard  her  call, 
The  feast,  the  tourney,  and  the  ball: 
Her  storied  lore  she  next  applies. 
Taxing  her  mind  to  aid  her  eyes; 
Now  more  than  mortal  wise,  and  then 
In  female  softness  sunk  again; 
Now,  raptured,  with  each  wish  complying, 
With  feigned  reluctance  now  denying; 
Each  charm  she  varied,  to  retain 
A  varying  heart— and  all  in  vain! 

Thus  in  the  garden's  narrow  bound, 
Flank'd  by  some  castle's  gothic  round. 
Fain  would  the  artist's  skill  provide, 
The  limits  of  his  realm  to  hide. 
The  walks  in  labyrinths  he  twines. 
Shade  after  shade  with  skill  combines. 
With  many  a  varied  flowery  knot. 
And  copse  and  arbour  deck  the  spot. 
Tempting  the  hasty  foot  to  stay. 

And  linger  on  the  lovely  way 

Vain  art!  vain  hope!  'tis  fruitless  all! 
At  length  we  reach  the  bounding  wall, 
And,  sick  of  flower  and  trim-dressed  tree. 
Long  for  rough  glades  and  forest  free. 

\  I. 
Three  summer  months  had  scantly  flown, 
When  Arthur,  in  embarrassed  tone, 
S|ioke  of  bis  liegemen  and  his  throne; 
Said,  all  too  long  had  been  his  stay. 
And  duties,  which  a  monarch  sway. 
Duties  imknown  to  humbler  men, 
Must  tear  her  knight  from  Guendolen.— 


She  listen'd  silently  the  while. 
Her  mood  express'd  in  bitter  smile; 
Beneatii  her  eye  must  Arthur  quail. 
And  oft  resume  the  unfinish'd  tale, 
Confessing,  by  his  downcast  eye, 
Tiie  wrong  he  sought  to  justify. 
He  ceased.    A  moment  mute  she  gazed, 
And  then  her  looks  to  heaven  she  raised; 
One  palm  her  temples  veil'd,  to  hide 
The  tear  that  sprung  in  spite  of  pride; 
The  other  for  an  instant  press'd 
The  foldings  of  her  silken  vest! 

VII. 

At  her  reproachful  sign  and  look. 

The  hint  the  monarch's  conscience  took. 

Eager  he  spoke — "  No,  lady,  no! 

Deem  not  of  British  Artlmr  so. 

Nor  think  he  can  deserter  prove 

To  the  dear  pledge  of  nmtual  love. 

1  swear  by  sceptre  and  by  sword. 

As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord. 

That  if  a  boy  shall  claim  my  care. 

That  boy  is  born  a  kingdom's  heir; 

But,  if  a  maiden  fate  allows, 

To  choose  that  maid  a  fitting  spouse, 

A  summer  day  in  lists  shall  strive 

My  knights, — the  bravest  knights  alive, — 

And  he,  the  best  and  bravest  tried. 

Shall  Arthur's  daughter  claim  for  bride."— 

He  spoke,  witli  voice  resolved  and  high — 

The  lady  deigned  him  not  reply. 

Vlll. 

At  dawn  of  morn,  ere  on  the  brake 
His  matins  did  a  warbler  make. 
Or  stirr'd  his  wing  to  brush  away 
A  single  dew-drop  from  the  spray. 
Ere  yet  a  sunbeam,  through  the  mist, 
The  castle  battlements  had  klss'd, 
The  gates  revolve,  the  draw-bridge  falls, 
And  Arthur  sallies  from  the  walls. 
Doff'd  his  soft  garb  of  Persia's  loom. 
And  steel  from  spur  to  helmet-plume. 
His  Lybian  steed  full  proudly  trode. 
And  joyful  neighed  beneath  his  load. 
The  monarch  gave  a  passing  sigh 
To  penitence  and  pleasures  by. 
When,  lo!  to  his  astonished  ken 
Appeared  the  form  of  Guendolen. 

IX. 

Beyond  the  outmost  wall  she  stood. 

Attired  like  huntress  of  the  wood; 

Sandall'd  her  feet,  her  ancles  bare. 

And  eagle  plumage  decked  her  hair; 

Firm  was  her  look,  her  bearing  bold, 

And  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  gold. 

"Thou  goest!"  she  said,  "and  ne'er  again 

Must  we  two  meet,  in  joy  or  pain. 

Full  fain  would  1  this  hour  delay, 

Though  weak  the  wish — yet,  wilt  thou  stay?- 

No!  thou  look'st  forward.    Still  attend, r— 

Part  we  like  lover  and  like  friend." — 

She  raised  tiie  cup — "  Not  this  the  juice 

The  sluggish  vines  of  earth  produce; 

Pledge  we,  at  parting,  in  the  draught 

Which  genii  love!" — she  said,  and  quafi''d; 

And  strange  unwonted  lustres  fly 

From  her  flushed  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 

X. 

The  courteous  monarch  bent  him  low, 
And,  stooping  down  from  saddle-bow, 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIX. 


353 


Lifted  the  cup,  in  act  to  drink. 
A  drop  escaped  the  goblet's  brink — 
Intense  as  liquid  fire  from  hell, 
Upon  the  charger's  neck  it  fell. 
Screaming  with  agony  and  fright, 
He  bolted  twenty  feet  upright — 
— The  peasants  still  can  show  the  dint, 
■Where  his  hoofs  lighted  nn  the  flint. — 
From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew,' 
Scattering  a  shower  of  fiery  dew. 
That  burned  and  blighted  where  it  fell! 
The  frantic  steed  rushed  up  the  dell. 
As  whistles  from  the  bow  the  reed; 
Nor  bit  nor  rein  could  check  his  speed 

Until  he  gained  the  hill; 
Then  breath  and  sinew  failed  apace. 
And,  reeling  from  the  desperate  race, 

He  stood,  exhausted,  still. 
The  monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy. 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky;2 
But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frowned. 
The  lonely  streamlet  brawled  around 
A  tufted  knull,  where  dimly  shone 
Fragments  of  rock  and  rifted  stone. 
Musing  on  this  strange  hap  the  while, 
The  king  wends  back  to  fair  Carlisle; 
And  cares,  that  cumber  royal  sway. 
Wore  memory  of  the  past  away. 

XL 

Full  fifteen  years,  and  more,  were  sped, 

Each  brought  new  wreaths  to  Arthur's  head. 

Twelve  bloody  fields,  with  glory  fought, 

The  Saxons  to  subjection  brought;^ 

Rython,  the  mighty  giant,  slain 

By  his  good  brand,  relieved  Bretagne; 

The  Pictish  Gillamore  in  fight. 

And  Roman  Lucius,  owned  his  might; 

And  wide  were  through  the  world  renowned 

The  glories  of  his  Table  Round. 

Each  knight,  who  sought  adventurous  fame, 

To  the  bold  court  of  Britain  came, 

And  all  who  sufl^ered  causeless  wrong. 

From  tyrant  proud  or  failour  strong. 

Sought  Arthur's  presence  to  complain. 

Nor  there  for  aid  implored  in  vain. 

XIL 

For  this  the  king,  with  pomp  and  pride. 
Held  solemn  court  at  Whitsuntide, 

And  summoned  prince  and  peer. 
All  who  owed  homage  for  their  land. 
Or  who  craved  knighthood  from  his  hand, 
Or  who  had  succour  to  demand. 

To  come  from  far  and  near. 
At  such  high  tide,  where  glee  and  game 
Mingled  with  feats  of  martial  fame. 
For  many  a  stranger  champion  came 

In  lists  to  break  a  spear; 
And  not  a  kniglit  of  Arthur's  host. 
Save  that  he  trod  some  foreign  coast, 
But  at  this  feast  of  Pentecost; 

Before  him  must  appear. — 
Ah,  minstrels!  wiieu  tlie  Table  Round 
Arose,  witli  all  its  warriors  crow ned, 
There  was  a  theme  for  bards  to  sound 

In  triumph  to  their  string! 
Five  huiidred  years  are  past  and  gone, 
But  Time  shall  draw  his  dying  groan, 
Ei"e  he  behold  llie  British  Uirone 

Begiil  with  such  a  ring! 


XIII. 

The  heralds  named  the  appointea  spot, 
As  Caerleon  or  Camelot, 

Or  Carlise  fair  and  free. 
At  Penrith,  now,  the  feast  Mas  set. 
And  in  fair  Eamont's  vale  were  met 

The  flower  cf  chivalry. 
There  Galaad  sate  witii  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face; 
There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace,* 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there: 
Anil  Uinadam  with  lively  glance. 
And  Lanval  with  the  fairy  lance. 
And  Mordred  with  his  look  askauoce 

Brunor  and  Bevidere. 
Why  should  I  tell  of  numbers  more^ 
Sir  Cay,  sir  Banier,  and  sir  Bore, 

Sir  Carodac  the  keen, 
The  gentle  Gawain's  courteous  lore, 
Heeter  de  Mares  of  Pellinore, 
And  Lancelot,  that  evermore 

Look'd  slol'n-wise  on  the  queen. 5 
XIV. 
When  wine  and  mirth  did  most  abouno, 
And  harpers  play'd  their  blithest  round, 
A  shrilly  trumpet  sliook  the  ground. 

And  marshals  cleared  the  ring, 
A  maiden,  on  a  palfrey  wliite. 
Heading  a  band  of  damsels  bright, 
Paced  through  the  circle,  to  alight 

And  kneel  before  the  king. 
Arthur,  with  strong  emotion,  saw 
Her  graceful  boldness  clieck'd  by  awe. 
Her  dress  like  huntress  of  the  wold. 
Her  bow  and  baldrick  trapped  with  gola, 
Her  sandall'd  feet,  her  ancles  bare, 
And  the  eagle  plume  that  deck'd  her  hair. 
Graceful  her  veil  she  backward  flung 
The  king,  as  from  his  scat  he  sprung. 

Almost  cried,  "  Guendolen!" 
But  'twas  a  face  more  frank  and  wild. 
Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  child, 
W'here  less  of  magic  beauty  smiled 

Than  of  the  race  of  men; 
And  in  tlie  forehead's  haughty  grace. 
The  lines  of  Britain's  royal  race, 

Pendragon's,  you  might  ken. 

xy. 

Faltering,  yet  gracefully,  she  said — 
"  Great  prince !  behold  an  orphan  maid, 
In  her  departed  mother's  name, 
A  father's  vowed  protection  claim  ! 
The  vow  was  sworn  in  desert  lone, 
in  the  deep  valley  ot  saint  John." — 
At  once  the  king  the  suppliant  raised. 
And  kissed  her  brow,  iier  bt-auty  praise<l; 
His  vow,  he  said,  should  well  be  kept. 
Ere  in  the  sea  the  sun  was  dipp'd; 
Then,  conscious,  glanced  ujion  his  queen: 
But  she,  unruffled  at  the  scene, 
Of  human  frailty  construed  mild. 
Looked  upon  Lancelot,  and  smiled. 

XAT. 

"  Up'  up!  each  knight  of  gallant  cresil 

Take  buckler,  spear,  and  brand  ! 
He  that  to-day  shall  bear  him  best. 

Shall  win  my  Gyneth's  hand. 
And  Arthur's  daughter,  whe!i  a  bride. 

Shall  biiuga  nnble  <lower; 
Both  fair  Strath-Clxde  and  Reged  wide. 

And  Carlisle  town  and  tower." — 


354 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  miglit  you  hear  each  valiant  knight, 

To  pase  and  S(|uirc  that  cried, 
"  Hringiny  armour  hrij;ht,  and  my  courser  wight  I 
'Ti's  not  each  (hiy  that  a  warrior's  might 

May  win  a  royal  bride." — 
Then  cloaks  and  caps  of  maintenance 

In  haste  aside  they  Hing; 
The  helmets  glance,'  and  gleams  the  lance, 

And  the  steel-weaved  hauberks  ring. 
Small  care  had  tiiey  of  their  peaceful  array, 

They  miglit  gather  in  that  wolde: 
For  brake  and  bramble  glittered  gay, 

With  pearls  and  clutli  of  gold. 

XVII. 

Within  trumpet-sound  of  the  Table  Round 

Were  fifty  champions  free, 
And  they  all  arise  to  fight  that  prize, — 

They  all  arise,  but  tliree. 
Nor  love's  fond  troth,  nor  wedlock's  oath. 

One  gallant  could  withhold. 
For  priests  will  allow  of  a  broken  vow, 

For  penance  or  for  gold. 
But  sigh  an<l  glance  from  ladies  bright 

Among  the  troop  were  thrown. 
To  plead  their  right,  and  true-love  plight. 

And  i)lain  of  honour  flown. 
The  knights  they  busied  them  so  fast. 

With  buckling  spur  and  belt. 
That  sigh  and  look  by  ladies  cast. 

Were  neither  seen  nor  felt. 
From  pleading  or  upbraiding  glance. 

Each  gallant  turns  aside. 
And  only  thought,  "  If  speeds  my  lance, 

A  queen  becomes  my  bride! 
She  has  fair  Strath-Clyde,  and  Reged  wide, 

And  Carlisle  tower  and  town; 
She  is  the  loveliest  maid,  beside. 

That  ever  heir'd  a  crown." — 
So  in  haste  their  coursers  they  bestride. 

And  strike  their  visors  down. 

XVIII. 

The  champions,  arm'd  in  martial  sort. 

Have  throng'd  into  the  list, 
And  but  three  knights  of  Arthur's  court 

Are  from  tlie  tourney  miss'd. 
And  still  these  lovers'  fame  survives 

For  faith  so  constant  siiown. 
There  were  two  who  lov'd  their  neighbours'  wives 

And  one  who  loved  his  own.'' 
The  first  was  Lancelot  de  Lac, 

The  second  Trislrem  bold, 
The  third  was  valiant  Carodac, 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold,'' 
What  time,  of  all  king  Arthur's  crew 

(Thereof  came  jeer  and  laugh,) 
He,  as  the  mate  of  lady  true. 

Alone  the  cup  could  quaff. 
Though  envy's  tongue  would  fain  surmise. 

That,  but  for  very  shame, 
Sir  Carodac,  to  fight  that  prize. 

Had  given  both  cup  and  dame. 
Yet,  since  but  one  of  that  fair  court 

Was  true  to  wedlock's  shrine. 
Brand  him  who  will  with  base  report. 

He  shall  be  free  from  mine. 

XIX. 

Now  caracol'd  the  steeds  in  air. 
Now  plumes  and  pennons  wanlon'd  fair, 
As  all  around  the  lists  so  wide 
In  panoply  the  champions  ride. 


King  Arthur  saw,  with  startled  eye. 
The  flower  of  cliivalry  march  by. 
The  bulwark  of  the  christian  creed, 
The  kingdom's  shield  in  hour  of  need. 
Too  late  lie  thought  him  of  the  wo 
Might  from  their  civil  conflict  flow: 
For  well  he  knew  they  would  not  part 
Till  cold  was  many  a  gallant  heart. 
His  hasty  vow  he  'gan  to  rue. 
And  Gyneth  then  apart  he  drew; 
To  her  his  leachng-slafl'resign'd, 
But  added  caution  e;rave  and  kind. 

Sx. 

"  Thou  see'st,  my  child,  as  promise-bounu, 

I  bid  the  trump  for  tourney  sound, 

Take  thou  my  warder,  as  the  queen 

And  umpire  of  tlie  martial  scene; 

But  mark  thou  this: — as  beauty  bright, 

Is  polar  star  to  valiant  knight. 

As  at  her  word  his  sword  he  draws, 

His  fairest  guerdon  her  applause. 

So  gentle  maid  should  never  ask 

Of  knighthood  vain  and  dangerous  task* 

And  Beauty's  eye  should  ever  be 

Like  the  twin  stars  that  sooth  the  sea. 

And  Beauty's  breath  should  whisper  peace, 

And  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 

I  tell  thee  this,  lest  all  too  far 

These  knights  urge  tourney  into  war. 

Blith  at  the  trumpet  let  them  go, 

And  fairly  counter  blow  for  blow; 

No  striplings  these,  who  succour  need 

For  a  razed  helm  or  fallen  steed. 

But,  Gyneth,  when  the  strife  grows  warm 

And  threatens  deiith  or  deadly  harm, 

Tiiy  sire  entreats,  thy  king  commands. 

Thou  drop  the  warder  from  thy  hands. 

Trust  thou  thy  father  with  thy  fate. 

Doubt  not  he  choose  lliee  fitting  mate: 

Nor  be  it  said,  through  Gyneth's  pride 

A  rose  of  Arthur's  chaplet  died." — 

XXI. 
A  proud  and  discontented  glow 
O'er  shadowed  Gyneth's  brow  of  snow; 

Siie  put  the  warder  by: — 
"  Reserve  thy  boon,  my  liege,"  she  said, 
"  Thus  chattered  down  and  limited. 
Debased  and  narrowed,  for  a  maid 

Of  less  degree  than  I. 
No  petty  chief,  but  holds  his  heir 
At  a  more  honoured  price  and  rare 

Than  Britain's  king  holds  me! 
Although  the  sun-burn'd  maid,  for  dower. 
Has  but  her  father's  rugged  tower. 

His  barren  liiU  and  lea. 
King  Arthur  swore,  'by  crown  and  sword, 
'  As  belted  knigiit,  and  Britain's  lord, 
'  That  a  wiiole  summer's  day  should  strive 
'  His  knights,  the  bravest  knights  alive!' 
Recal  thine  oath!  and  to  her  glen 
Poor  Gyneth  can  return  agen: 
Not  on  thy  (laughter  will  the  stain. 
That  soils  thy  sword  and  crown,  remiiii. 
But  thin'K  not  she  will  e'er  be  bride 
Save  to  the  bravest,  proved  and  tried; 
Pendragon's  daughter  will  not  fear 
For  clashing  sword  or  splintered  spear. 

Nor  shrink  though  blood  should  flow; 
And  all  too  well  sad  Guendolen 
Hath  taught  the  faithlessness  of  men. 
That  child  of  hers  should  pity,  when 

Their  meed  they  undergo." — 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


355 


\ 


xxu. 

He  frowned  and  sighed,  the  monarch  bold: — 

*'  I  give — what  1  may  not  withhold; 

For,  not  for  danger,  dread,  or  death, 

Must  British  Arthur  break  his  faith. 

Too  late  I  mark,  thy  mother's  art 

Hath  taught  thee  this  relentless  part. 

I  blame  her  not,  for  she  had  wrong, 

But  not  to  these  my  faults  belong. 

Use,  then,  the  warder  as  thou  wilt; 

But  trust  me  that,  if  life  be  spilt. 

In  Arthur's  love,  in  Arthur's  grace, 

Gyneth  shall  lose  a  daughter's  place. "^ 

With  that  he  turn'd  his  head  aside, 

^or  brooked  to  gaze  upon  her  pride. 

As,  with  the  truncheon  raised,  she  sate 

The  arbitress  of  mortal  fate; 

Nor  brooked  to  mark,  in  ranks  disposed. 

How  the  bold  champions  stood  opposed; 

For  shrill  the  ti-umpet-flourish  fell 

Upon  his  ear  like  passing  bell! 

Then  first  from  sight  of  martial  fray 

Did  Britain's  hero  turn  away. 

XXIII. 

But  Gyneth  heard  the  clangor  high. 
As  hears  the  hawk  the  partridge-crj'. 
Oh,  blame  her  not  I  the  blood  was  hers. 
That  at  the  trumpet's  summons  stirs! — 
And  e'en  the  gentlest  female  eye 
Alight  the  brave  strife  of  cliivalry 

Awhile  unti'oubled  view; 
So  well  accomplished  w  as  each  knight. 
To  strike  and  to  defend  in  fight. 
Their  meeting  was  a  goodly  sight, 

While  plate  and  mail  held  true. 
The  lists  with  painted  plumes  were  strewn. 
Upon  the  wind  at  random  thrown. 
But  helm  and  breast-plate  bloodless  shone; 
It  seemed  their  feathered  crests  alone 

Should  this  encounter  rue. 
And  ever,  as  the  combat  grows, 
The  trumpet's  cheery  voice  arose. 
Like  lark's  shrill  song  the  flourish  tiows, 
Heard  while  the  gale  of  April  blows 

The  merry  greenwood  through. 

XXIV. 

But  soon  to  earnest  grew  their  game. 

The  spears  drew  blood,  the  swords  struck  flame, 

And,  horse  and  man,  to  ground  there  came 

Knights  who  shall  rise  no  more ! 
Gone  was  the  pride  the  war  that  graced. 
Gay  shields  were  cleft,  and  crests  defaced. 
And  steel  coats  riven,  and  helms  unbraced, 

And  pennons  streamed  with  gore. 
Gone,  too,  were  fence  and  fair  array. 
And  desperate  strength  made  deadly  way 
At  random  through  the  bloody  fray. 
And  blows  were  dealt  with  head-long  sway, 

Unheeding  where  they  fell; 
And  now  the  trumpet's  clamours  seem 
Like  the  shrill  sea-bird's  wailing  scream. 
Heard  o'er  the  whirlpool's  gulfing  stream. 

The  sinking  seaman's  knell! 

XX\. 

Seemed  in  this  dismal  hour,  that  Fate 
Would  Camlan's  ruin  antedate. 

And  spare  dark  Mordred's  crime; 
Already  gasping  on  the  ground 
Lie  twenty  of  the  Table  Fiound, 

Of  chivalry  the  prime. 


Arthur,  in  anguish,  tore  away 

From  head  and  beard  his  tresses  grajj. 

And  she,  proud  Gyneth,  felt  dismay, 

And  quaked  with  ruth  and  fear; 
But  still  she  deem'd  her  mother's  shade 
Hung  o'er  the  tumult,  and  forbade 
The  sign  that  had  the  slaughter  staid. 

And  chid  the  rising  tear. 
Then  Bnmor,  Taulus,  Mador,  fell, 
Helias  the  White,  and  Lionel, 

And  many  a  champion  more; 
Rochemoirt  and  Dinadam  are  down. 
And  Ferrand  of  the  Forest  Brown 

Lies  gasping  in  his  gore. 
Vanoc,  by  mighty  Morolt  press'd 
Even  to  the  confines  of  the  list. 
Young  Vanoc  of  the  beardless  face, 
(Fame  spoke  the  youth  of  Merlin's  race,) 
O'erpowered  at  Gyneth's  footstool  bled,' 
His  heart's  blood  died  lier  sandals  red. 
But  then  the  sky  was  overcast, 
Tiien  howled  at  once  a  whirlwind's  blast, 

And,  rent  by  sudden  throes, 
Yawn'd  in  mid  lists  the  quaking  earth. 
And  from  the  gulf, — tremendous  birth' 

The  form  of  Merlin  rose. 

XXVL 

Sternly  the  wizard  prophet  eyed 
The  dreary  lists  with  slaugliter  dyed. 

And  sternly  raised  his  hand: — 
"  Madmen,"  he  said,  "  your  strife  forbear! 
And  thou,  fair  cause  of  mischief,  hear 

The  doom  thy  fates  demand ! 
Long  shall  close  in  stony  sleep 
Eyes  for  ruth  that  would  not  weep; 
Iron  lethargv'  shall  seal 
Heart  that  pity  scorned  to  feel. 
Yet,  because  thy  mother's  art 
Warp'd  thine  unsuspicious  heart, 
And  for  love  of  Arthur's  race. 
Punishment  is  blent  with  grace. 
Thou  shalt  bear  thy  penance  lone, 
In  the  valley  of  saint  John, 
And  this  weird*  shall  overtake  thee; — 
Sleep,  until  a  Tinight  shall  wake  thee, 
For  feats  of  arms  as  far  renowned 
As  warrior  of  the  Table  Round. 
Long  endurance  of  thy  slumber 
^Vell  may  teach  the  world  to  number 
All  their  woes  from  Gyneth's  pride. 
When  the  Red  Cross  champions  died."— 

xxvn. 

As  Merlin  speaks,  on  Gyneth's  eye 
Slumber's  load  begins  to  lie; 
Fear  and  anger  vainly  strive 
Still  to  keep  its  light  alive. 
Twice,  with  effbrt  and  with  pause. 
O'er  her  brow  her  hand  she  draws; 
Twice  her  strength  in  vain  she  tries, 
From  the  fatal  ch;ur  to  rise; 
Merlin's  magic  doom  is  spoken, 
Vanoc's  death  must  now  be  wroken. 
Slow  the  dark-fringed  eve-lids  fall, 
Curtaining  each  azure  ball. 
Slowly  as  on  summer  eves 
Violets  fold  their  dusk)'  leaves. 
The  weighty  baton  of  command 
Now  bears  down  her  sinking  hand, 
On  her  shoulder  droops  her  head; 
Net  of  pearl  and  golden  thread, 

•  Doom. 


356 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Kurstiiig;,  s^ave  her  locks  to  flow 
O'er  her  arm  and  breast  of  snow. 
And  so  lovely  seem'd  she  there, 
Spell-bound  in  her  ivory  chair, 
That  her  angry  sire,  repenting, 
Craved  stern  Merlin  tor  relenting. 
And  the  champions,  for  her  sake, 
Would  again  the  contest  wake; 
Till,  in  necromantic  night, 
Gvneth  vanish'd  from  their  sight. 

XXVIII. 
Still  she  bears  her  weird  alone, 
In  the  valley  of  saint  John; 
And  her  semblance  oft  will  seem 
Mingling  in  a  champion's  dream. 
Of  her  weary  lot  to  plain. 
And  crave  his  aid  to  burst  her  chain. 
While  her  wondrous  tale  was  new, 
Warriors  to  her  rescue  drew, 
Kast  and  west,  and  south  and  north. 
From  the  Liftey,  Thames,  and  Forth. 
Most  have  sought  in  vain  the  glen. 
Tower  nor  castle  could  they  ken; 
Not  at  every  time  or  tide, 
Nor  by  every  eye,  descried. 
Fast  and  vigil  must  be  borne. 
Many  a  night  in  watching  worn. 
Ere  an  eye  of  mortal  powers 
Can  discern  those  magic  towers. 
Of  the  persevering  few, 
Some  from  hopeless  task  withdrew. 
When  they  read  the  dismal  threat 
Graved  upon  the  gloomy  gate. 
Few  have  braved  the  yawning  door. 
And  those  few  return'd  no  more. 
In  the  lapse  of  time  forgot. 
Well  nigh  lost  is  Gyneth's  lot; 
Sound  her  sleep  as  in  the  tomb. 
Till  waken'd  by  the  trump  of  doom. 

EXD  OF  LYULPU'S  TALE. 
I. 

Here  pause,  my  tale;  for  all  too  soon, 
My  Lucy,  comes  the  hour  of  noon. 
Already  from  thy  lofty  dome 
Its  courtly  inmates  'gin  to  roam, 
And,  each,  to  kill  the  goodly  day 
That  God  has  granted  them,  his  way 
Of  lazy  sauntering  has  sought; 

Lordings  and  witlings  not  a  few. 
Incapable  of  doing  aught. 

Yet  ill  at  ease  with  nought  to  do. 
Here  is  no  longer  place  for  me; 
For,  Lucy,  thou  would'st  blush  to  see 
Some  phantom,  fashionably  thin. 
With  limb  of  lath  and  kerchief'd  chin, 
And  lounging  gape,  or  sneering  grin. 
Steal  sudden  on  our  privacy. 
And  how  should  I,  so  humbly  born, 
Endure  the  graceful  spectre's  scorn! 
Faith!  ill  I  fear,  while  conjuring  wand 
Of  English  oak  is  hard  at  hand. 

11. 
Or  grant  the  hour  he  all  too  soon 
For  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon, 
And  grant  the  lounger  seldom  strays 
Beyond  the  smooth  and  gravell'd  maze, 
Laud  we  the  gods,  that  Fashion's  train 
Holds  hearts  of  more  adventui-ous  strain. 
Artists  are  hers,  who  scorn  to  trace 
Their  rules  from  Nature's  boundless  grace, 


Hut  their  right  paramount  assert 
To  limit  her  by  pedant  art, 
Damning  whate'er  of  vast  and  fair 
Exceeds  a  canvass  three  feet  square. 
This  thicket,  for  \.\\k\v  giimMion  fit, 
May  furnish  such  a  happy  hit. 
Bards,  too,  are  her,s,  wont  to  recite 
Their  own  sweet  lays  by  waxen  light. 
Half  in  the  salver's  tinkle  drown'd. 
While  the  chasse-cafe  glides  around! 
And  such  may  hither  secret  stray, 
To  labour  an  extempore: 
Or  sportsman,  with  his  boisterous  hullo, 
INIay  here  his  wiser  spaniel  follow, 
.  Or  stage-struck  Juliet  may  presume 
To  choose  this  bower  for  tiring  room; 
And  we  alike  must  shun  regard. 
From  painter,  player,  sportsman,  bard. 
Insects  that  skim  in  Fashion's  sky, 
Wasp,  blue-bottle,  or  butterfly, 
Lucj',  have  all  alarms  for  us. 
For  all  can  hum  and  all  can  buz. 

III. 

But  oh,  my  Lucy,  say  how  long 

We  still  must  Oread  this  trifling  throng, 

And  stoop  to  hide,  with  coward  art, 

The  genuine  feelings  of  the  heart! 

No  parents  thine,  whose  just  command 

Should  rule  their  child's  obedient  hand; 

Th)"  guardians,  with  contending  voice, 

Press  each  his  individual  choice. 

And  which  is  Lucy's! — Can  it  be 

That  ])uny  fop,  trimm'd  cap-a-pie, 

Who  loves  in  the  saloon  to  show 

The  arms  that  never  knew  a  foe; 

Whose  sabre  trails  along  the  ground, 

Whose  legs  in  shapeless  boots  are  drown'd; 

A  new  Achilles,  sure, — the  steel 

Fled  from  his  breast  to  fence  his  heel; 

One,  for  the  simple  manly  grace 

That  wont  to  deck  our  martial  race, 

Who  comes  in  foreign  trashery 

Of  tinkling  chain  and  spur, 
A  walking  haberdashery. 

Of  feathers,  lace,  and  fur: 
In  Rowley's  antiquated  phrase. 
Horse-milliner*  of  modern  days. 

IV. 

Or  is  it  he,  the  wordy  youth. 

So  early  train'd  for  statesman's  part. 
Who  talks  of  honour,  faith,  and  truth, 
As  themes  that  he  has  got  by  heart; 
Whose  ethics  Chesterfield  can  teach, 
Whose  logic  is  from  Single-speech; 
Who  scorns  the  meanest  thought  to  vent, 
Save  in  the  phrase  of  parliament; 
Who,  in  a  tale  of  cat  and  mouse. 
Calls  "  order,"  and  "  divides  the  house," 
Who  "  craves  permission  to  reply," 
Whose  "  noble  friend  is  in  his  eye;" 
Whose  loving  tender  some  have  reckon'd 
A  motion,  you  should  gladly  second? 

V. 

What,  neither?  Can  there  be  a  third. 
To  such  resistless  swains  preferr'd? — 
O  why,  my  Lucj^,  turn  aside. 
With  that  quick  glance  of  injured  pride? 


•  "The  trammels  of  the  palfraye  pleased  his  sight, 
And  the  horse-millanere  nis  head  with  roses  dight." 

Rowley's  Ballads  ofCkaritie. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


357 


Forgive  me,  love,  I  cannot  bear 
That  alter'd  and  resentful  air. 
Were  all  the  wealth  of  Russel  mine, 
And  all  the  rank  of  Howard's  line, 
All  would  I  give  for  leave  to  dry 
That  dew-drop  trembling  in  thine  eye. 
Think  not  I  fear  such  fops  can  wile 
Prom  Lucy  more  than  careless  smile; 
But  yet  if  wealth  and  high  degree 
Give  gilded  counters  currency. 
Must  1  not  fear,  when  rank  and  birth 
Stamp  the  pure  ore  of  genuine  worth? 
Nobles  there  are,  whose  martial  fires 
Rival  the  fame  that  raised  their  sires, 
And  patriots,  skill'd  through  storms  of  fate 
To  guide  and  guard  the  reeling  state. 
Such,  such  there  are — if  sucli  should  come, 
Arthur  must  tremble  and  be  dumb. 
Self-exiled  seek  some  distant  shore. 
And  mourn  till  life  and  grief  are  o'er. 

YI. 

\VTiat  sight,  what  signal  of  alarm. 
That  Lucy  clings  to  Arthur's  arm! 
Or  is  it  that  the  rugged  way 
Makes  beauty  lean  oti  lover's  stay? 
Oh,  no !  for  on  the  vale  and  brake, 
Nor  sight  nor  sounds  of  danger  wake. 
And  this  trim  sward  of  velvet  green 
Were  carpet  for  the  faiiy  queen. 
That  pressure  slight  was  but  to  tell 
That  Lucy  loves  lier  Arthur  well. 
And  fain  would  banish  from  his  mind 
Suspicious  fear  and  doubt  unkind. 

vn. 

But  would'st  thou  bid  the  demons  fly 

Like  mist  before  the  dawning  sky, 

There  is  but  one  resistless  spell — 

Say,  wilt  thou  guess,  or  must  I  tell? 

'Twere  hard  to  name  in  minstrel  phrase, 

A  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays. 

But  bards  agree  this  wizard  band 

Can  but  be  bound  in  Northern  Land. 

Tis  there — nay,  draw  not  back  thy  hand! — 

'Tis  there  this  slender  finger  round 

Must  golden  amulet  be  bound, 

Which,  bless'd  with  many  a  holy  prayer. 

Can  change  to  rapture  lovers'  care, 

And  doubt  and  jealousy  shall  die. 

And  fears  give  place  to  ecstasy. 

vni. 

Now,  trust  me,  Lucy,  all  too  long 
Has  been  thy  lover's  tale  and  song. 

O  why  so  silent,  love,  I  pray? 
Have  1  not  spoke  the  livelong  "day? 
And  will  not  Lucj-  deign  to  say 
•  One  word  her  friend  to  bless? 
I  ask  but  one — a  simple  sound, 
Within  three  little  letters  bound, 

O  let  the  word  be  yes  ! 


I5TR0DUCT10X  TO  CAITTO  HI. 

L 

LoxG  loved,  long  woo'd,  and  lately  won. 
My  life's  best  hope,  and  now  mine  own! 
Doth  not  this  rude  and  Alpine  glen 
Recal  our  favourite  haunts  agen  ? 
A  wild  resemblance  we  can  trace. 
Though  reft  of  every  softer  grace, 
As  the  rough  warrior's  brow  may  bear 
A  likeness  to  a  sister  fair. 


Full  well  advised  our  highland  host. 

That  this  wild  pass  on  foot  be  cross'd, 

VV'hile  round  Ben-Cruach's  mighty  base 

Wheel  the  slow  steeds  and  lingering  chaise. 

The  keen  old  carle,  with  Scottish  pride. 

He  praised  his  glen  and  mountains  wide; 

An  eye  he  bears  for  natui-e's  face. 

Ay,  and  for  woman's  lovely  grace. 

Even  in  such  mean  degi-ee  we  find 

The  subtle  Scot's  observing  mind; 

For,  not  the  chariot  nor  the  train 

Could  gape  of  vulgar  wonder  gain. 

But  when  old  Allan  would  expound 

Of  Beal-na-paish*  the  Celtic  sound, 

His  bonnet  doft'd,  and  bow,  applied 

His  legend  to  my  bonny  bride; 

While  Luc)'  blush'd  beneath  his  eye. 

Courteous  and  cautious,  shrewd  and  sly. 

IL 

Enough  of  him. — Now,  ere  we  lose. 
Plunged  in  the  vale,  the  distant  views, 
Turn  thee,  my  love!  look  back  once  more 
To  the  blue  lake's  retiring  shore. 
On  its  smooth  breast  the  shadows  seem 
Like  objects  in  a  morning  dream. 
What  time  the  slumberer  is  aware 
He  sleeps,  and  all  the  vision's  air: 
Even  so,  on  yonder  liquid  lawn. 
In  hues  of  bright  reflection  drawn. 
Distinct  the  shaggv'  mountains  lie. 
Distinct  the  rocks,  distinct  the  sky; 
The  summer  clouds  so  plain  we  note, 
That  we  might  count  each  dappled  spot: 
We  gaze  and  we  admire,  yet  know 
The  scene  is  all  delusive  show. 
Such  dreams  of  bliss  would  Arthur  draw. 
When  first  his  Lucy's  form  he  saw; 
Yet  sigh'd  and  sicken 'd  as  he  drew, 
Despairing  they  could  e'er  prove  true! 

III. 

But,  Lucy,  turn  thee  now,  to  view 

Up  the  fair  glen  our  destined  way! 
The  fairy  path  that  we  pursue, 
Distinguish'd  but  by  greener  hue, 

^Vinds  round  the' purple  brae, 
AMiile  Alpine  flowers  of  varied  dye 
For  carpet  serve  or  tapestrj'. 
See  how  the  little  runnels  leap, 
In  threads  of  silver,  down  the  steep, 

To  swell  the  brooklet's  moan! 
Seems  that  the  highland  Naiad  grieves, 
Fantastic  while  her  crown  she  weaves, 
Of  rowan,  birch,  and  alder-leaves, 

So  lovely,  and  so  lone. 
There's  no  illusion  there,  these  flowers. 
That  wailing  brook,  these  lovely  bowers, 

Are,  Lucy,  all  our  own; 
And,  since  thine  Arthur  call'd  thee  wife. 
Such  seems  the  prospect  of  his  life, 
A  lovely  path,  on-winding  still. 
By  gurgling  brook  and  sloping  hill. 
'Tis  true  tliat  mortals  cannot  tell 
What  waits  them  in  the  distant  dell; 
But  be  it  hap,  or  be  it  harm, 
We  tread  tlie  path-way  arm  in  arm. 

lY. 

And  now,  my  Lucy,  wot'st  thou  why 
I  could  thy  bidding  twice  deny, 


•  Bcal-na-paish,  the  Vale  of  the  Bridal. 


558 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


When  twice  you  pi-avM  I  would  again 
Resume  the  h-gendary  strain 
Oftlie  bold  knight  of  Triermain? 
At  length  yon  peevish  vow  you  swore. 
That  you  would  sue  to  mc  no  more, 
Until  the  minstrel  fit  drew  near, 
And  made  me  prize  a  listening  ear. 
Hut,  loveliest,  when  thou  first  didst  pray 
Continuance  of  the  knightly  lay, 
Was  it  not  on  the  happy  day 

That  made  thy  hand  mine  own? 
When,  dizzied  with  mine  ecstasy, 
Nought  past,  or  present,  or  to  be. 
Could  I  or  think  on,  hear,  or  see, 

Save,  Lucy,  thee  alone ! 
A  giddy  draught  my  rapture  was, 
As  ever  chemist's  magic  gas. 

V. 

Again  the  summons  I  denied 
In  yon  fair  capital  of  Clyde; 
My  harp — or  let  me  rather  choose 
The  good  old  classic  form — my  muse, 
(For  harp  's  an  over-scutched  phrase, 
Worn  out  by  bards  of  modern  days,) 
INIy  muse,  then — seldom  will  she  wake 
Save  by  dim  wood  and  silent  lake. 
She  is  the  wild  and  rustic  maid, 
Whose  foot  unsandall'd  loves  to  ti'ead 
Where  the  soft  green-sward  is  inlaid 

With  varied  moss  and  thyme; 
And,  lest  the  simple  lily-braid, 
That  coronets  her  temples,  fade. 
She  hides  her  still  in  greenwood  shade, 

To  meditate  her  rhyme. 

VI. 

And  now  she  comes!    The  murmur  dear 
Of  the  wild  brook  hath  caught  her  ear. 

The  glade  hath  won  her  eye; 
She  longs  to  join  with  each  blith  rill 
That  dances  down  the  highland  hill, 

Her  blither  melody. 
And  now,  my  Lucy's  way  to  cheer. 
She  bids  Ben-Cruach's  echoes  hear 
How  closed  the  tale,  ray  love  whilere 

Loved  for  its  chivalry. 
List  how  she  tells,  in  notes  of  flame, 
"  Child  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came!"- 


I. 

liEWCASTLF,  now  must  keep  the  hold, 

Speir-Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall, 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bowmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Tevint  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Tarras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland. 
Of  wasted  field  and  plundered  flocks 

"the  borderers  bootless  may  complain; 
They  lack  the  sword  of  brave  Ue  Vaux, 

There  comes  no  aid  from  Triermain. 
That  lord,  on  high  adventure  bound. 

Hath  wandered  forth  alone. 
And  day  and  night  keeps  watchful  round 

In  the  valley  of  St.  John. 

II. 

When  first  began  his  vigil  bold. 
The  moon  twelve  summer  nights  was  old, 
And  shone  both  fair  and  full; 


High  in  the  vault  of  cloudless  blue, 
O'er  streamlet,  dale,  and  rock,  she  threw 

Her  light  coniposecf  and  cool. 
Stretched  on  the  brown  hill's  heathy  breast, 

Sir  Roland  eyed  the  vale; 
Chief,  where,  distinguished  from  the  rest, 
Those  clustering  rocks  upreared  their  crest, 
The  dwelling  of  the  fair  dislress'd, 

As  told  gray  Lyulph's  tale. 
Thus  as  he  lay,  the  lamp  of  night 
Was  quivering  on  his  armour  bright, 

In  beams  that  rose  and  fell, 
And  danced  upon  his  buckler's  boss, 
That  lay  beside  him  on  the  moss, 

As  on  a  crystal  well. 

III. 

Ever  he  watched,  and  oft  he  deemed. 
While  on  the  mound  the  moonlight  streamed^ 

It  altered  to  his  eyes; 
Fain  would  he  hope  the  rocks  'gan  change 
To  buttressed  walls  their  shapeless  range. 
Fain  think,  by  transmutation  strange, 

He  saw  gray  turrets  rise. 
But  scarce  his  heart  with  hope  throbb'd  high, 
liefore  the  wild  illusions  flj-, 

Which  fancy  had  conceived. 
Abetted  by  an  anxious  eye 

That  longed  to  be  deceived. 
It  was  a  fond  deception  all. 
Such  as,  in  solitary  hall, 

Beguiles  the  musing  eye, 
When,  gazing  on  the  sinking  fire. 
Bulwark  and  battlement  and  spire 

In  the  red  gulf  we  spy. 
For,  seen  by  moon  of  middle  night. 
Or  by  the  blaze  of  noontide  bright. 
Or  by  the  dav^'n  of  morning  light, 

Or  evening's  western  flame. 
In  every  tide,  at  every  hour. 
In  mist,  in  sunshine,  and  in  shower. 

The  rocks  remained  the  same. 

IV. 

Oft  has  he  traced  the  charmed  mound, 
Oft  climbed  its  crest,  or  paced  it  round, 

Yet  nothing  might  explore, 
Save  that  the  crags  so  rudely  piled. 
At  distance  seen,  resemblance  wild 

To  a  rough  fortress  bore. 
Yet  still  his  watch  the  warrior  keeps. 
Feeds  hard  and  spare,  and  seldom  sleeps, 

And  drinks  but  of  the  well; 
Ever  by  day  he  walks  the  hill, 
And  when  the  evening  gale  is  chill. 

He  seeks  a  rocky  cell, 
Like  hermit  poor  to  bid  his  bead. 
And  tell  his  ave  and  his  creed, 
Invoking  every  saint  at  need. 
For  aid  to  burst  the  spell. 

V. 

And  now  the  moon  her  orb  has  hid, 
And  dwindled  to  a  silver  thread, 

Dim  seen  in  middle  heaven. 
While  o'er  its  curve  careering  fast, 
Before  the  fur}'  oftlie  blast. 

The  midnight  clouds  are  driven. 
The  brooklet  raved,  for  on  the  hills 
The  upland  showers  had  swoll'n  the  rills, 

And  down  the  torrents  came; 
Muttered  the  distant  thunder  dread, 
And  frequent  o'er  the  vale  was  spread 

A  sheet  of  lightning  flame. 


THE  BRIDAL  QF  TRIERMAIN. 


359 


De  Vaux,  within  his  mountain  cave, 
(No  human  step  the  storm  durst  brave,) 
To  moody  meditation  gave 

Each  faculty  of  soul, 
Till,  lulled  by  distant  torrent  sound, 
And  the  sad  wind  that  whistled  round, 
Upon  his  thoughts,  in  musing  drown'd, 
A  broken  slumber  stole. 
VI. 
'Twas  then  was  heard  a  heavy  sound, 

(Sound  strange  and  fearful  there  to  hear, 
'Alongst  desert  hills,  where,  leagues  around, 

Dwelt  but  the  gor-cock  and  the  deer:) 
As  starting  from  his  couch  of  fern, 
Again  he  heard,  in  clangour  stern. 

That  deep  and  solemn  swell; 
Twelve  times,  in  measured  tone,  it  spoke 
Like  some  proud  minster's  pealing  clock, 

Or  city's  larum-bell. 
What  thought  was  Roland's  first  when  fell. 
In  that  deep  wilderness,  the  knell 

Upon  his  startled  ear! — 
To  slander  warrior  were  I  loth, 
Yet  must  I  hold  my  minstrel  troth, — 
It  was  a  thought  of  fear. 
VII. 
But  lively  was  the  mingled  thrill 
That  chased  that  momentary  chill; 
For  Love's  keen  wish  was  there. 
And  eager  hope,  and  valour  high. 
And  the  proud  glow  of  chivalry, 

That  burned  to  do  and  dare. 
Forth  from  the  cave  the  warrior  rush'd, 
Long  ere  the  mountain-voice  was  hush'd. 

That  answered  to  the  knell; 
For  long  and  far  the  unwonted  sound. 
Eddying  in  echoes  round  and  round. 

Was  tossed  from  fell  to  fell; 
And  Glaramara  answer  flung, 
And  Grisdale-pike  responsive  rung. 
And  Legbert  heights  their  echoes  swung. 
As  far  as  Derwent's  dell. 
Vlll. 
Forth  upon  trackless  darkness  gazed 
The  knight,  bedeafened  and  amazed, 

Till  all  was  hushed  and  still. 
Save  the  swollen  torrent's  sullen  roar, 
And  the  knight-blast  that  wildly  bore 

Its  course  along  tlie  liill. 
Then  on  the  northern  sky  there  came 
A  light,  as  of  rertected  flame, 

And  over  Legbert-bead, 
As  if  by  magic  art  controll'd, 
A  mighty  meteor  slowly  roU'd 

Its  orb  of  fiery  red; 
Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  demon  dire 
Came  mounted  on  that  car  of  fire. 

To  do  his  errand  dread. 
Far  on  the  sloping  valley's  course, 
On  thicket,  rock,  and  torrent  hoarse. 
Shingle  and  scrae,"  and  fell  and  force  t 

A  duskj'  light  arose: 
Displayed,  yet  altered  was  the  scene, 
Dark  rock,  and  Uvuok  of  silver  sheen. 
Even  the  gay  thicket's  summer  green. 
In  bloody  tincture  glows. 

ix. 

De  Vaux  had  marked  ilie  sunbeams  set, 
At  eve,  upon  the  cnronel 
Of  that  enchanted  mound. 


And  seeti  but  crags  at  random  flung, 
That,  o'er  the  brawling  torrent  hung. 

In  desolation  frown'd. 
M'hat  sees  he  by  that  meteor's  lour? — 
A  bannered  castle,  keep,  and  tower, 

Return  the  lurid  gleam. 
With  battled  walls  and  buttress  fast, 
And  barbican*  and  balliumt  vast, 
And  airy  flanking  towers,  that  cast 

Their  shadows  on  the  stream. 
'Tis  not  deceit;  distinctly  clear 
Crenell:]:  and  parapet  appear. 
While  o'er  the  pile  that  meteor  drear 

Makes  momentary  pause; 
Then  forth  its  solemn  path  it  drew, 
And  fainter  yet  and  fainter  grew 
Those  gloomy  towers  upon  the  view, 
As  its  wild  light  withdraws. 
X. 
Forth  from  the  cave  did  Roland  rush. 
O'er  crag  and  stream,  through  briar  and  bush; 

Yet  far  he  had  not  sped. 
Ere  sunk  was  that  portentous  light 
Uehind  the  hills,  and  utter  night 

V.'as  on  the  valley  spread. 
He  paused  perforce, — and  blew  his  horn; 
And  on  the  mountain  echoes  borne 
Was  heard  an  answering  sound, 
A  wild  and  lonely  trumpet  note, 
In  middle  air  it  seem'd  to  float 
High  o'er  the  battled  mound: 
And  sounds  were  heard,  as  when  a  guard 
Of  some  proud  castle  holding  ward. 
Pace  forth  their  nightly  round. 
TJie  valiant  knight  of  Triermain 
Rung  forth  his  challenge-blast  again, 

But  answer  came  there  none; 
And  'mid  the  mingled  wind  and  rain, 
Darkling  he  sought  the  vale  in  vain. 

Until  the  dawning  shone; 
And  when  it  dawned,  that  wond'rous  sight, 
Distinctly  seen  by  meteor-light. 

It  all  had  passed  away ! 
And  that  enchanted  mound  once  more 
A  pile  of  granite  fragments  bore, 
As  at  the  close  of  day. 
XI. 
Steeled  for  the  deed,  De  Vaux's  heart 
Scorned  from  his  venturous  quest  to  part, 

He  walks  the  vale  once  more; 
But  only  sees,  by  night  or  day. 
That  shattered  pile  of  rocks  so  gray. 

Hears  but  the  torrent's  roar. 
Till  when,  through  hills  of  azure  borne, 
The  moon  renewed  her  silver  horn. 
Just  at  the  time  her  waning  ray 
Had  faded  in  the  dawning  day, 

A  summer  mist  arose; 
Adowii  the  vale  the  vapours  float. 
And  cloudy  undulations  moat 
That  tutted  mound  of  mystic  note. 

As  rimiKJ  its  base  they  close. 
And  higher  now  the  fleecy  tide 
Ascends  its  stern  and  shaggy  side, 
Until  the  airy  billows  hide 
The  reek's  majestic  isle; 
It  seemed  a  \eil  of  filmy  lawn. 
By  some  fantastic  fjiiry  drawn 
Around  enchanted  pile. 


£ank  of  loose  stouts. 

25 


t  M'ater-fall. 


•   The  outer  dtfciice  of  the  castle-gate. 

t  Foitifitd  court. 

J  AiHiturisfor  shooting  airons. 


360 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Xll. 
The  breeze  came  sofily  down  the  brook, 

And.  sis^liinp;  as  it  blew, 
Tlio  \eil  of  silver  mist  it  shook, 
And  to  De  Vaux's  easier  look 

Uciiewed  that  wond'roiis  view. 
For,  though  the  loitering  vapour  braved 
Tlie  gentle  breeze,  yet  oft  it  waved 

Its  mantle's  dewy  told; 
And,  still,  when  shook  that  filmy  sci-een, 
Where  towers  and  bastions  dimly  seen, 
And  Gotliic  battlements  between 

Their  gloomy  length  unroU'd. 
Speed,  speed,  De  Vaux,  ere  on  thine  eye 
Once  more  tiie  fleeting  vision  die! — 

The  gallant  knight  can  speed 
As  prompt  and  light  as,  wlien  the  hound 
Is  opening,  and  the  horn  is  wound. 

Careers  llie  hunter's  steed. 
Down  the  steep  dell  his  course  amain 

Hath  rivall'd  archer's  shaft; 
But  ere  the  mound  he  could  attain. 
The  rocks  their  shapeless  form  regain, 
And  mocking  loud  his  labour  vain, 

The  mountain  spirits  laugh'd. 
Far  up  the  echoing  dell  was  borne 
Their  wild  unearthly  shout  of  scoru. 

xm. 

Wroth  waxed  the  warrior. — "  Am  1  then 

Fool'd  by  the  enemies  of  men. 

Like  a  poor  hind,  whose  homeward  way 

Is  haunted  by  malicious  fay? 

Is  Triermain  become  your  taunt, 

De  Vaux  your  scorn?  False  fiends,  avaunt!" 

A  weighty  curtail-axe  he  bare; 

Tlie  baleful  blade  so  bright  and  square, 

And  the  tough  shaft  of  heben  wood. 

Were  oft  in  Scottish  gore  embrued. 

Backward  his  stately  form  he  drew. 

And  at  the  rocks  the  weapon  threw. 

Just  where  one  crag's  projected  crest 

Hung  proudly  balanced  o'er  the  rest. 

Hurl'd  with  main  force,  the  weapon's  shock 

Rent  a  huge  fragment  of  the  rock: 

If  by  mere  strength  'twere  hard  to  tell, 

Or  if  the  blow  dissolved  some  spell, 

Bui  down  the  headlong  ruin  came. 

With  cloud  of  dust  and  flash  of  flame. 

Down  bank,  o'er  bush,  its  course  was  borne, 

Crush'd  lay  the  copse,  the  earth  was  torn. 

Till,  staid'at  length,  the  ruin  dread 

Curaber'd  the  torrent's  rocky  bed. 

And  bade  the  waters'  high-swoU'n  tide 

Seek  other  passage  for  its  pride. 

XIV. 

When  ceased  that  thunder,  Trierms>u 
Survey'd  the  mound's  rude  front  again^ 
And  lo!  the  ruin  had  laid  bare, 
Hewn  in  the  stone  a  winding  stair, 
Whose  moss'd  and  fractured  steps  might  lend 
The  means  the  summit  to  ascend; 
And  by  whose  aid  the  brave  De  Vaux 
Began  to  scale  these  magic  rocks. 

And  soon  a  platform  won, 
Where,  the  wild  witchery  to  close. 
Within  three  lances'  length  arose 

The  castle  of  saint  .John! 
No  misty  phantom  of  the  air. 
No  raeteor-blazon'd  show  was  there; 
In  morning  splendour,  full  and  fair, 

The  massive  fortress  stione. 


XV. 


Embattled  high  and  proudly  tower'd. 
Shaded  by  ponderous  flankers,  lower'd 

The  portal's  gloomy  May. 
Though  for  six  hundred  years  and  more, 
ll3  strength  liad  brooked  liie  tem])est's  roar, 
The  scutciieon'd  emblems  that  it  bore 

Had  suffered  no  decay; 
But  from  ih.c  eastern  battlement 
A  turret  had  made  sheer  descent, 
And  down  in  recent  ruin  rent. 

In  the  mid  torrent  lay. 
Else,  o'er  tlie  castle's  brow  sublime. 
Insults  of  violence  or  of  time 

Unfelt  had  passed  away. 
In  shapeless  characters  of  yore. 
The  gate  this  stern  inscription  bore; 

XVI. 

ixscniPTiox. 
Patience  wails  the  destined  day. 
Strength  can  clear  the  cumber'd  way. 
Warrior,  who  hast  waited  long. 
Firm  of  soul,  of  sinew  strong, 
It  is  given  to  thee  to  gaze 
On  the  pile  of  ancient  days. 
Never  mortal  builder's  hand 
This  enduring  fabric  plann'd; 
Sign  and  sigil,  word  of  power. 
From  the  earth  raised  keep  and  tower. 
View  it  o'er,  and  pace  it  round, 
Rampart,  turret,  battled  mound. 
Dare  no  more !  lo  cross  the  gale 
Were  to  tamper  with  thy  fate; 
Strength  and  fortitude  were  vain! 
View  it  o'er — and  turn  again. 

XVII. 

"  That  would  I,"  said  the  warrior  bold, 
"If  that  my  frame  were  bent  and  old, 
And  my  thin  blood  dropp'd  slow  and  cold 

As  icicle  in  thaw; 
But  while  mj-  heart  can  feel  it  dance, 
Blith  as  the  sparkling  wine  of  France, 
And  this  good  arm  wields  sword  or  lance, 

I  mock  these  words  of  awe!" — 
He  said;  the  wicket  felt  the  sway 
Of  his  strong  hand,  and  straight  gave  way. 
And  with  rude  crash  and  jarring  bray. 

The  rusty  bolls  withdraw; 
But  o'er  the  thresiiold  as  he  strode. 
And  forward  took  the  vaulted  road. 
An  unseen  arm  with  force  amain 
The  ponderous  gate  flung  close  again. 

And  rusted  boll  and  bar 
Spontaneous  took  their  place  once  more, 
While  the  deep  arch  with  sullen  roar 

Return'd  their  surly  jar. 
"Now  closed  is  the  gin  and  the  prey  within. 

By  the  rood  of  Lanercosl ! 
But  he  that  would  win  the  war-wolf's  skin, 

May  rue  him  of  his  boast." — 
Thus  muttering,  on  the  warrior  went, 
By  dubious  light  down  steep  descent. 

XVIII. 

Unbarr'd,  unlock'd,  unwatch'd,  a  port 
Led  to  the  castle's  outer  court; 
There  the  main  fortress,  broad  and  tall, 
Spread  its  long  range  of  bower  and  hall, 

And  towers  of  varied  size. 
Wrought  with  each  ornament  extreme, 
That  Gothic  art,  in  wildest  dream 

Of  fancy,  could  devise. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


361 


But  full  between  the  warrior's  way 
And  the  main  portal-arch,  there  lay 

An  inner  moat; 

Nor  bridge  nor  boat 
Affords  Ue  Yaux  the  means  to  cross 
The  clear,  profound,  and  silent  fosse. 
His  arms  aside  in  haste  he  flings, 
Cuirass  of  steel  and  hauberk,  rings, 
And  down  falls  helm,  and  down  the  shield, 
Rough  with  the  dints  of  many  a  field. 
Fair  was  his  manly  form,  and  fair 
His  keen  dark  eye,  and  close-curl'd  hair, 
When, — all  unarmed,  save  that  the  brand 
Of  well-proved  metal  graced  his  hand. 
With  nought  to  fence  his  dauntless  breast 
But  the  close  gipon's*  under  vest, 
Whose  sullied  buff  the  sable  stains 
Of  hauberk  and  of  mail  retains, — 
Roland  De  Vaux  upon  the  brim 
Of  the  broad  moat  stood  prompt  to  swim, 

XIX. 

Accouter'd  thus  he  dared  the  tide, 
And  soon  he  reached  the  farther  side. 

And  entered  soon  the  hold. 
And  paced  a  hall,  whose  Malls  so  wide 
Were  blazon'd  all  with  feats  of  pride, 

By  warriors  done  of  old. 
In  middle  lists  they  counter'd  here, 

Wliile  trumpets  seemed  to  blow; 
And  there,  in  den  or  desert  drear. 
They  quelled  gigantic  foe, 
Braved  the  fierce  griffon  in  his  ire, 
Or  faced  the  dragon's  breath  of  fire. 
Strange  in  their  arms,  and  strange  in  face, 
Heroes  they  seemed  of  ancient  race. 
Whose  deeds  of  arms,  and  race,  and  name. 
Forgotten  long  by  latter  fame. 

Were  here  depicted,  to  appal 
Those  of  an  age  degenerate. 
Whose  bold  intrusion  braved  their  Fate, 

In  this  enchanted  hall. 
For  some  short  space  tlie  venturous  knight 
With  these  high  m.irvels  fed  his  sight; 
Then  sought  the  chamber's  upper  end. 
Where  three  broad  easy  steps  ascend 

To  an  arched  portal  door. 
In  whose  broad  folding  leaves  of  state 
Was  framed  a  wicket  window-grate; 

And,  ere  he  ventured  more, 
The  gallant  knight  took  earnest  view 
The  grated  wicket-window  through. 

XX. 

Oh  for  his  arms!  Of  martial  weed 
Had  never  mortal  knight  such  need ! — 
He  spied  a  stately  gallery;  all 
Of  snow-white  marble  was  the  wall, 

The  vaulting,  and  the  floor; 
And,  contrast  strange!  on  either  hand 
There  stood  array'd  in  sable  band 

Four  maids  whom  Afric  bore; 
And  each  a  Lybian  tiger  led. 
Held  by  as  bright  and  fi-ail  a  thread 

As  Lucy's  golden  hair; 
For  the  leash  tliat  bound  these  raonstera  dread 

Was  but  of  gossamer. 
Each  maiden's  short  barbaric  vest 
Left  all  unclosed  the  knee  and  breast. 

And  limbs  of  shapely  jet; 


A  sort  of  doublet,  worn  beneath  the  armour. 


White  was  their  vest  and  turban's  fold, 
On  arms  and  ancles  rings  of  gold 

In  savage  pomp  were  set; 
A  quiver  on  their  shoulders  lay. 
And  in  their  hand  an  assagay. 
Such  and  so  silent  stood  they  there, 

That  Roland  well  nigh  lioped 
He  saw  a  band  of  statues  rare, 
Station'd  the  gazer's  soul  to  scare; 

But,  when  the  wicket  oped. 
Each  grislj'  beast  'gan  upward  draw, 
Roll'd  his  grim  eye,  and  spread  his  claw, 
Scented  the  air,  and  lick'd  his  jaw! 
While  these  weird  maids,  in  Moorish  tongue, 
A  wild  and  dismal  warning  sung. 

XXI. 

"Rash  adventurer,  bear  thee  back! 

Dread  the  spell  of  Dahomay ! 
Fear  the  race  of  Zaharak, 

Daughters  of  the  burning  day  ! 

"\\lien  the  whirlwind's  gusts  are  wheeling, 

Our's  it  is  the  dance  to  braid; 
Zarah's  sands,  in  pillars  reeling. 

Join  the  measure  that  we  tread, 
When  the  moon  hath  don'd  her  cloak, 

And  the  stars  are  red  to  see, 
Shrill  when  pipes  the  sad  Siroc, 

Music  meet  for  such  as  we. 

"  Where  the  shatter'd  columns  lie. 

Showing  Carthage  once  had  been, 
If  the  wandering  santon's  eye 

Our  mysterious  rites  hath  seen, — 
Oft  he  cons  the  prayer  of  death. 

To  the  nations  preaches  doom, 
'  Azrael's  brand  hath  left  the  sheath! 

Moslems  think  upon  the  tomb!' 

"  Our's  the  scorpion,  our's  the  snake, 

Our's  the  hydra  of  the  fen, 
Our's  the  tiger  of  the  brake. 

All  that  plagues  the  sons  of  rnen. 
Our's  the  tempest's  midnight  wrack, 

Pestilence  that  wastes  by  day — 
Dread  the  race  of  Zaharak ! 

Fear  the  spell  of  Dahomay!" — 

XXII. 
Uncouth  and  strange  the  accents  shrill 

Rung  those  vaulted  roofs  among; 
Long  it  was  ere,  faint  and  still, 

Died  the  far  resounding  song. 
While  yet  the  distant  echoes  roll, 
Tiie  warrior  communed  with  his  soul. 
"  When  first  1  took  this  venturous  quest, 

1  swore  upon  the  rood, 
Neither  to  slop,  nor  turn,  nor  rest, 

For  evil  or  for  good. 
My  forward  path,  too  well  1  ween. 
Lies  yonder  fearful  ranks  between; 
For  man  unarm'd,  'tis  bootless  hope 
With  tigers  and  with  fiends  to  cope — 
Yet,  if  i  turn,  what  waits  me  there. 
Save  famine  dire  and  fell  despair? — 
Other  conclusion  let  me  try, 
Since,  choose  howe'er  1  list,  I  die. 
Forward,  lies  faith  and  knightly  fame; 
Behind,  are  perjury  and  shame. 
In  life  or  death  1  hold  my  word." 
With  that  he  drew  his  trusty  sword. 
Caught  down  a  banner  from  the  wall. 
And  entered  thus  the  fearful  hall. 


362 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XXllI. 

On  high  each  wayward  itiiiiden  threw 

Her  swarthy  arm,  with  wild  halloo! 

On  either  side  a  tiger  spruiis; — 

Against  the  leftward  foe  he  Hung 

The  ready  banner,  to  engapje 

With  tanglini;  folds  the  brutal  rage; 

The  riglit-iiand  monster  in  mid  air 

He  struck  so  fiercely  and  so  fair, 

Through  gullet  and'through  sjiinal  bone 

The  trenchant  blade  hath  sheerly  gone. 

His  grisly  brethren  ramp'd  and  yell'd, 

But  the  slight  leash  their  rage  withheld, 

Whilst,  'twixt  their  ranks,  the  dangerous  road 

Firmly,  though  swift,  the  champion  strode. 

Safe  to  the  gallery's  bound  he  drew, 

Safe  past  an  open  portal  through; 

And  when  'gainst  followers  he  flung 

The  gate,  judge  if  the  echoes  rung! 

Onward  his  daring  course  he  bore. 

While,  mixed  with  dying  growl  and  roar. 

Wild  jubilee  and  loud  hurra 

Pursued  him  on  his  venturous  way. 

XXIV. 
"  Hurra,  hurra!  Our  watch  is  done! 
We  hail  once  more  the  tropic  sun. 
Pallid  beams  of  northern  day, 
Farewell,  farewell!  hurra,  hurra! 
"  Five  hundred  years  o'er  this  cold  glen 
Hath  the  pale  sun  come  round  agen; 
Foot  of  man,  till  now,  hath  ne'er 
Dared  to  cross  the  Hall  of  Fear. 
"Warrior!  thou,  whose  dauntless  heart 
Gives  us  from  our  ward  to  part, 
Be  as  strong  in  future  trial. 
Where  resistance  is  denial. 
"Now  for  Afric's  glowing  sky, 
Zwenga  wide  and  Atlas  high, 

Zaharak  and  Dahomay  ! 

Mount  the  winds!  Hurra,  hurra!" — 

XXV. 
The  wizard  song  at  distance  died 

As  if  in  ether  borne  astray. 
While  through  waste  halls  and  chambers  wide 

The  knight  pursued  his  steady  way, 
Till  to  a  lofty  dome  he  came. 
That  flash'd  with  such  a  brilliant  flame. 
As  if  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
Were  there  in  rich  confusion  hurl'd. 
For  here  the  gold,  in  sandy  heaps, 
With  duller  earth  incorporate  sleeps; 
Was  there  in  ingots  piled,  and  there 
Coined  ba<lge  of  empery  it  bare; 
Yonder  huge  bars  of  silver  lay, 
Dimm'il  by  tlie  diamond's  neighbouring  ray, 
Like  the  pale  moon  in  morning  day; 
And  in  the  midst  four  maidens  stand, 
The  daugliters  of  some  distant  land. 
Their  hue  was  of  the  dark-red  dye. 
That  fringes  oft  a  thuniler-sky. 
Their  hands  palmetto  baskets  bare. 
And  cotton  fillets  bound  iheir  hair; 
Slim  was  their  form,  their  mien  was  shy. 
To  earth  tliey  bent  the  humbled  eye. 
Folded  their  arms,  and  suppliant  kneel'd. 
And  thus  their  proiVered  gifts  reveal'd. 
XXVI. 

C  HO  HITS. 

"  See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled. 
Portion  meet  for  Arthur's  child. 


Bathe  in  W^ealth's  unbounded  stream, 
Wealth  that  Avarice  ne'er  could  dream!" 

FIRST  MAIDEN. 

"  See  these  clots  of  virgin  gold ! 
Severed  from  the  sparry  mould, 
Nature's  mystic  alchemy 
In  the  mine  thus  bade  them  lie; 
And  their  orient  smile  can  win 
Kings  to  stoop,  and  saints  to  sin."-^ 

SECOND  MAIDEN. 

"  See  these  pearls  that  long  have  slept; 
These  were  tears  by  naiads  wept 
For  tiie  loss  of  Marinel. 
Tritons  in  the  silver  shell 
Treasured  them,  till  hard  and  while 
As  the  teeth  of  Amphitrite." — 

THinn  MAIDEN. 

"  Does  a  livelier  hue  delight' 
Here  are  rubies  blazing  bright, 
Here  the  emerald's  fairy  green. 
And  the  topaz  glows  between; 
Here  their  varied  hues  unite 
In  the  changeful  chrysolite." — 

FOURTH  MAIDEN. 

"  Leave  these  gems  of  poorer  shine, 
Leave  them  all,  and  look  on  mine! 
While  their  glories  I  expand, 
Shade  thine  eye-ttrows  with  thy  hand. 
Mid-day  sun  and  diamond's  blaze 
Blind  the  rash  beholder's  gaze." 

CHORUS. 

"  Warrior,  seize  the  splendid  store; 
Wouhl  'twere  all  our  mountains  bore! 
We  should  ne'er,  in  future  story. 
Read,  Peru,  thy  perish'd  glory!" — 

XXVII. 
Calmly  and  unconcern'd  the  knight 
Waved  aside  the  treasures  bright: 
"Gentle  maidens,  rise,  I  pray! 
Bar  not  thus  my  destined  way. 
Let  these  boasted  brilliant  toys 
Braid  the  hair  of  girls  and  boys! 
Bid  your  streams  of  gold  expand 
O'er  proud  London's  thirsty  land. 
De  Vaux  of  wealth  saw  never  need, 
Save  to  purvey  him  arms  and  steed, 
And  all  the  ore  he  deigned  to  hoard 
Inlays  his  helm,  and  hilts  bis  sword." 
Thus  gently  parting  from  their  hold. 
He  left,  unmoved,  the  dome  of  gold. 

XXVIIl. 
And  now  the  morning  sun  was  high, 
De  Vaux  was  weary,  faint,  and  dry; 
When  lo!  a  plashing  sound  he  hears, 
A  gladsome  signal  that  he  nears 

Some  frolic  water  run; 
And  soon  lie  reached  a  court-yard  square, 
Where,  daticing  in  the  sultry  air, 
Tossed  high  aloft,  a  fountain  fair, 

W^as  sparkling  in  the  sun. 
On  right  and  left  a  fair  arcade 
In  long  perspective  view  displayed 
Alleys  and  bowers,  for  sun  or  siiade; 

Uul  full  in  front,  a  door. 
Low  browed  and  dark,  seem'd  as  it  led 
To  the  lojie  dwelling  of  the  dead. 

Whose  memory  was  no  more. 
XXIX. 
Here  stopped  De  Vaux  an  instant's  space, 
To  batiie  bis  parched  lips  and  face, 

And  mark'd,  with  well-pleased  eye. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


363 


Refracted  on  the  fountain  stream, 
In  rainbow  hues,  the  dazzling  beam 

Ot  tliat  gay  summer  sk)'. 
His  senses  felt  a  mild  control, 
Like  that  which  lulls  the  weary  soul, 

From  contemplation  high 
Relaxing,  when  the  ear  receives 
The  music  that  the  green-wood  leaves 

Make  to  the  breeze's  sigh. 

XXX. 

And  oft  in  such  a  dreamy  mood, 

The  half-shut  eye  can  frame 
Fair  apparitions  in  the  wood. 
As  if  the  nymphs  of  field  and  flood 

In  gay  procession  came. 
Are  these  of  such  fantastic  mould, 

Seen  distant  down  the  fair  arcade. 
These  maids  enlinked  in  sister-fold. 

Who,  late  at  bashful  distance  staid. 

Now  tripping  from  the  gi'eenwood  shade. 
Nearer  the  musing  champion  draw. 
And,  in  a  pause  of  seeming  awe. 

Again  stand  doubtful  now? — 
Ah,  that  sly  pause  of  witching  powers! 
That  seems  to  say,  '*  To  please  be  ours, 

Be  yours  to  tell  us  how." — 
Their  hue  was  of  tiie  golden  glow 
That  suns  of  Candahar  bestow, 
O'er  which  in  slight  suffusion  flows 
A  frequent  tinge  of  paly  rose; 
Their  limbs  were  fashioned  fair  and  free. 
In  Nature's  justest  symmetry, 
And  wreathed  with  flowers,  with  odours  graced, 
Their  raven  ringlets  reached  the  waist; 
In  eastern  pomp,  its  gilding  pale 
The  heunah  lent  each  shapely  nail. 
And  the  dark  sumah  gave  the  eye 
]More  liquid  and  more  lustrous  dye. 
The  spotless  veil  of  misty  lawn, 
In  studied  disarrangement,  drawn 

The  form  and  bosom  o'er. 
To  win  the  eye,  or  tempt  the  touch, 
For  modesty  showed  all  too  mucii — 

Too  much — yet  promised  more. 

XXXI. 

"  Gentle  knight,  awhile  delay," 

Thus  they  sung,  "  thy  toilsome  way. 

While  we  pay  the  duly  due 

To  our  mastei-  and  to  you. 

Over  Avarice,  over  Feav, 

Love  triumphant  led  tliee  here; 

Warrior,  list  to  us,  for  we 

Are  slaves  to  Love,  are  friends  to  thee. 

"  Though  no  treasured  gems  have  we, 
To  proffer  on  the  bended  knee. 
Though  we  boast  nor  arm  nor  heart, 
For  the  assagay  or  dart, 
Swains  have  given  each  simple  girl 
Ruby  lip  and  teelli  of  pearl; 
Or,  if  dangers  more  you  prize. 
Flatterers  find  them  in  our  eyes. 

"  Stay,  then,  gentle  warrior,  stay. 
Rest  till  evening  steal  on  day; 
Stay,  O  sta}'! — in  yonder  bowers 
We  will  braid  thy  locks  with  flowers. 
Spread  the  feast  and  fill  tlie  wine. 
Charm  thy  ear  with  sounds  divine, 
Weave  our  dances  till  delight 
Yield  to  languor,  day  to  night. 


' '  Then  shall  she  you  most  approve, 
Sing  the  lays  that  best  you  love. 
Soft  thy  mossy  couch  shall  si)read, 
Watch  thy  pillow,  prop  thy  head. 
Till  the  weary  nigiit  be  o'er — 
Gentle  warrior,  would 'st  thou  more? — 
Would'st  thou  more,  fair  warrior, —  she 
Is  slave  to  Love,  and  slave  to  thee. " — 

xxxu. 

O  do  not  hold  it  for  a  crime 
In  the  bold  hero  of  my  rhyme, 

For  stoic  look. 

And  meet  rebuke. 
He  lacked  the  heart  or  time; 
As  round  the  band  of  syrens  trip, 
He  kissed  one  damsel's  laughing  lip, 
And  pressed  anoliier's  proffered  hand, 
Spoke  to  them  all  in  accents  bland. 
But  broke  their  magic  circle  through; 
"  Kind  maids,"  he  said,  "  adieu,  adieu! 
My  fate,  my  fortune,  forward  lies." 
He  said,  and  vanislied  from  their  eyes; 
But,  as  lie  dared  that  darksome  way, 
Still  heard  behind  their  lovely  lay; 
"  Fair  flower  of  courtesy,  depart! 
Go,  where  the  feelings  of  tlie  heart 
With  tiie  warm  pulse  in  concord  move; 
Go,  where  virtue  sanctions  love!" — 

XXXIII. 
Downward  De  Yaux  through  darksome  ways 

And  ruined  vaults  has  gone, 
Till  issue  from  their  wilder'd  maze, 

Or  safe  retreat,  seem'd  none; 
And  e'en  the  dismal  path  he  strays 

Grew  worse  as  he  went  on. 
For  cheerful  sun,  for  living  air. 
Foul  vapours  rise  and  mine-fires  glare, 
Whose  fearful  light  the  dangers  show'd 
That  dogg'd  him  on  liint  dreadful  road. 
Deep  pits,  and  lakes  of  waters  dun, 
They  show'd,  but  show'd  not  how  to  shun. 
These  scenes  of  desolate  despair. 
These  smothering  clouds  of  poison 'd  air. 
How  gladly  had  De  Yaux  exchanged, 
Though  'twere  to  face  yon  tigers  ranged! 

Nay,  sootliful  bards  have  said, 
So  perilous  his  state  seem'c!  now. 
He  wished  him  under  arbour  bough 

W^ith  Asia's  willing  maid. 
Wlien,  joyful  sound!  at  distance  near 
A  trumpet  fiourish'd  loud  and  clear. 
And,  at  it  ceased,  a  lofty  lay 
Seem'd  thus  to  chide  his  laggin?  war. 

XXXIY. 
"  Son  of  honour,  theme  of  stor}'. 
Think  on  the  reward  before  ye! 
Danger,  darkness,  toil  despise; 
'Tis  Ambition  bids  tiiee  rise. 
"  He  that  would  her  heights  ascend, 
Many  a  weary  step  nmst  wend; 
Hand  and  foot  and  knee  lie  tries; 
Thus  Ambition's  minions  rise. 

"  Lag  not  now,  tliough  rough  the  way, 
Fortune's  mood  brooks  no  delay; 
Grasp  the  boon  that's  spread  before  j'e, 
Monarch's  power,  and  conqueror's  glory!" 

XXXV. 
Ii  ceased.  Advancing  on  the  sound, 
A  steep  ascent  the  wanderer  found. 
And  then  a  turret  stair; 


364 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Nor  cliinbM  he  far  its  steepy  round 

Till  ficslur  l)lew  the  air, 
And  next  a  ui-kome  glimpse  was  ^iven, 
That  cliccr'd  him  with  liie  light  ot  heaven. 

At  length  his  toil  had  won 
A  lofty  liall  with  trophies  dress'd, 
Where,  as  to  greet  imperial  guest, 
Four  maiden";  stood,  whose  crimson  vest 

Was  hound  with  golden  zone. 
XXXVI. 
Of  Europe  seem'd  the  damsels  all; 
The  first  a  nymplj  of  lively  Gaul, 
Whose  easy  step  and  laughing  eye 
Her  borrow'd  air  of  awe  belie; 

Tiie  next  a  maid  of  Spain, 
Dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  sedate,  yet  bold; 
While  ivory  skin  and  tress  of  gold, 
Her  shy  and  bashful  comrade  told 

For  daughter  of  Almaine. 
These  maidens  bore  a  royal  robe. 
With  crown,  with  sceptre,  and  with  globe, 

Emblems  of  empeiy; 
The  fourth  a  space  behind  them  stood, 
And  leant  upon  a  harp,  in  mood 

Of  minstrel  ecstasy. 
Of  merry  England  she,  in  dress 
Like  ancient  British  druidess: 
Her  hair  an  azure  fillet  bound. 
Her  graceful  vesture  swept  the  ground. 

And,  in  her  hand  display'd, 
A  crown  did  that  fourth  maiden  hold. 
But  unadorn'd  with  gems  and  gold, 

Of  glossy  laurel  made. 

xxxvn. 

At  once  to  brave  De  Vaux  knelt  down 

These  foremost  maidens  three. 
And  proffer'd  sceptre,  robe,  and  crown, 

Liegedom  and  seignorie 
O'er  many  a  region  wide  and  fair, 
Destined,' they  said,  for  Arthur's  heir; 

But  homage  would  he  none: — 
"  Uather,"  he  said,  "  De  Vaux  would  ride, 
A  warder  of  the  border  side, 
Ir.  plate  and  mail,  than,  robed  in  pride, 

A  monarch's  empire  own; 
Rather,  far  rather,  wotild  he  be 
A  free-born  knight  of  England  free, 

Than  sit  on  despot's  throne." 
So  pass'd  he  on,  when  that  fourth  maid, 

As  starting  from  a  trance. 
Upon  a  harp  her  finger  laid; 
Her  magic  touch  the  chords  obey'd. 

Their  soul  awaked  at  once ! 

SOXG  OF  THE  rOURTH  MAIPEIT, 

"  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep. 
Stately  tower,  and  banner'd  keep. 
Bid  your  vaulted  echoes  moan. 
As  the  dreaded  step  they  own. 
«'  Fiends  that  wait  on  Merlin's  spell, 
Hear  the  foot-fall!  inark  it  well! 
Spread  your  dusky  wings  abroad, 
Boune  ye  for  your  homeward  road. 
"  It  is  HIS,  the  first  who  e'er 
Dared  the  dismal  hall  of  Fear; 
His,  who  hath  the  snares  defied. 
Spread  by  pleasure,  wealth,  and  pride, 
*'  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep. 
Bastion  huge,  and  turret  steep! 
Tremble  keep,  and  totter  tower! 
This  is  Gyneth's  waking  hour."-^ 


XXXVUl. 

Thus  while  she  sung,  the  venturous  knight 
Has  reich'd  a  bower,  where  milder  light 

Througli  crimson  curtains  fell; 
Such  soften 'd  shade  the  hill  receives. 
Her  purple  veil  when  twilight  leaves 

Upon  its  western  swell. 
That  bower,  the  gazer  to  bewitch. 
Had  wond'rous  store  of  rare  and  rich 

As  ere  was  seen  with  eye; 
For  there  by  magic  skill,  I  wis. 
Form  of  each  thing  that  living  is 

Was  limn'd  in  proper  dye. 
All  seem'd  to  sleep — tlie  timid  hare 
On  form,  the  stag  upon  his  lair. 
The  eagle  in  her  eyrie  fair 

Between  the  earth  and  sky. 
But  what  of  pictured  rich  and  rare 
Could  win  De  Vaux's  eye-glance,  where, 
Deep  slumbering  in  the  fatal  chair, 

He  saw  king  Arthur's  child ! 
Doubt,  and  anger,  and  dismay. 
From  her  brow  had  pass'd  away, 
Forgot  was  that  fell  tourney-day, 

For,  as  she  slept,  she  smiled. 
It  seemed  that  the  repentant  seer 
Her  sleep  of  many  a  hundred  year 

With  gentle  dreams  beguiled. 
XXXIX. 
That  form  of  maiden  loveliness, 

'Twixt  childhood  and  'twixt  youth, 
That  ivory  chair,  that  sylvan  dress. 
The  arms  and  ancles  bare,  express 

Of  Lyulph's  tale  the  truth. 
Still  upon  iier  garment's  hem 
Vanoc's  blood  made  purple  gem, 
And  the  warder  of  command 
Cumber'd  still  her  sleeping  hand; 
Still  her  dark  locks  dishevell'd  flow 
From  net  of  pearl  o'er  breast  of  snow; 
And  so  fair  the  slumberer  seems. 
That  De  Vaux  impeached  his  dreams. 
Vapid  all  and  void  of  might. 
Hiding  half  her  charms  from  sight. 
Motionless  awhile  he  stands. 
Folds  his  arms  and  clasps  his  hands, 
Trembling  in  his  fitful  joy. 
Doubtful  how  he  shall  destroy 

Long-enduring  spell; 
Doubtful  too,  when  slowly  rise 
Dark-fringed  lids  of  Gyneth's  eyes. 

What  these  eyes  shall  tell. 
"  St.  George!  St.  Mary  I  can  it  be, 
That  they  will  kindly  look  on  me!" — 

XL. 
Gently,  lo !  the  warrior  kneels. 
Soft  that  lovely  hand  he  steals. 
Soft  to  kiss,  and  soft  to  clasp — 
But  the  wanier  leaves  her  grasp; 

Lightning  flashes,  rolls  the  thunder! 
Gyneth  startles  from  her  sleep, 
Totters  tower,  and  trembles  keep. 

Burst  the  castle  walls  asunder! 
Fierce  and  frequent  were  the  shocks. 

Melt  the  magic  halls  away 
——But  beneath  their  mystic  rocks, 
In  the  arms  of  bold  De  A'aux, 

Safe  the  princess  lay ! 
Safe  and  free  from  magic  power, 
Blushing  like  the  rose's  flower 

Opening  to  the  day; 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMALN. 


365 


And  round  the  champion's  brows  was  bound 
The  crown  that  druidess  had  wound, 

Of  the  green  laurel-bay. 
And  this  was  what  remain'd  of  all 
The  wealth  of  each  enchanted  hall, 

The  garland  and  the  dame: — 
But  where  should  warrior  seek  the  meed. 
Due  to  high  worth  for  daring  deed, 

Except  from  Love  and  Fame  ! 

CONCLUSIOX. 

1. 

My  Lucy,  when  the  maid  is  won, 

The  minstrel's  task,  thou  know'st,  is  donej 

And  to  require  of  bard 
That  to  the  dregs  his  tale  should  run. 

Were  ordinance  too  hard. 
Our  lovers,  briefly  be  it  said. 
Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  wed, 

When  tale  or  play  is  o'er; 
Lived  long  and  blest,  loved  fond  and  true. 
And  saw  a  numerous  race  renew 

Tlie  honours  that  they  bore. 
Know,  too,  that  when  a  pilgrim  strays. 
In  morning  mist,  or  evening  maze. 

Along  the  mountain  lone. 
That  fairy  fortress  often  mocks 
His  gaze  upon  the  castle  rocks 

Of  the  valley  of  saint  John; 
But  never  man  since  brave  De  Vaux 

The  charmed  portal  won. 
'Tis  now  a  vain  illusive  show. 
That  melts  whene'er  the  sunbeams  glow, 

Or  the  fresh  breeze  hath  blown. 
11. 
But  see,  my  love,  where  far  below 
Our  lingering  wheels  are  moving  slow. 

The  whiles  up-gazing  still. 
Our  menials  eye  our  steep)'  way, 
Marvelling,  perchance,  what  whim  can  stay 
Our  steps  when  eve  is  sinking  gray 

On  this  gigantic  hill. 
So  think  the  vulgar — Life  and  time 
Ring  all  their  joys  in  one  dull  chime 

Of  luxury  and  ease; 
And  O!  beside  these  simple  knaves, 
How  man)-  better  born  are  slaves 

To  such  coarse  joys  as  these. 
Dead  to  the  nobler  sense  that  gljws 
When  Nature's  grander  scenes  unclose! 
But,  Lucy,  we  w  ill  love  them  yet, 
The  mountain's  misty  coronet, 

The  green- wood  and  the  wold; 
And  love  the  more,  that  of  their  maze  . 
Adventure  high  of  other  days 

By  ancient  bards  is  told. 
Bringing,  perchance,  like  my  poor  tale. 
Some  moral  truth  in  fiction's  veil: 
Nor  love  them  less,  that  o'er  the  hill 
The  evening  breeze,  as  now,  comes  chill; — 

My  love  shall  wrap  lier  warm. 
And,  fearless  of  the  slippery  wa}'. 
While  safe  she  trips  the  heathy  brae. 

Shall  hang  on  Arthur's  arm. 

XOTES  TO  CAXTO  I. 
1.  Like  Collins,  ill-starr'd  namcl— P.  343. 
CoLLixs,  according  to  Johnson,  "  by  indulging 
some  i)eeuliar  habits  of  thought,  was  eminently 
delighted  with  those  flights  of  imagination  which 
pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  to  which  the  mind 
IS  reconciled  only  by  a  passive  acquiescence  in 


popular  traditions.  He  loved  fairies,  genii,  giants, 
and  monsters;  lie  deligiited  to  rove  through  the 
meanders  of  enchantment,  to  gaze  on  the  magnifi- 
cence of  golden  palaces,  to  repose  by  the  water- 
falls of  elysian  gardens." 

2. the  baron  of  Triermain.— P.  348. 

Triermain  was  a  fief  of  the  barony  of  Gilsland, 
in  Cumberland;  it  was  possessed  by  a  Saxon  family 
at  the  time  of  the  Conquest,  but,  "  after  the  death 
of  Gilmore,  lord  of  Tvyermaine  and  Torcrossock, 
Hubert  Vaux  gave  Tryermaine  and  Torcrossock 
to  his  second  son,  Ranulph  Vaux,  which  Ranulph 
afterwards  became  heir  to  his  elder  brother  Ro- 
bert, the  founder  of  Lanercost,  -vvho  died  without 
issue.  Ranulph,  being  lord  of  all  Gilsland,  gave 
Gilmore's  lands  to  his  own  younger  son,  named 
Roland,  and  let  tlie  barony  descend  to  his  eldest 
son  Robert,  son  of  Ranulph.  Roland  h.id  issue 
Alexander,  and  he  Ranulpii,  after  whom  succeeded 
Robert,  and  tliey  were  named  Rolands  successive- 
ly, that  were  lords  thereof,  until  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward the  fourth.  I'hat  house  gave  for  arms.  Vert, 
a  bend  dexter,  chequey,  or  and  gules." — Burn's 
Antiquities  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  voL 
ii,  p.  482. 

This  branch  of  Vaux,  with  its  collateral  alli- 
ances, is  now  represented  by  the  family  of  Brad- 
dyl  of  Conishead  priory,  in  the  county  palatine 
of  Lancaster;  for  it  appears  that,  about  the  time 
above-mentioned,  the  house  of  Triermaine  was 
united  to  its  kindred  family  Vaux  of  Caterlen, 
and,  by  marriage  vvitii  the  heiress  of  Delamore 
and  Leybourne,  became  the  representative  of  those 
ancient  and  noble  families.  The  male  line  failing 
in  John  de  A'aux,  about  the  year  1665,  his  daugh- 
ter ;in(i  heiress,  Mabel,  married  Clu-istopherRich- 
mon;],  esq.  of  Highhead  castle,  in  the  county  of 
Cun.Lerland,  descended  from  an  ancient  family  of 
tluit  i:Hme,  lords  of  Corby  castle,  in  the  same 
count} ,  soon  after  the  Conquest,  and  which  they 
alienai.ed  about  the  15ih  of  Edward  the  second,  to 
Andrea  de  Harcla,  darl  of  Carlisle.  Of  this  family 
was  sir  Thomas  de  Raigeraont,  (miles  auratus,)  in 
the  reign  of  king  Edward  the  first,  who  appears  to 
have  greatly  distinguished  himself  at  the  siege  of 
Kaerlaveroc,  with  William  baron  of  Leybourne. 
In  an  ancient  heraldic  poem  now  extant,  and  pre- 
served in  the  British  Museum,  describing  that 
siege,  his  arms  are  stated  to  be.  Or,  2  Bars  Ge- 
melles  Gules,  and  a  Chief  Or,  the  same  borne  by 
his  descendants  at  the  present  day.  The  Rich- 
monds  removed  to  their  castle  of  Highhead  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  the  eighth,  when  the  tlien  repre- 
sentative of  the  family  married  Margaret,  daugh- 
ter of  sir  Hugh  Lowther,  by  the  lady  Dorotiiy  de 
Clifford,  only  cliild  by  a  second  marriage  of  Hen- 
ry lord  Clifford,  great  gi-andson  of  John  lord  Clif- 
ford, by  Elizabeth  Percy,  daughter  of  Henrv  (sur- 
named  Hotspur)  by  Elizabeth  Mortimer,  which 
said  Elizabeth  was  daughter  of  Edward  Mor'Jnier, 
third  earl  of  Marche,  by  Phillippa,  sole  daugliter 
and  heiress  of  Lionel,  duke  of  Clarence. 

The  third  in  descent  from  the  above-mentioned 
John  Richmond,  became  the  i-e[>resentative  of  the 
families  of  Vaux,  of  Triermaine,  Caterlen,  and 
Torcrossock,  by  his  marriage  with  Mabel  de 
Vaux,  the  heiress  of  tliem.  His  grandson  Henry 
Richmond  died  williout  issue,  leaving  five  sisters 
co-heiresses,  four  of  whom  married;  but  Margaret, 
w!u)  married  William  Gale,  esq.  of  Whitihaven, 
was  the  only  one  who  had  male  issue  stirviving. 
She  had  a  son,  and  a  daughter  married  to  Henry 


366 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  AVORKS. 


Curwen  of  Workington,  esq.,  who  represented  the 
county  of  Cuniljcrhind  for  many  years  in  parlia- 
ment, and  hy  her  had  a  daughter,  married  to  John 


gently  sloping  hill,  called  Mayburgh.  In  the  plain 
which  it  incloses  there  stands  erect  an  unhewn 
stone  of  twelve  feet  in  height.   Two  similar  masses 


Christian,  i'S(|.,  (now  Curwen.)       John,   son   and    are  said  to  have  been  destroyed  chiring  the  memo- 
heir  of  \Villi;iiu  Gale,  married   Sarali,  daughter   ry  of  man.   '["he  whole  appears  to  be  a  monument 


and  heiress  of  Christopher  Wilson  of  Bardsea 
h:dl,  in  tlie  county  of  Lancaster,  by  Margaret,  aunt 
nnd  co-heiress  of  Thomas  Hraddyl,  esq.  of  Brad- 
<lyl,  antl  Conishi-ad  priory,  in  the  same  county, 
and  had  issue  four  sons  and  two  daughters: — 1st, 
William  Wilson,  died  an  infant;  2d,  Wilson,  who, 


of  druidical  times. 

6.  Though  never  sunbeam  could  discern 
The  surface  of  that  sable  tarn.— P.  349, 
The  small  lake  called  Scales-tarn  lies  so  deeply 
embosomeil   in  the  recesses  of  the  huge  mountain 
called  Saddleback,  more  poetically  Glaramara,  is 


iil)nn  the  deaili  of  liis  cousin,  Thomas  Braddyl,  |  of  such  great  depth,  and  so  completely  hidden 
without  issue,  succeeded  to  his  estates,  and  took  j  ft-om  the  sun,  that  it  is  said  its  beams  never  reach 
the  name  of  Braddyl,  in  pursuance  of  his  will,  by  [  it,  and  that  the  reflection  of  the  stars  may  be  seen 
the  king's  sign  manual;  3d,  William,  died  young;  i  at  mid-day. 
and  4ih,  Henry  llichmond,  a  lieutenant-general 
of  the  array,  married  Sarah,  daughter  of  tiie  Rev. 
R.  Baldwin;  Margaret  ii»arried  Richard  Greaves 
Townlej',  esq.  of  Kulbourne,  in  the  county  of  Cam- 
bridge, and  of  Bellfield,  in  the  county  of  Lancas- 
ter; Sarah  married  to  George  Bigland,  of  Bigland 
hall,  in  the  same  county. 

Wilson  Braddyl,  eldest  son  of  John  Gale,  and 
grandson  of  Margaret  Richmond,  married  Jane, 
daughter  and  heiress  of  Matthias  Gale,  esq.  of 
Catgill  hall,  in  the  county  of  Cumberland,  by  Jane, 
daughter  and  heiress  of  the  Rev.  S.  Bennet,  D.  D. ; 
nnd,  as  the  eldest  survi\ing  male  branch  of  the 
families  above-mentioned,  he  quarters,  in  addition 
to  his  own,  their  paternal  coats  in  the  following 
order,  as  appears  by  the  records  in  the  college  of 
arms. 

1st,  Argent,  a  fess  azure,  between  3  saltiers  of 
the  same,  charged  with  an  anchor  between  2  lions 
heads  erazed,  or, — Gale. 

2d,  Or,  2  bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a  chief  or, — 
Richmond. 

3d,  Or,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between  9 
gerbes  gules, — Vaux  of  Caterlen. 

4th,  Gules,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between 
6  gerbes  or, — Vaux  of  Torcrossock. 

5th,  *.\rgent,  a  bend  chequey,  or  and  gules,  for 
Vaux  of  Triermain. 

6lli,  Gules,  a  cross  patonce,  or, — Delamore. 

"th.  Gules,  6  lions  rampant  argent,  3,  2,  and  1, 
— Ley  bourne,  t 

3.  And  his  who  sleeps  at  Duumailraise.— P.  349. 

Uunmailraise  is  one  of  the  grand  passes  from 
Cumberland  into  Westmoreland.  It  takes  its  name 
from  a  cairn,  or  pile  of  stones,  erected,  it  is  said, 
to  tiie  memory  of  Dunmail,  the  last  king  of  Cum- 
berland. 

■  Penrith's  Table  Round.— P.  349. 


7. Tintadpel's  spear.— P.  350. 

Tintadgel  castle,  in   Cornwall,  is  reported  to 
have  been  the  birth-place  of  king  Arthur. 

8. Caliburn  in  cumbrous  length.— P.  351. 

This  was  the  name  of  king  Arthur's  well-known 
sword,  sometimes  also  called  Excalibar. 

NOTES  TO  CANTO  II. 
1.  From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew.— P.  3S3. 
The  author  has  an  indistinct  recollection  of  an 
adventure  somewhat  similar  to  that  which  is  here 
ascribed  to  king  Arthur,  having  befallen  one  of 
the  ancient  kings  of  Denmark.  The  horu  in  which 
the  burning  liquor  was  presented  to  that  monarch, 
is  said  still  to  be  preserved  in  the  Royal  Museum 
at  Copenhagen. 

2.  Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy. 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky.— P.  353. 
— — "  We  now  gained  a  view  of  the  vale  of  St. 
John's,  a  very  narrow  dell,  hemmed  in  by  moun- 
tains, through  which  a  small  brook  makes  many 
meanderings,  washing  little  inclosures  of  grass- 
ground,  which  stretch  up  the  rising  of  the  hills. 
In  the  widest  part  of  the  dale  you  are  struck  with 
the  appearance  of  an  ancient  ruined  castle,  which 
seems  to  stand  upon  the  summit  of  a  little  mount, 
the  mountains  around  forming  an  amphitheatre. 
This  massive  bulwark  shows  a  front  of  various 
towers,  and  makes  an  awful,  rude,  and  Gothic 
appearance,  with  its  lofty  turrets  and  ragged  bat- 
tlements; we  traced  the  galleries,  the  bending 
arches,  the  buttresses.  The  greatest  antiquity 
stands  characterized  in  its  architecture;  the  inha- 
bitants near  it  assert  it  is  an  antediluvian  structure. 
"  The  traveller's  curiosity  is  roused,  and  he 
prepares  to  make  a  nearer  approach,  when  that 
curiosity  is  put  upon  the  rack  by  his  being  as- 
A  circular  entrenchment,  about  half  a  mile  from  sured,  that,  if  he  advances,  certain  get«ii  who  go- 
Penrilh,  is  thus  popularly  termed.  The  circle  vern  the  place,  by  virtue  of  their  supernatural  art 
within  the  ditch  is  about  one  hundred  and  sixty  and  necromancy,  will  strip  it  of  all  its  beauties, 
paces  in  circumference,  with  openings,  or  ai)-  and,  by  enchantment,  transform  the  magic  walls, 
proaches,  directly  op\)osite  to  each  otlier.  As  the  jThe  vale  seems  adapted  for  the  habitation  of  such 
ditch  is  on  the  irnier  side,  it  could  not  be  intended  'beings;  its  gloomy  recesses  and  retirements  look 
for  the  puri)Ose  of  defence,  and  it  has  reasonably  ;like  haunts  of  evil  spirits.  There  was  no  delusion 
been  conjectured,  that  the  inclosure  was  designed  j  iu  the  rei)ort;  we  were  soon  convinced  of  its  truth; 
for  the  solemn  exercise  of  feats  of  chivalry;  and  for  this  piece  of  antiquity,  so  venerable  and  noble 
the  embankment  around  for  the  convenience  of  the 
spectators. 
5.  — Mayburgh's  mound  and  stones  of  power.— P.  349 


in  its  asi)ect,  as  we  drew  near,  changed  its  figure, 

and  proved  no  other  th^n   a  shaken  massive  pile 

of  rocks,  which   stand   in  the  midst  of  this  little 

Higheruptheriver  Eamont  than  Arthur's  Round  i'*'-'''^'  i^'sun'ted  from  the  adjoining  mountains,  and 


Table,  is  a  prodigious  inclosure  of  great  antiquity 
formed  by  a  collection  of  stones  upon  the  top  of  a 


•  Nut  vert,  as  stated  by  Burn. 

t  This  more  detailed  genealogy  of  the  family  of  Trier- 
main  was  obligingly  sent  to  th»  author,  by  m^jor  Brad- 
dyl of  Coujsbcad  I'ljory. 


have  so  much  the  real  form  and  resemblance  of  a 
castle,  that  they  bear  the  name  of  the  Castle  Rocks 
of  St.  John." — Hutchinsoii's  Excursion  to  the 
Lakes,  p.  12L 

3.  The  Saxons  to  subjection  brought.— P.  353. 
Arthur  is  said  to  have  defeated  the  Saxon*  in 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


26r 


twelve  pitched  battles,  and  to  have  achieved  the 
other  feats  alluded  to  in  the  text. 

4.  There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace,  ?cc.— P.  353. 
The  characters  named  in  the  following  stanza 
«re  :ill  of  them,  more  or  less,  distinguished  in  the 
romances  which  treat  of  king  Arthur  and  his  Round 
Table,  and  their  names  are  strung  together  ac- 
cording to  the  established  custom  of  minstrels 
upon  such  occasions;  for  example,  in  the  ballad  of 
the  marriage  of  sir  Gawaine: 

Sir  Lancelot,  sir  Stephen  trolde. 

They  rode  with  them  that  daye. 
And,  foremost  of  the  companye. 
There  rode  the  stewarde  Kaye: 
Soe  did  sir  Banier,  and  sir  Bore, 

And  eke  sir  Garratte  keen. 
Sir  Tristram  too,  that  gentle  knight, 
To  the  forest  fresh  and  green. 
5.  And  Lancelot,  that  evermore 

Look'd  stol'n-wise  on  the  queen.— P.  353. 
Upon  this  delicate  subject  heat  Richard  Robin- 
son, citizen  of  London,  in  his  assertion  of  king 
Arthur: 

"  But  as  it  is  a  thing  sufficiently  apparent  that 
she  (Guenever,  wife  of  king  Arthur)  was  beauti- 
ful, so  it  is  a  thing  doubted  whether  she  was  chaste, 
yea  or  no.  Truly,  so  far  as  I  can  with  honestie,  1 
would  spare  the  impayrcd  honour  and  fame  of  no- 
ble women.  But  yet  the  truth  of  the  historic 
pluckesme  by  the  eere,  and  willeth  me  notonely, 
but  comniandeth  me  to  declare  what  the  ancients 
have  deemed  of  her.  To  wrestle  or  contend  with 
so  great  authoritie  were  indeed  unto  me  a  contro- 


versie,  and  that  greate." — Assertion  of  kinff  Ar- 
thure.    Imprinted  by  John  Wolfe,  London,  1582. 

6.  There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbours'  wives. 
And  one  who  loved  liis  own.— P.  354. 

"  In  our  forefathers'  tyme,  when  papistrie,  as  a 
standyng  poole,  covereil  and  overflowed  all  En- 
gland, fewe  books  were  read  in  our  tongue,  savyng 
certain  bookes  of  chevidrie,  as  they  said,  for  pas- 
time and  pleasure;  which,  as  some  say,  were  made 
in  the  monasteries,  by  idle  monks  or  wonton  cha- 
nons.  As  one  for  example.  La  morte  d^Arthure; 
the  whole  pleasure  of  which  book  standeth  in  two 
speciall  poynts,  in  open  manslaughter  and  bold 
bawdrye;  in  which  booke  they  be  counted  the  no- 
blest knightes  that  do  kill  most  men  without  any 
quarrell,  and  commit  fowlest  adoulteries  by  sutlest 
shiftes;  as  sir  Launcelot,  with  the  wife  of  king  Ar- 
thur, his  master;  sir  Tri^jtram,  with  the  wife  of 
king  Marke,  his  uncle;  sir  Laraerocke,  with  the 
wife  of  king  Lote,  tiiat  was  his  own  aunt.  This  is 
good  stufFe  for  wise  men  to  laugh  at,  or  honest 
men  to  take  i)leasure  at,  yet  I  know  when  God's 
Bible  was  banished  the  court,  and  La  Morte  d'Ar- 
tlmre  received  into  the  prince's  chamber." — As- 
cham's  Schoolmaster. 

7.  valiant  Cai'odac, 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold. — P.  354. 

See  the  comic  tale  of  the  Boy  and  the  Mantle, 
in  the  third  volume  of  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetrj',  from  the  Breton  or  Norman  original  ot 
which  Ariosto  is  supposed  to  have  taken  his  tale 
of  the  Enchanted  Cup. 


S^iit  mnU^n  of  Bon  Bc^eritl^^ 


Quid  dignura  memorarc  tuis,  Hispania,  terris. 
Vox  humana  valet! CLAUDIAN. 


TO  JOHN  WHITMORE,  Esa. 

AND    TO  THE  COMMITTEE  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  FOR  RELIEF  OF  THE  PORTUGUESE  SUFFERERS, 
IN  WHICU  HE  PRESIDES, 

THIS  POEM,  COMPOSED  FOR  THE  BENEFIT  OF  THE  FUND  UNDER  THEIR  MANAGEMENT, 
IS  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED,   BT  WALTER  SCOTT. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  poem  is  founded  upon  a  Spanish 
tradition,  particularly  detailed  in  the  Notes;  but 
bearing,  in  general,  that  Don  Roderick,  the  last 
Gothic  king  of  Spain,  when  the  invasion  of  the 
Moors  was  impending,  had  the  temeiity  to  descend 
into  an  ancient  vault,  near  Toledo,  the  opening  of 
which  liad  been  denounced  as  fatal  to  the  Spanish 
monarchy.  The  legend  adds,  that  his  rash  cariosi- 
ty was  mortified  by  an  emblematical  representa- 
tion of  those  Saracens,  who,  in  the  year  714,  de- 
feated him  in  battle,  and  reduced  Spain  under 
their  dominion,  I  have  presumed  to  prolong  the 
Vision  of  tiie  Revolutions  of  Spain  down  to  the 
present  eventful  crisis  of  the  Ptninsula;  and  to 
<livide  it,  by  a  supposed  ciiange  of  scene,  into 
Three  Periods.  The  First  of  these  re])resents 
the  invasion  of  the  Moors,  the  defeat  and  death  of 
Roderick,  and  closes  with  the  peaceful  occupation 
of  the  country  by  the  victors.  The  Second  Period 
embraces  the  state  of  the  Peninsula,  when  the 
conquests  of  the  Spaniards  and  Portuguese  in  the 


East  and  West  Indies  had  raised  to  the  highest 
pitch  the  renown  of  their  arms;  sullied,  however, 
by  superstition  and  cruelty.  An  allusion  to  the  in- 
humanities of  the  inquisition  terminates  tliis  pic- 
ture. The  Last  Part  of  the  poem  opens  with  the 
state  of  Spain  previous  to  tile  unparalleled  treach- 
ery of  Bonaparte;  gives  a  sketch  of  the  usurpa- 
tion attempted  upon  that  unsuspicious  and  friendly 
kingdom,  and  terminates  with  tlie  arrival  of  the 
British  succours.  It  may  be  farther  jjroper  to  men- 
lion,  that  the  object  of  the  poem  is  less  to  com- 
memorate or  detail  particular  incidents,  than  to 
exhibit  a  general  and  impressive  picture  of  the 
several  periods  brought  uijon  the  stage. 

I  am  too  sensible  of  the  respect  due  to  the  pub- 
lic, especially  by  one  wlio  has  already  experienced 
more  tlian  ordinary  indulgence,  to  ofter  any  apo- 
logy fur  the  inferiority  of  tlie  poetry  to  the  subject 
it  iscliietiy  designed  to  commemorate.-  Yet  I  think 
it  proper  to  mention,  that  while  1  was  hastily  exe- 
cuting a  work,  written  for  a  temporary  purpose, 
and  on  passing  events,  the  task  was  cruelly  in> 


368 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


terrupted  b  v  tlie  successive  deaths  of  lord  presi- 
dent Blair,' and  lord  viscount  Melville.  In  those 
distinguisiied  characters,  I  had  not  only  to  regret 
persons  wliosc  lives  were  most  important  to  Scot- 
land, but  also  whose  notice  and  patronage  honoured 
mv  enti-ance  upon  active  life;  and  I  may  add,  with 
m'elanclioly  pride,  who  permitted  my  more  ad- 
vanced age  to  claim  no  common  share  in  their 
friendslii'p.  Under  such  interruptions,  the  fol- 
lowing verses,  which  my  best  and  happiest  efforts 
must  have  left  far  unworthy  of  their  theme,  have, 
1  am  mvself  sensible,  an  appearance  of  negligence 
and  incoherence,  wliich,  in  other  circumstances,  1 
might  have  been  able  to  remove. 
Edinburgh,  June  24,  1811. 


INTRODUCTION. 
1. 

Lives  there  a  strain,  whose  sounds  of  mountain 
fire 
May  rise  distinguished  o'er  the  din  of  war. 
Or  died  it  with  yon  master  of  the  lyre, 

Wlio  sung  beleaguered  Ilion's  evil  star? 
Such,  AVellixgtos,  might  reach  thee  from  afar, 

Wafting  its  descant  wide  o'er  ocean's  range; 
Nor  shouts,  nor  clashing  arms,  its  mood  could  mar, 
All  as  it  swelled  'twixt  each   loud    trumpet- 
change, 
That  clangs  to  Britain  victory,  to  Portugal  revenge ! 

U. 
Yes!  such  a  strain,with  all  o'erpowering  measure, 

Miu-ht  melodize  wiili  each  tumultuous  sound. 
Each  "voice  of  fear  or  triumph,  wo  or  pleasure. 

That  rings  Mondego's  ravaged  shores  around; 

The  thundering  crv  oViiosts  with  conquest  crown'd, 

The  female  shriek,  the  ruined  peasant's  moan, 

The  shout  of  captives  from  their  chains  unbountl, 

The  foiled  oppressor's  deep  and  sullen  groan, 
A  nation's  choral  hymn  for  tyranny  o'erlhrown. 

III. 
But  we,  weak  minstrels  of  a  laggard  day, 

Skilled  but  to  imitate  an  elder  page, 
Timid  and  raptureless,  can  we  repay 

The  debt  thou  claim'st  in  this  exhausted  age' 
Thou  givest  our  Ivres  a  theme,  that  might  engage 
Those  that  codld  send  thy  name  o'er  sea  and 
land,  _     ^, 

While  sea  and  land  shall  last;  for  Homer's  rage 
A  theme;  a  theme  for  Milton's  raigiily  hand- 
How  much  unmeet  for  us,  a  faint  degenerate  band  ! 

IV. 

Ye  mountains  stern!  within  whose  rugged  breast 

The  friends  of  ScottisJi  freedom  tound  repose; 

Ye  torrents!  whose  hoarse  sounds  have  soothed 

their  rest. 

Returning  from  the  field  of  vanquished  toes; 

Say    have  ve  lost  each  wild  majestic  close, 

That  ers'l  the  choir  of  bards  or  druids  flung; 
What  time  tlieir  hvmn  of  victory  arose 

And  Cattraeth's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph 

And  mystic  Merlin  harped,  and  gray-haired  Lly- 
wnrch  sung.' 

O'  ifvour  wilds  such  minstrelsy  retain, 

As  sure  vour  changeful  g.iles  seem  oft  to  say. 

When  sweeping  wild  and  sinking  soft  again. 
Like  trumpet  jubilee,  or  harp's  wild  sway; 

If  ve  can  echo  such  triumphant  lay, 

Then  lend  the  note  to  him  has  loved  you  long! 

Who  pious  gathered  each  tradition  gray. 


That  floats  your  solitary  wastes  along, 
And  with  affection  vain  gave  them  new  voice  in 
soncr. 

VI. 
For  not  till  now,  how  oft  soe'er  the  task 

Of  truant  verse  hath  lightened  graver  care, 
From  muse  or  sylvan  was  he  wont  to  ask. 

In  ])hrase  poetic,  inspiration  fair; 
Careless  he  gave  his  numbers  to  the  air, — 

They  came  unsought  for,  if  applauses  came; 
Nor  for  himself  prefers  he  now  the  prayer; 

Let  but  his  verse  befit  a  hero's  fame. 
Immortal  be  the  verse ! — forgot  the  poef  s  name. 

VII. 
Hark,  from  yon  misty  cairn  their  answer  tost; 

"  Minstrel!  the  fame  of  whose  romantic  lyre, 
Capricious  swelling  now,  may  soon  be  lost. 
Like  ihe  light  flickering  of  a  cottage  fire; 
If  to  sucii  task  pi>esuraptuous  thou  aspire, 

Seek  not  from  us  the  meed  to  warrior  due: 
Age  after  age  has  gathered  son  to  sire. 

Since  our  gi-av  clifts  the  din  of  conflict  knew, 
Or,  pealing  through  our  vales,  victorious  bugles 
blew. 

Vlll. 
"Decayed  our  old  traditionary  lore, 

Save'wliere  the  lingering  fays  renew  their  ring, 
By  milk-maid  seen  beneath  the  hawthorn  hoar, 
Or  round  the  marge  of  Mlnchmore's  haunted 
spring;^ 
Save  where  llieir  legends  gray-haired  shepherds 


That  now  scarce  win  a  listening  ear  but  thine, 
Of  feuds  obscure,  and  border  ravaging. 

And  rugged  deeds  recount  in  rugged  line. 
Of  moordight  foray  made  on  Teviot,   Tweed,  or 
Tvne. 

IX. 
"  No!  search  romantic  lands,  where  the  near  sua 

Gives  with  unstinted  boon  ethereal  flame, 
Where  the  rude  villager,  his  labour  done, 

In  verse  spontaneous^  chants  some  favoured  name; 
Whether  Olalia's  charms  his  tribute  claim, 
Her  eye  of  diamond,  and  her  locks  of  jet; 
Or  whether,  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Grame,* 

He  sins,  to  wild  Slorisco  measure  set. 
Old  Albvn's  red  clavmore,  green  Erin's  bayonet! 

X. 
"Explore  those  regions,  where  the  flinty  crest 

Of  wild  Nevada  ever  gleams  with  snows. 
Where  in  the  proud  Alhambra's  ruined  breast 

Barbaric  monuments  of  pomp  repose: 
Or  where  the  banners  of  more  ruthless  toes 
'  Than  the  fierce  Moor,  float  o'er  Toledo's  fane, 
From  w  hose  tall  towers  even  now  the  patriot  throws 

An  anxious  glance,  to  spy  upon  the  plain 
The  blended  ranks  of  England,  Portugal,  and  Spain. 

XI. 
"There,  of  Numantian  fire  a  swarthy  spark 
Still  lightens  in  the  sun-burnt  native's  eye; 
The  stHielv  port,  slow  step,  and  visage  «lark, 

Still  mark  enduring  pride  and  constancy. 
And,  if  the  <;lo\v  of  feudal  chivalry 

Beam  not^  as  once,  thy  nobles'  dearest  pride, 
Iberia!  oft  thy  crestless  peasantry 

Have  seen  the  plumed  Hidalgo  quit  their  side, 
Have  seen,  yet  dauntless  stood — 'gainst  fortune 
fought  and  died. 

XII. 
"  And  cherished  still  by  that  unchanging  race. 
Are  themes  for  minstrelsy  more  hisjh  than  thine; 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


Of  strange  tradition  many  a  mystic  trace, 
Legend  and  vision,  prophecy  and  sign; 

Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 
With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade, 

Forming  a  model  meet  for  minstrel  line. 

Go,  seek  such  theme!" — The  mountain  spirit 
said: 

With  filial  awe  I  heard — I  heard,  and  I  obeyed 


VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 
I. 

Rearistg  their  crests  amid  the  cloudless  skies. 

And  darkly  clustering  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Toledo's  holy  towers  and  spires  arise. 

As  from  a  trembling  lake  of  silver  white. 
Their  mingled  shadows  intercept  the  sight 

Of  the  broad  burial-ground  outstretched  below, 
And  nought  disturbs  the  silence  of  the  night; 

All  sleeps  in  sullen  shade,  or  silver  glow. 
All  save  the  heavy  swell  of  Teio's  ceaseless  flow. 

n. 

All  save  the  rushing  swell  of  Teio's  tide. 

Or  distant  heard,  a  courser's  neigh  or  tramp, ' 
Their  changing  rounds  as  watchful  horsemen  ride. 

To  guard  the  limits  of  king  Roderick's  camp. 
For,  through  the  river's  night-fog  rolling  damp, 

Was  many  a  proud  pavilion  dimly  seen. 
Which  glimmer'd  back,  against  the  moon's  fair 
lamp. 
Tissues  of  silk  and  silver  twisted  sheen, 
And  standards  proudly  pitched,  and  warders  armed 
between. 

III. 
But  of  their  monarch's  person  keeping  ward, 

Since  last  the  deep-mouth'd  bell  of  vespers  toll'd, 
The  chosen  soldiers  of  the  royal  guurd 

Their  post  beneath  the  proud  Cathedral  hold: 
A  band  unlike  their  Gothic  sires  of  old. 

Who,  for  the  cap  of  steel  and  iron  mace. 
Bear  slender  darts,  and  casques  bedeck 'd  with  gold, 
While  silver-studded  belts  their  shoulders  grace. 
Where  ivory  quivers  ring  in  the  broad  falchion's 
place. 

IV. 
In  the  light  language  of  an  idle  court. 

They  murmured  at  tiieir  master's  long  delay, 
And  held  his  lengthened  orisons  in  sport: — 
"What!  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning 
stay. 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away.' 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past. 
For  fair  Flqrinda's  plundered  charms  to  pay? "5 

Then  to  the  east  their  weary  eyes  they  cast. 
And  wished  the  lingering  dawn  would  glimmer 
forth  at  last. 

V. 
But,  far  within,  Toledo's  prelate  lent 

An  ear  of  fearful  wonder  to  the  king; 
The  silver  lamp  a  fitful  lustre  sent. 

So  long  that  sad  confession  witnessing: 
For  Roderick  told  of  many  a  liidden  thing, 

Such  as  are  lothly  uttered  to  the  air. 
When  Fear,  Remorse,   and  Shame,  the  bosom 
wring. 
And  Guilt  his  secret  burthen  cannot  bear, 
And  Conscience  seeks  in  speech  a  respite  from 
Despair. 

VI. 
Full  on  the  prelate's  face,  and  silver  hair. 
The  stream  of  failing  light  was  feebly  rolled; 


369 


But  Roderick's  visage,  though  his  head  was  bare, 

Was  shadowed  by  his  hand  and  mantle's  fold. 
While  of  his  hidden  soul  the  sins  he  told. 

Proud  Alaric's  descendant  could  not  brook, 
That  mortal  man  his  bearing  should  behold. 

Or  boast  that  he  had  seen,  when  conscience  shook, 
Fear  tame  a  monarch's  brow,  remorse  a  warrior's 
look. 

VII. 
The  old  man's  faded  cheek  waxed  yet  more  pale. 

As  many  a  secret  sad  the  king  bewrayed; 
And  sign  .ind  glance  eked  out  the  unfinished  tale, 
When  in  the  midst  his  faltering  whisper  staid. 
"Thus  royal  Witiza*  was  slain,'' — he  said; 
"  Yet,  holy  father,  deem  not  it  was  I." — 
Thus  still  Ambition  strives  her  crime  to  shade — 

"  O  rather  deem  'twas  stern  necessity! 
Self-preservation  bade,  and  1  must  kill  or  die. 

Vlll. 
"And  if  Florinda's  shrieks  alarmed  the  air, 

If  she  invoked  lier  absent  sire  in  vain. 
And  on  her  knees  implored  that  I  would  spare. 

Yet,  reverend  priest,  tiiy  sentence  rash  refrain! 
All  is  not  as  it  seems — the  female  train 

Know  by  their  bearing  to  disguise  their  mood:" 
But  Conscience  here,  as  if  in  lilgh  disdain. 

Sent  to  tlie  monarch's  cheek  the  burning  blood — 
He  stayed  his  speech  abrupt — and  up  the  prelate 
stood. 

IX. 
"O  hardened  offspring  of  an  iron  race! 

What  of  thy  crimes,  Don  Roderick,  shall  1  say? 
What  alms,  or  prayers,  or  penance  can  efface 

Murder's  dark  spot,  wash  treason's  stain  away! 
For  the  foul  ravisher  how  shall  I  pray. 

Who,  scarce  repentant,  makes   his  crime  his 
boast  !* 
How  hope  Almighty  vengeance  shall  delay, 

Unless,  in  mercy  to  yon  christian  host. 
He  spare  the  shepherd,  lest  the  guiltless  sheep  be 
lost?" — 

X. 
Then  kindled  the  dark  tyrant  in  his  mood. 

And  to  his  brow  returned  its  dauntless  sloom; 
"And  welcome  then,"  he  cried,  "be  btood  for 
blood. 
For  treason  treacheiy,  for  disiionour  doom! 
Yet  will  I  know  whence  come  thev,  or  by  whom. 
Show,  for  thou  canst— give  forth  the  fated  key. 
And  guide  me,  priest,  to  that  mysterious  room. 

Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be. 
His  nation's   future  fate   a  Spanish    king  shall 
see." — 6 

XI. 
Ill-fated  prince!  recal  the  desperate  word. 

Or  pause  ere  yet  the  omen  thou  obey ! 
Bethink  yon  spell-bound  port.il  would  afford 

Never  to  former  monarch  entrance-way; 
Nor  shall  it  ever  ope,  old  records  say. 

Save  to  a  king,  the  last  of  all  his  line. 
What  time  his  empire  totters  to  decay. 

And  treason  digs,  beneath,  her  fatal  mine. 
And,  high  above,  impends  avenging  wrath  divine. 

XII. 
— "  Prelate!  a  monarch's  fate  brooks  no  delay; 
Lead  on!"— — The  ponderous  key  the  old  man 
took. 
And  held  the  winking  lamp,  and  led  the  way. 
By  winding  stair,  dark  aisle,  and  secret  nook, 


The  predecessorof  Roderick  upon  the  Spanish  throne 
and  slam  by  his  connivance,  as  is  affirmed  by  RodrieTiea 
ofToledo,  the  father  of  Spanish  history.  ^ 


370 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  on  an  ancient  gate-way  bent  liis  look; 

And,  as  the  key  the  dcsin-ratc  kiiii^  essayed, 
Low-niviltci-id  thunders  the  catheih-al  shook, 

And  twice  lie  stopped,  and  twice  new  effort  made, 
Till  tlie  liuge  bolts  rolled  back,  and  the  loud  hinges 
brayed. 

XIII. 
Lonp;,  large,  and  lofty,  was  that  vaulted  hall; 

Roof,  walls,  and  floor,  were  all  of  marble  stone, 
Of  polished  marble,  black  as  funeral  pall, 

Carved  o'er  with  signs  and  characters  unknown. 
A  paly  light,  as  of  the  dawning,  shone 

Through  the  sad  bounds,  but  whence  they  could 
not  sp)'; 
For  window  to  the  upper  air  was  none; 

Yet  by  that  light,  Don  Roderick  could  descry 
Wonders  that  ne'er  till  then  were  seen  by  mortal 
eye. 

XIV. 
Grim  sentinels,  against  the  upper  wall, 

Of  molten  bronze,  two  statues  held  their  place; 
Massive  their  naked  limbs,  their  stature  tall. 

Their  frowning  foreheads  golden  circles  grace. 
Moulded  they  seemed  for  kings  of  giant  race. 

That  lived  and  sinned  before  the  aveiiging  flood; 
This  grasped  a  sithe,  tiiat  rested  on  a  mace: 

This  spreads  his  wings  for  flight,  that  pondering 
stood, 
Each  stubborn  seemefi  and  stern,  immutable  of 
mood. 

XV. 
Fixed  was  the  right-hand  giant's  brazen  look 

Upon  his  brother's  glass  of  shifting  sand, 
As  if  its  ebb  he  measured  by  a  book. 

Whose  iron  volume  loaded  his  huge  hand; 
In  which  was  wrote  of  manj-  a  falling  land. 

Of  empires  lost,  and  kings  to  exile  driven. 
And  o'er  that  pair  their  names  in  scroll  expand — 

"  Lo,  Destiny  and  Time!  to  whom  by  heaven 
The  guidance  of  the  earth  is  for  a  season  given." 

XVI. 

Even  while  they  read,  the  sand  glass  wastes  away; 

And,  as  the  last  and  lagging  grains  did  creep, 
That  right-hand  giant  'gan  his  club  upsway. 

As  one  that  startles  from  a  heavy  sleep. 
Full  on  the  upper  wall  the  mace's  sweep 

At  once  descended  with  the  force  of  thunder, 
And  hurling  down  at  once,  in  crumbled  heap, 

The  marble  boundary  was  rent  asunder, 
And  gave  to  Roderick's  view  new  sights  of  fear 
and  wonder. 

xvir. 

For  they  might  spy,  beyond  that  mighty  breach, 

Realms  as  of  Spain  in  visioned  prospect  laid, 
Castles  and  towers,  in  due  proportion  each. 

As  by  some  skilful  artist's  hand  portrayed: 
Here,  crossed  by  many  a  wild  sierra's  shade. 

And  boundless  plains  that  tire  the  traveller's  eye; 
There,  rich  with  vineyard  and  with  olive-glade, 

Or  deep  embrowned  by  forests  huge  and  high, 
Or  washed  by  mighty  streams,  that  slowly  mur- 
mured by. 

XVIU. 
And  here,  as  erst  upon  the  antique  stage. 

Passed  forth  the  bands  of  masquers  trimly  led. 
In  various  forms,  and  various  equipage, 

While  fitting  strains  the  hearer's  fancy  fed; 
So  to  sad  Roderick's  eye  in  order  spread, 

Successive  pageants  filled  that  mystic  scene, 
Showing  the  fate  of  battles  ere  they  bled, 


And  issue  of  events  that  had  not  been; 
And  ever  and  anon  strange  sounds  were  heard  be- 
tween. 

XIX. 
First  shrilled  an  unrepealed  female  shriek! 

It  seemed  as  if  Don  Roderick  knew  the  call, 
For  the  bold  blood  was  blanching  in  his  cheek.— 

Then  answered  kettle-drum  and  atabal. 
Gong-peal  and  cymbal-clank  the  ear  appal. 

The  Tecbir  war-cr)',  and  the  Lelies'  yell,^ 
Ring  wildly  dissonant  along  the  hall. 

Needs  not  to  Roderick  their  dread  import  tell — 
"The  Moor!"  he  cried,  "the  Moor! — ring  out 
the  tocsin  bell! 

XX. 
'  •  They  come !  they  come !  I  see  the  groaning  lands, 

White  with  the  turbans  of  each  Arab  horde. 
Swart  Zaarah  joins  her  misbelieving  bands, 

Alia  and  Mahomet  their  battle-word. 
The  choice  they  yield,  the  koran  or  the  sword. — 
See  how  the  christians  rush  lo  arms  amain! — 
In  yonder  shout  the  voice  of  conflict  roared ! 

The  shadowy  hosts  are  closing  on  the  plain — 
Now,  God  and  saint  lago  strike,  for  the  good  cause 
of  Spain!" 

XXI. 
"  By  heaven,  the  Moors  prevail!  the  christians 
yield ! — 
Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign! 
The  sceptred  eraven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 

Is  not  you  steed  Orelia? — Ves,  'lis  mine!^ 
But  never  was  she  turned  from  battle-line: — 
Lo!  where  the  recreant  spurs  o'er  stock  and 
stone ! 
Curses  pursue  the  slave  and  wrath  divine ! — 
Rivers  ingulf  him!" — "  Hush!"  in  shuddering 
tone. 
The  prelate  said;  "  rash  prince,  yon  visioned 
form's  thine  own." — 

XXII. 

Just  then,  a  torrent  crossed  the  flier's  course; 

The  dangerous  ford  the  kingly  likeness  tried; 
But  the  deep  eddies  whelmed  both  man  and  horse. 

Swept  like  benighted  peasant  down  the  ti<le; 
And  the  proud  Moslemah  spread  far  and  wide, 

As  numerous  as  their  native  locust  band; 
Berber  and  Ismael's  sons  the  spoils  divide. 

With  naked  scimitars  mete  out  the  land, 
And  for  their  bondsmen  base  the  freeborn  natives 
brand. 

XXIII. 
Then  rose  the  grated  Harem,  to  enclose 

The  loveliest  maidens  of  the  christian  line; 
Then,  menials  to  their  misbelieving  foes, 

Castile's  young  nobles  held  forbidden  wine; 
Then,  too,  ihp  holy  cross,  salvation's  sign. 

By  impious  hands  was  from  the  altar  thrown, 
And  the  deep  aisles  of  the  polluted  shrine 

Echoed,  for  holy  hynm  and  organ-tone, 
The  santon's  frantic  dance,  the  fakir's  gibbering 
moan. 

XXIV. 
How  fares  Don  Roderick?— E'en  as  one  who  spies 

Flames  dart  their  glare  o'er  midnight's  sable 
woof. 
And  hears  around  his  children's  piercing  cries. 

And  sees  the  pale  assistants  stand  aloof; 
While  cruel  conscience  brings  him  bitter  proof. 

His  folly,  or  his  crime,  have  caused  his  grief. 
And,  while  above  him  nods  the  crumbling  roof, 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


371 


He  curses  earth  and  heaven — himself  in  chief — 
Desperate  of  earthly  aid,  despariiig  heaven's  re- 
lief! 

XXV. 
That  sithe-armed  giant  turned  his  fatal  glass, 

And  twilight  on  the  landscape  closed  her -wings; 
Far  to  Asturian  hills  the  war-sounds  pass. 

And  in  their  stead  rebeck,  or  timbrel  rings; 
And  to  the  sound  the  bell-decked  dancer  springs, 

Bazars  resound  as  when  their  marts  are  met, 
In  tourney  light  the  Moor  his  jeri'id  flings. 

And  on  the  land,  as  evening  seemed  to  set. 
The  imaum's  chant  was  heard  from  mosque  or 
minaret. 

XXVI. 
So  passed  that  pageant.  Ere  another  came, 

The  visionary  scene  was  wrapped  in  smoke. 
Whose  sulph'rous  wreaths  were  crossed  by  sheets 
of  flame; 
With  every  flash  a  bolt  explosive  broke. 
Till  Roderick  deemed  the  fiends  had  burst  their 
yoke. 
And  waved  'gainst  heaven  the  infernal  gonfalone ! 
For  war  a  new  and  dreadful  language  spoke. 
Never  by  ancient  warrior  heard  or  known; 
Lightning  and  smoke  her  breath,  and  thunder  was 
her  tone. 

xxvn. 

From  the  dim  landscape  roll  the  clouds  away — 

The  christians  have  regained  their  heritage; 
Before  the  cross  has  waned  the  crescent's  ray. 

And  many  a  monastery  decks  the  stage. 
And  lofty  church,  and  low  browed  hermitage. 

The  land  obeys  a  hermit  and  a  knight, — 
The  genii  these  of  Spain  for  many  an  age; 

This  clad  in  sackcloth,  that  in  armour  bright, 
And  that  was  Valouh  named,  this  Bigotry  was 
hight. 

XXVIII. 
Valour  was  harnessed  like  a  chief  of  old. 

Armed  at  all  points,  and  prompt  for  knightly 
gest; 
His  sword  was  tempered  in  the  Ebro  cold, 

Morena's  eagle-plume  adorned  his  crest. 
The  spoils  of  Afric's  lion  bound  his  breast. 

Fierce  he  stepped  forward,  and  flung  down  his 

As  if  ot  mortal  kind  to  brave  the  best. 

Him  followed  his  companion,  dark  and  sage, 
As  he,  my  master,  sung,  the  dangerous  archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty  of  heart  and  brow  the  warrior  came. 

In  look  and  language  proud  as  proud  might  be, 
Vaunting  his  lordship,  lineage,  fights,  and  fame. 

Yet  was  that  bare-foot  monk  more  proud  than  he. 
And  as  the  ivy  climbs  the  tallest  tree. 

So  round  the  loftiest  soul  his  toils  he  wound. 
And  with  his  spells  subdued  the  fierce  and  free. 

Till  ermined  age,  and  youth  in  arms  renowned, 
Honouring   his   scourge  and  hair-cloth,  meekly 
kissed  ttie  ground. 

XXX. 
And  thus  it  chanced  that  Valovr,  peerless  knight, 

Who  ne'er  to  king  or  kaisar  veiled  his  crest, 
Victorious  still  in  bull-feast,  or  in  fight, 

Since  first  his  limbs  with  mail  he  did  invest. 
Stooped  ever  to  that  anchoret's  behest; 

Nor  reasoned  of  the  right,  nor  of  the  wrong, 
But  at  his  bidding  laid  the  lance  in  rest. 

And  wro't  fell  deeds  the  troubled  world  along, 
For  he  was  fierce  as  brave,  and  pitiless  as  strong. 


XXXl. 

Oft  his  proud  galleys   sought   some  new-found 
world. 

That  latest  sees  the  sun,  or  first  the  morn; 
Still  at  that  wizard's  feet  their  spoils  he  hurled, — 

Ingots  of  ore,  from  rich  Potosi  borne. 
Crowns  by  caciques,  aigrettes  by  omrahs  worn. 

Wrought  of  rare  gems,  but  broken,  rent,  and 
foul; 
Idols  of  gold,  from  heathen  temples  torn. 

Bedabbled  all  M'ith  blood. — With  grisly  scowl. 
The  hermit  marked  the  stains,  and  smiled  beneath 
his  cowl.  , 

XXXII. 
Then  did  he  bless  the  offering,  and  bade  make 

Tribute  to  heaven  of  gratitude  and  praise; 
And  at  his  word  the  choral  hymns  awake. 

And  many  a  hand  the  silver  censer  sways. 
But  with  the  incense-breath  these  censers  raise, 

Mix  steams  from  corpses  smouldering  in  the  fire; 
The  gi'oans  of  prisoned  victims  mar  tlie  lays. 

And  shrieks  of  agony  confound  the  quire, 
While,  'mid  the  mingled  sounds,  the  darkened 
scenes  expire. 

XXXIII. 
Preluding  light,  were  strains  of  music  heard. 

As  once  again  revolved  that  measured  sand, 
Such  sounds  as  when,  for  sylvan  dance  prepared, 

Gay  Xeres  summons  forth  her  vintage  band; 
When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 

The  Mozo  blith,  with  gay  Muchacha  niet,^ 
He  conscious  of  his  broidered  cap  and  band. 

She  of  her  netted  locks  and  light  corsette. 
Each  tiptoe  perched  to  spring,  and  shake  the  Cas- 
tanet. 

XXXIV. 
And  well  such  strains  the  opening  scene  became; 

For  Valour  had  relaxed  his  ardent  look, 
And  at  a  lady's  feet,  like  lion  tame. 

Lay  stretched,  full  loth  the  weight  of  arms  to 
brook; 
And  softened  Bigotry,  upon  his  book. 

Pattered  a  task  of  little  good  or  ill: 
But  the  blith  peasant  plied  his  pruning  hook. 

Whistled  the  muleteer  o'er  vale  and  hill. 
And  rung  from  village-green  the  merry  seguidille. 

XXXV. 

Gray  royalty,  grown  impotent  of  toil. 

Let  the  grave  sceptre  slip  his  lazy  hold. 
And  careless  saw  his  rule  become  the  spoil 

Of  a  loose  female  and  her  minion  bold. 
But  peace  was  on  the  cottage  and  the  fold. 

From  court  intrigue,  from  bickering  faction  far; 
Beneath  the  chestnut  tree  Love's  tale  was  told, 

And  to  the  tinkling  of  the  light  guitar. 
Sweet  stooped  the  western  sun,   sweet  rose  the 
evening  star. 

XXXVI. 
As  that  sea-cloud,  in  size  like  human  hand 

When  first  from  Carmel  b_v  the  Tishbite  seen. 
Came  slowly  overshadowing  Israel's  land, 

Awhile, perchance,  bedeck'd  with  colours  sheen. 
While  yet  the  sunbeams  on  its  skirts  had  been. 

Limning  with  purple  and  with  gold  its  shroud, 
Till  darker  folds  obscured  the  blue  serene. 

And  blotted  heaven  with  one  broad  sable  cloud. 
Then  sheeted  rain  burst  down,  and  whirlwinds 
howled  aloud: — 

XXXVII. 
Even  so  upon  that  peaceful  scene  was  poured. 

Like  gathering  clouds,  full  many  a  foreign  band. 


372 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  he,  tiK-ir  leader,  wore  in  sheath  his  sword, 

And  oflertd  peaceful  front  and  open  hand; 
Veilins;  the  perjvired  treachery  lie  planned. 

By  fiienilship's  zeal  and  honour's  specious  guise, 
Until  lie  won  the  passes  of  the  land;  ^ 

Tlien,  burst  were  honour's  oath,  and  friendship  s 
ties! 
He   clutched   his  vulture-grasp,    and  called  fair 
Spain  his  prize. 

XXXVIII. 
An  iron  crown  his  anxious  forehead  bore; 

And  well  such  diadem  his  heart  became. 
Who  ne'er  his  purpose  for  remorse  gave  o'er, 

Or  checked  his  course  for  piety  or  shame; 
Who,  trained  a  soldier,  deemed  a  soldier's  tame 

Miglil  tlourisii  in  the  wreath  of  battles  won, 
Thougli  neither  truth  nor  honour  deck^il  his  name: 
Wiio,  placed  by  fortune  on  a  monarch's  throne. 
Recked  not  of  monarch's  faith,  or  mercy's  kingly 
tone. 

XXXIX. 
From  a  rude  isle  his  ruder  lineage  came: 

The  spark,  that,  from  a  suburb  hovel's  hearth 
Ascending,  wraps  some  capital  in  flame. 

Hath  not  a  meaner  or  more  sordid  birth. 
And  for  the  soul  that  bade  him  waste  the  earth — 
The  sable  land-flood  from  some  swamp  obscure. 
That  poisons  the  glad  husband-field  with  dearth, 

And  by  destruction  bids  its  fame  endure, 
Hath  not  a  source  more  sullen,  stagnant,  and  im- 
pure. 

XL. 
Before  that  leader  strode  a  shadowy  form: 

Her  limbs  like  mist,  her  torch  like  meteor  show'd. 
With  which  she  beckoned  him  through  fight  and 
storm. 
And  all  he  crushed  that  crossed  his  desperate 
road. 
Nor  thought,  nor  feared,  nor  looked  on  what  he 
trode; 
Realms  could  not  glut  his  pride,  blood  could  not 
slake. 
So  oft  as  e'er  she  shook  her  torch  abroad — 

It  was  Ambition  bade  her  terrors  wake, 
Nor  deigned  she,  as  of  yore,  a  milder  form  to  take. 

XLI. 
No  longer  now  she  spurned  at  mean  reverse, 

Or  staid  her  hand  for  conquered  foeman's  moan, 
As  when,  the  fates  of  aged  Rome  to  change, 
By  Ccesar's  side  she  crossed  the  Rubicon; 
Nor  joyed  she  to  bestow  the  spoils  she  won, 
As  when  the  banded  powers  of  Greece  were 
tasked 
To  war  beneath  the  youth  of  Macedon: 

No  seemly  veil  her  modern  minion  asked, 
He  saw  her  hideous  face,  and  loved  the  fiend  un- 
masked. 

XLII. 
That  prelate  marked  his  march — On  banners blaz'd 

With  battles  won  in  many  a  distant  land, 
On  eagle-standards  and  on  arms  he  gazed: 

"  And  hopest  thou,  then,"  he  said,  "  thy  power 
shall  stand? 
O  thou  hast  builded  on  the  shifting  sand, 

And  thou  hast  tempered  it  with  slaughter's  flood; 
And  know,  fell  scourge  in  the  Almighty's  hand! 
Gore-moistened  trees  sliall  perish  in  the  bud. 
And  by  a  bloody  death  shall  die  the  man  ofblood!" 

XLIII. 
The  ruthless  leader  beckoned  from  his  train, 
A  uan  fraternal  shade,  and  bade  him  kneel, 


And  paled  his  temples  with  the  crown  of  Spain, 
Wiiile  trumpets  rang,  and  heralds  cried,  "  Cas- 
tile!"io 
Not  that  he  loved  him — No! — in  no  man's  weal, 
Scarce  in  his  own,  e'er  joyed  that  sullen  heart; 
Yet  round  that  throne  he  hade  his  warriors  wheel. 

That  the  poor  puppet  might  perform  his  part. 
And  be  a  sceptred  slave,  at  his  stern  beck  to  start, 

XLIV. 
But  on  the  natives  of  that  land  misused, 

Not  long  the  silence  of  amazement  hung, 
Nor  brooked  they  long  their  friendly  faith  abused; 

For,  with  a  common  sin  iek,  the  general  tongue 
Exclaimed,  "To  arms!"  and  fast  to  arms  they 
sprung. 
And  Valour  woke,  that  genius  of  the  land! 
Pleasure,  and  ease,  and  sloth,  aside  he  flung. 
As  burst  the  awakening  Nazarite  his  band, 
When  'gainst  his  treacherous  foes  he  clenched  his 
dreadful  hand. 

XLV. 
That  mimic  monarch  now  cast  anxious  eye 
Upon  the  satraps  that  begirt  him  round, 
Now  (lofi^ed  his  royal  robe  in  act  to  fly. 

And  from  his  brow  the  diadem  unbound. 
So  oft,  so  near,  the  patriot  bugle  wound, 

P^-om  Tarik's  walls  to  Bilboa's  mountains  blown, 
These  martial  satellites  hard  labour  found. 
To  g-uard  awhile  his  substituted  throne — 
Light  recking  of  his  cause,  but  battling  for  their 
own. 

XLYI. 
From  Alpuhara's  peak  that  bugle  rung. 

And  it  was  echoed  from  Corunna's  wall; 
Stately  Seville  responsive  war-shout  flung, 

Grenada  caught  it  in  her  Moorish  hall; 
Galicia  bade  her  children  fight  or  fall, 

Wild  Biscay  shook  his  mountain-coronet, 
Valencia  roused  her  at  the  battle-call, 

And  foremost  still  where  Valour's  sons  are  met. 
Fast  started  to  his  gun  each  fiery  miquelet. 

XLVIl. 
But  unappalled,  and  burning  for  the  fight. 
The  invaders  march,  of  victory  secure; 
Skilful  their  force  to  sever  or  unite. 

And  trained  alike  to  vanquish  or  endure. 
Nor  skilful  less,  cheap  conquest  to  ensure. 
Discord  to  breathe,  and  jealousy  to  sow. 
To  quell  by  boasting,  and  by  bribes  to  lure; 
While  nought  against  them  bring  the  unprac- 
tised foe. 
Save  hearts  for  Freedom's  cause,  and  hands  for 
Freedom's  blow. 

XLVIIl. 

Proudly  they  march— but  O !  they  marched  not 

forth. 

By  one  hot  field  to  crown  a  brief  campaign, 

As  when  their  eagles,  sweeping  through  the  north, 

Destroyed  at  every  stoop  an  ancient  reign ! 
Far  other  fate  had  heaven  decreed  for  Spain; 

In  vain  the  steel,  in  vain  the  torch  was  plied. 
New  patriot  armies  started  from  the  slain. 

High  blazed  the  war,  and  Ions;,  and  far,  and  wide,'* 
And  oft  the  god  of  battles  blest  the  righteous  side. 

XLIX. 
Nor  unatoned,  where  Freedom's  foes  prevail. 
Remained  tlieir  savage  waste.     With  blade  and 
brand. 
By  day  the  invaders  ravaged  hill  and  dale. 

But,  with  the  darkness,  the  Guerilla  band 
Came  like  night's  tempest,  and  avenged  the  land, 


THE  \1SI0N  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


373 


And  claimed  for  blood  the  retribution  due, 
Probed  the  hard  heart,  and  lopped  the  murderous 

hand, 
■  And  dawn,  when  o'er  the  scene  her  beams  she 

threw, 
Midst  ruins  they  had  made,  the  spoilers'  corpses 
knew. 

L. 
What  minstrel  verse  may  sing,  or  tongue  may  tell, 

Amid  the  visioned  strife  from  sea  to  sea, 
How  oft  the  patriot  banners  rose  or  fell. 

Still  honoured  in  defeat  as  victory ! 
For  that  sad  pageant  of  events  to  be, 

Showed  every  form  of  fight  by  field  and  flood; 
Slaughter  and  ruin,  shouting  forth  their  glee, 
Beheld,  while  riding  on  the  tempest-seud. 
The  waters  choked  with  slain,  the  earth  bedrench- 
ed  with  blood ! 

LI. 
Then  Zaragoza — blighted  be  the  tongue 

That  names  thy  name  without  the  honour  due! 
For  never  hath  the  har[)  of  minstrel  rung, 
Of  faith  so  felly  proved,  so  firmly  true! 
Mine,  sap,  and  bomb,  thy  shattered  ruins  knew, 

Each  art  of  war's  extremity  had  room. 
Twice  from  thy  half-sacked  streets  the  foe  with- 
drew. 
And  when  at  length  stern  Fate  decreed  thy  doom, 
They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  cliildren's  bloody 
tomb.i- 

LII. 
Yet  raise  thy  head,  sad  city!  Though  in  chains. 
Enthralled  thou  canst  not  be !  Arise  and  claim 
Reverence  from  every  heart  where  freedom  reigns. 
For  what  thou  worshippesti — thy  sainted  dame, 
She  of  the  column,  honoured  be  her  name. 

By  all,  whate'er  their  creed,  who  honour  love! 
And  like  the  sacred  relics  of  the  flame, 

That  gave  some  martyr  to  the  blessed  above. 
To  every  loyal  heart  may  thy  sad  embers  prove ! 

LIIl. 
Nor  thine  alone  such  wreck.  Gerona  fair! 

Faithful  to  death  thy  heroes  sliould  be  sung. 
Manning  the  towers  while  o'er  their  heads  the  air 

Swart  as  the  smoke  from  raging  furnace  hung; 
Now  thicker  darkening  where  the  mine  was  sprung, 

Now  briefly  lightened  by  the  cannon's  flare. 
Now  arched  with  fire-sparks  as  the  bomb  was  flung. 
And  reddening  now  with  conflagration's  glare. 
While  by  the  fatal  light  the  foes  for  storm  prepare. 

LIV. 
While  all  around  was  danger,  strife,  and  fear, 

While  the  earth  shook,  and  darkened  was  the  sky, 
And  wide  destruction  stunned  the  listening  ear. 

Appalled  the  heart,  and  stupified  the  eye, — 
Afar  was  heard  that  thrice-repeated  cry. 

In  which  old  Albion's  heart  and  tongue  unite. 
Whene'er  her  soul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high. 

Whether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  llie  fight. 
And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be 
light. 

LV. 
Don  Roderick  turned  him  as  the  shout  grew  loud — 

A  varied  scene  the  changeful  vision  showed. 
For,  wliere  the  ocean  mingled  with  the  cloud, 
A  gallant  navy  stemmed  the  billov/s  broad. 
From  mast  and  stern  St.  George's  symbol  flow'd. 

Blent  with  the  silver  cross  to  Scotland  dear; 
Mottling  the  sea  their  landward  barges  rowed. 

And  flashed  the  sun  on  bayonet,  brand,  and  spear, 
And  the  wild  beach  returned  the  seaman's  jovial 
cheer. 


LVI. 

It  was  a  dread,  yet  spirit-stimng  sight! 

The  billows  foamed  beneatli  a  thousand  oars. 
Fast  as  they  land  the  red-cross  ranks  unite. 

Legions  on  legions  brightening  all  the  shores. 
Then  banners  rise,  and  cannon-signal  roars. 

Then  peals  the  warlike  thunder  of  the  drum, 
Thrills  the  loud  fife,  the  trumpet  flourish  pours. 

And  patriot  hopes  awake,  and  doubts  are  dumb, 
For,  bold  in  freedom's  cause,  the  bands  of  ocean 
come ! 

LVII. 
A  various  host  they  came — whose  ranks  display 

Each  mode  in  which  the  warrior  meets  the  fight. 
The  deep  battalion  locks  its  firm  array, 

And  meditates  his  aim  the  marksman  light; 
Far  glance  the  beams  of  sabres  flashing  bright, 

\\  here  mounted   squadrons  shake  the  echoing 
mead. 
Lacks  not  aitillery  breathing  flame  and  night, 

Nor  the  fleet  ordnance  whirl'd  i)y  rapid  steed. 
That  rivals  lightning's  flash  in  ruin  and  in  speed. 

LYllI. 

A  various  host — from  kindred  realms  they  came, 

Brethren  in  arms,  but  rivals  in  renown — 
For  yon  fair  bands  shall  merr)'  England  claim, 

And  witli  their  deeds  of  valour  deck  her  crown. 
Hers  their  bold  port,  and  hers  their  m.irtial  frown. 

And  hers  their  scorn  of  death  in  freedom's  cause, 
Their  eyes  of  azure,  and  their  locks  of  brown. 

And  the  blunt  speech  tliat  bursts  without  a  pause, 
And  freeborn  thoughts,  which  league  the  soldier 
with  the  laws. 

LIX. 

And  O!  loved  warriors  of  the  minstrel's  land! 

Yonder  your  bonnets  nod,  your  tartans  wave! 
The  rugged  form  may  mark  the  mountain  band. 

And  harsher  features,  and  a  mien  more  grave; 
But  ne'er  in  battle-field  throbbed  heart  so  brave 

As  that  which  beats  beneath  the  Scottish  plaid. 
And  when  the  pibroch  bids  the  battle  rave. 

And  level  for  the  charge  your  arms  are  laid. 
Where  lives  the  desperate  foe  that  for  such  onset 
staid ! 

LX. 
Hark  I  from  yon  stately  ranks  what  laughter  rings. 

Mingling  wild  mirth  with  wars  stern  minstrelsy. 
His  jest  while  each  blith  comrade  round  him  flings. 

And  moves  to  death  with  military  glee: 
Boast,  Erin,  boast  them!  tameless,  frank,  and  free. 

In  kindness  warm,  and  fierce  in  danger  known. 
Rough  Nature's  children,  humorous  as  she: 

And  he,  yon  chieftain — strike  the  proudest  tone 
Of  thy  bold  harp,  green  Isle! — the  hero  is  thine 
own. 

LXL 
Now  on  the  scene  Vineira  should  be  shown. 

On  Talavera's  fight  should  Roderick  gaze. 
And  hear  Corunna  wail  her  battle  won, 

And  see  Busaco's  crest  with  lightning  blaze: — 
But  shall  fond  fable  mix  with  hero's  praise? 

Hath  Fiction's  stage  for  Truth's  long  triumphs 
room.' 
And  dare  her  flowers  mingle  with  the  bays. 

That  claim  a  long  eternity  to  bloom 
Around  the  warrior's  crest,  and  o'er  the  warrior's 
tomb  ? 

LXII. 
Or  may  I  give  adventurous  fancy  scope. 

And  stretch  a  bold  hand  to  the  awful  veil 


374 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  hides  futurity  from  anxious  hope, 
Bidding  beyond  it  scenes  of  glory  hail, 

And  painting  Europe  rousing  nt  the  tale 

Of  Spain's  invaders  from  her  confines  hurled, 

While  kindling  nations  buckle  on  their  mail, 
And  fame,  with  clarion-blast  and  wings  unfurl'd, 

To  freedom  and  revenge  awakes  an  injured  world! 

LXIIT. 

O  vain,  though  anxious,  is  the  glance  1  cast, 

Since  fate  has  marked  futurity  her  own: — 
Yet  fate  resigns  to  worth  the  glorious  past, 

The  deeds  recorded,  an<l  the  laurels  won, 
Then,  though  the  vault  of  destiny'^  be  gone. 

King,  prelate,  all  the  phantasms  of  my  brain, 
Melted  away  like  mist-wreaths  in  the  sun, 

Yet  grant  for  faith,  for  valour,  and  for  Spain, 
One  note  of  pride  and  fire,  a  patriot's  parting  strain' 

CONCLUSIOS^. 

I. 

■"  Who  shall  command  Estrella's  mountain-tide 

Back  to  the  source,  when  tempest-chafed  to  hie  ? 
Who,  when  Gascogne's  vex'd  gulf  is  raging  wide. 

Shall  hush  it  as  a  nurse  her  infant's  cry  ? 
His  magic  power  let  such  vain  boaster  try. 

And  when  the  torrent  shall  his  voice  obey. 
And  Biscay's  whirlwinds  list  his  lullaby. 

Let  him  stand  forth  and  bar  mine  eagles'  way, 
And  they  shall  heed  his  voice,  and  at  his  bidding 
stay. 

11. 
*•  Else  ne'er  to  stoop,  till  high  on  Lisbon's  towers 
They  close  their  wings,  the  symbol  of  our  yoke. 
And  their  own   sea  hath  whelmed  yon  red-cross 
powers!" 
Thus,  on  the  summit  of  Alverca's  rock. 
To  marshal,  duke,  and  peer,  Gaul's  leader  spoke. 
While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press, 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock. 

And  smiled  live  Eden  in  her  summer  dress;        I 
Behind  their  wasteful  march  a    reeking  wilder- : 
ness.  '■» 

III. 
And  shall  the  boastful  chief  maintain  his  word. 
Though  heaven  hath  heard  the  wailings  of  the  , 
land. 
Though  Lusitania  whet  her  vengeful  sword,  j 

Though  Britons  arm,  and  Wellixoton  com-, 
mand ! 
No!  grim  Busaco's  iron  ridge  shall  stand 

An  adamantine  barrier  to  his  force!  | 

And  from  its  base  shall  wheel  his  shattered  band,  i 

As  from  the  unshaken  rock  the  torrent  hoarse    | 

Bears  off  its  broken  waves,  and  seeks  a  devious 

course.  | 

^^• 
Yet  not  because  Alcoba's  mountain  hawk. 

Hath  on  his  best  and  bravest  made  her  food,       ' 

In  numbers  confident,  yon  chief  shall  baulk 

His  lord's  imperial  thirst  for  spoil  and  blood: 

For  full  in  view  the  jiromised  conquest  stood. 

And  Lisbon's  matroiis,  from  their  walls,  might 

sum 

The  myriads  that  liad  half  the  world  subdued. 

And  hear  the  distant  thunders  of  the  drum,         ' 

That  bids  the  band  of  France  to  storm  and  havoc 

come.  ' 

V.  1 

Four  moons  have  heard  these  thunders  idly  rolled. 

Have  seen  tliese  wistful  myriads  eyo  their  prey, ; 


As  famished  wolves  survey  a  guarded  fold — 

Hut  in  the  middle  path  a  lion  lay! 
At  length  they  move — but  not  to  battle-fray, 

Nor  blaze  yon  fires  where  meets  the  manly  fightt 
Beacons  of  infamy  they  light  the  way. 
Where  cowardice  and  cruelty  unite. 
To  damn  with  double  shame  their  ignominious 
flight! 

VI. 
Oh  triumph  for  the  fiends  of  lust  and  wrath! 
I  Ne'er  to  be  told,  yet  ne'er  to  be  forgot. 

What  v.anton  horrors  marked  their  wrackful 
path ! 
I  The  peasant  butchered  in  his  ruined  cot. 
The  hoary  priest  even  at  the  altar  shot, 
I  Childhood  and  age  given  o'er  to  sword  andflaiue, 
I      Woman  to  infamy;  no  crime  forgot. 
By  which  inventive  demons  might  proclaim 
Immortal  hate  to  man,  and  scorn  of  God's  great 
name! 

VII. 
The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  born. 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done. 
Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretcli  forlorn,'* 
Wiped  his  stern  eye,  then  fiercer  grasped  his  gun. 
Nor  with  less  zeal  shall  Britain's  peaceful  son. 

Exult  the  debt  of  sympathy  to  pay; 
Riches  nor  poverty  the  task  sh.ill  shun, 

Nor  prince  nor  peer,  the  wealthy  nor  the  gsy. 
Nor  the  poor  peasant's  mite,   nor  bard's  more 
worthless  lay. 

Mil. 
But  thou — unfoughten  w  ill  thou  yield  to  Fate, 

Minion  of  Fortune,  now  miscalled  in  vain? 
Can  vantage-ground  no  confidence  create, 

Marcella's  pass,  nor  Guarda's  mountain-chain? 
Vain-glorious  fugitive  !'6  yet  turn  again  ! 

Behold,  where,  named  by  some  prophetic  seer. 

Flows  Honour's  fountain*  as  fore-doomed  the  stain 

From  thy  dishonoured  name  and  arms  to  clear — 

Fallen  child  of  Fortune,  turn,  redeem  her  favour 

here! 

IX. 
Yet,  ere  thou  turn'st,  collect  each  distant  aid; 
Those  chief  that  never  heard  the  lion  roar! 
Within  whose  souls  lives  not  a  trace  portrayed, 

Of  Talavera,  or  Mondego's  shore ! 
Marshal  each  band  thou  hast,  and  summon  morei 

Of  war's  fell  stratagems  exhaust  the  whole; 
liank  upon  rank,  squadron  on  squadron  pour, 

Legion  on  legion  on  thy  foeman  roll. 
And  weary  out  his  arm — thou  canst  not  quell  his 
sold. 

X. 
O  vainly  gleams  with  steel  Agueda's  shore. 

Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuava's  plain. 
And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar. 

With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in  vain!''' 
And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  Cameron  slain, '8 

Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was  given — 

Vengeance  and  grief  gave  mountain  rage  the  rein. 

And,  at  the  bloody  spear-point  headlong  driven. 

Thy  despot's  giant  guards  fled  like  the  rack  of 

heaven. 

XL 
Go,  bafiled  boaster!  teach  thy  iiaiighty  mood 

To  plead  at  thine  imperious  master's  throne; 
Say,  thou  hast  left  his  legions  in  their  blood. 
Deceived  his  hopes,  and  frustrated  thine  own: 

•  The  literal  translation  of  Fuentet  d'Honoro. 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


375 


Say,  that  thine  utmost  skill  and  valour  shown 

By  Bi-itish  skill  and  valour  were  outvied; 
Last  sav,  thv  conqueror  was  Wf.lli>'gton  ! 

And  "if  he' chafe,  be  his  own  fortune  tried — 
God  and  our  cause  to  friend,  the  venture  we'll 
abide. 

XII. 
But  ye,  the  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day. 

How  shall  a  bard,  unknowing  and  unknown. 
His  mead  to  each  victorious  leader  pay. 

Or  bind  on  every  brow  the  laurels  won? 
Yet  fain  my  harp  would  wake  its  boldest  tone, 

O'er  the  wide  sea  to  hail  Cadogan  brave; 
And  he,  perchance,  the  minstrel  note  might  own, 

Mindful  of  meeting  brief  that  Fortune  gave 
'Mid  yon  far  western  isles  that  hear  the  Atlantic 
rave. 

xm. 

Yes  !  hard  the  task,  when  Britons  wield  the  sword. 

To  give  each  chief  and  every  field  its  fame: 
Hark!  Albuera  thunders  BEUESFORn, 

And  red  Barrosa  shouts  for  dauntless  GnilME ! 
O  for  a  verse  of  tumult  and  of  flame. 

Bold  as  the  bursting  of  their  cannon  sound, 
To  bid  the  world  re-echo  to  their  fame! 

For  never,  upon  gnry  battle-ground, 
With  conquest's  well-bought  wreath  were  braver 
victors  crowned! 

XIV. 
O  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays. 

Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  field. 
Roused  them  to  emulate  their  fathers'  praise. 

Tempered  their  headlong  rage,  their  coiu-age 
steeled,  19 
And  raised  fair  Lusitania's  fallen  shield, 

And  gave  new  edge  to  Lusitania's  sword. 
And  taught  her  sons  forgotten  arms  to  wield — 

Shivered  my  harp,  and  burst  its  every  chord, 
If  it  forget  thy  worth,  victorious  Beresford! 

XV. 
Not  on  that  bloody  field  of  battle  won, 

Tlio'  Gaul's  proud  legions  rolled  like  mist  away, 
Was  half  his  self-devoted  valour  shown, — 

He  gaged  but  life  on  that  illustrious  day; 
But  when  he  toiled  those  squadrons  to  array, 

Who  fought  like  Britons  in  the  bloody  game. 
Sharper  than  Polish  pike,  or  assagay. 

He  braved  the  shafts  of  censure  and  of  shame. 
And,  dearer  far  than  life,  he  pledged  a  soldier's 
fame. 

XVI. 
Nor  be  his  praise  o'erpast  who  strove  to  hide 

Beneath  the  warrior's  vest  aftection's  wound. 
Whose  wish  heaven  for  his  country's  weal  denied. 

Danger  and  fate  he  sought,  but  glory  found. 
From  clime  to  clime,  where'er  war's  trumpets 
sound. 

The  wanderer  went;  yet,  Caledonia!  still 
Thine  was  his  thought  in  marcli  and  tented  ground: 

He  dreamed  'mid  Alpine  cliffs  of  Athole's  hill. 
And  heard  in  Ebro's  roar  his  Lvndoch's  lovelv  rill. 

XVII. 
O  hero  of  a  race  renowned  of  old. 

Whose  war-cr)-  oft  has  waked  the  battle  swell,2o 
Since  first  distinguished  in  the  onset  bold, 

Wild  sounding  when  the  Roman  rampart  fell! 
By  Wallace'  side  it  rung  the  southron's  knell, 

Alderne,  Kilsythe,  and  Tibber  owned  its  fame, 
Tummel's  rude  pass  can  of  its  terrors  tell; 

But  ne'er  from  prouder  field  arose  the  name, 
Than  when  wild  Ronda  learned  the  conquering 
shout  of  Grjeme! 
26 


XVIII. 

But  all  too  long,  through  seas  unknown  and  dark, 

(With  Spenser's  parable  1  close  my  tale,) 
By  shoal  and  rock  hath  steered  my  venturous  bark, 

And  landward  now  1  drive  before  the  gale. 
And  now  the  blue  and  distant  shore  1  liail, 

And  nearer  now  I  see  the  port  expand, 
And  now  I  gladly  furl  my  weai^  sail. 

And,  as  the  prow  light  touches  on  the  strand, 
1  strike  my  red-cross  flag,  and  bind  my  skiff  to  land. 


1.  And  Cattraeth's  plens  with  voice  of  triumph  rung. 
And  mystic  Jlerliu  liarp'd,  and  gray-hair'd  Llywarch 
sung.— P.  368. 

This  locality  may  startle  those  readers  who  do 
not  recollect,  that  much  of  the  ancient  poetry, 
preserved  in  Wales,  refers  less  to  tlie  hislor3''of 
llie  ]irincipality  to  which  that  name  is  now  limit- 
ed, tlian  to  events  which  hajipened  in  the  north- 
west of  England  and  south-west  of  Scotland,  where 
the  Britons  for  a  long  time  made  a  stand  against 
the  Saxons.  The  battle  of  Cattraeth,  lamented 
by  the  celebrated  Aneurin,  is  supposed  by  the 
learned  Dr.  Leyden  to  liave  been  fought  on  the 
skirts  of  Eltrick  forest.  It  is  known  to  the  English 
reader  by  the  paraphrase  of  Gray,  beginning, 

Had  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 

AVith  headlong  rage  and  wild  affright,  &c. 

But  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the  champions, 
mourned  in  this  beautiful  dirge,  were  the  British 
inhabitants  of  Edinburgh,  who  were  cut  off"  by  the 
Saxons  of  Deiria,  or  Northumberland,  about  the 
latter  part  of  the  sixth  century. — Turner'' s  History 
of  the  ^inglo-Saxoiis,  edition  1799,  vol.  i,  p.  222. 
—  Llywarch,  the  celebrated  bard  and  monarch, 
was  prince  of  Argood,  in  Cumberland;  and  his 
youthful  exploits  were  performed  upon  the  border, 
iilthough  in  his  age  he  was  driven  into  Powys  by 
the  successes  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  As  for  Merlin 
Wyllt,  or  the  Savage,  his  name  of  Caledonian,  and 
his  retreat  into  the  Caledonian  wood,  appropriate 
him  to  Scotland.  Fordun  dedicates  the  tliirly-first 
chapter  of  the  third  book  of  his  Scoto-Chronicon, 
to  a  narration  of  the  death  of  this  celebrated  bard 
and  prophet  near  Drummelziar,  a  village  upon 
Tweed,  wliich  is  supposed  to  have  derived  its  name 
[quasi  Tumiihis  ^llerliiu',)  from  the  event.  The 
particular  spot  in  wiiich  he  is  buried  is  still  shown, 
and  appears,  from  the  fdlowing  quotation,  to  have 
partaken  of  his  prophetic  qualities: — "  There  is 
one  thiiig  remarkable  here,  which  is,  that  the  burn, 
called  Fausayl,  runs  by  the  east  side  of  the  chiuch- 
yard  into  the  Tweed;  at  the  side  of  whicli  burn,  a 
little  below  the  church-yard,  the  famous  propiiet 
Merlin  is  said  to  be  buried.  Tlie  particular  place 
of  his  grave,  at  the  it)ot  of  a  thorn-tree,  was  shown 
nie  many  years  ago,  by  tlie  old  and  reverend  mi- 
nister of  the  place,  Mr.  Richard  Brown;  and  here 
was  the  old  prophecy  fulfilled,  delivered  in  Scots 
rhyme,  to  this  purpose: 

When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  join  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch  have. 

"For  tlie  same  day  triat  our  king  James  the 
Sixth  was  crowned  king  of  England,  the  river 
Tweed,  by  an  extraordinary  flood,  so  far  overflow- 
ed its  banks,  that  it  met  and  joined  with  Pausayl 
at  the  said  gi'ave,  which  was  never  before  observed 
to  fall  out." — J-'enniicmc/c''s  Description  of  Tyve'jd- 
dale,  Ed'nb.  iri5,  4.  p.  26. 


576 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


2.  ^— where  the  lingering  fays  renew  their  ring, 
By  milk-maid  seen  beneath  tlie  hawthorn  hoar, 
Or  round  the  marge  of  Minchmore's  haunted  spring.— 
P.  368. 

A  belief  in  the  existence  and  nocturnal  revels  of 
the  fairies  still  lingers  amonp;  the  vulgar  in  Sel- 
kirksliire.  A  copious  fountain  upon  the  ridge  of 
Minchmore,  called  the  Cheesewell,  is  suj)posed 
to  be  sacred  to  these  fanciful  spirits,  and  it  was 
customary  to  propitiate  them  by  throwing  in  some- 
thing upon  passing  it.  A  pin  was  the  usual  obla- 
tion, and  the  ceremony  is  still  sometimes  practis- 
ed, though  rather  in  jest  than  earnest. 

3.  verse  spontaneous. — P.  368. 

The  flexibility  of  ttie  Italian  and  Spanish  lan- 
guages, and  perhaps  the  liveliness  of  their  genius, 
renders  these  countries  distinguished  tor  the  talent 
of  improvisation,  which  is  found  even  among  the 
lowest  of  the  people.  It  is  mentioned  by  liaretti 
and  other  travellers. 

4.  the  deeds  of  Grsme.— P.  368. 

Over  a  name  sacred  for  ages  to  heroic  verse,  a 
poet  may  be  allowed  to  exercise  some  power.  I 
have  used  the  freedom,  here  and  elsewhere,  to  al- 
ter the  orthography  of  the  name  of  my  gallant 
countryman,  in  order  to  apprize  the  southern  rea- 
der of  its  legitimate  sound; — Graham  being,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Tweed,  usually  pronounced 
as  a  dissyllable. 
5.  For  fair  Florinda's  plunder'd  cbarras  to  pay. — P.  369. 

Almost  all  the  Spanish  historians,  as  well  as  the 
voice  of  tradition,  ascribe  the  invasion  of  the  Moors 
to  the  forcilde  violation  committed  by  Roderick 
upon  Florinda,  called  by  the  Moors  Caba  or  Cava. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  count  Julian,  one  of  the 
Gothic  monarch's  principal  lieutenants,  who,  when 
the  crime  was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  the  de- 
fence of  Ceuta  against  the  Moors.  In  his  indigna- 
tion at  the  ingratitude  of  his  sovereign,  and  the 
dishonour  of  his  daughter,  count  Julian  forgot  the 
duties  of  a  christian  and  a  patriot,  and,  forming 
an  alliance  with  Musa,  then  the  caliph's  lieutenant 
in  Africa,  he  countenanced  the  invasion  of  Spain 
by  a  body  of  Saracens  and  Africans,  commanded 
by  the  celebrated  Tarik;  the  issue  of  which  was 
the  defeat  and  death  of  Roderick,  and  the  occupa- 
tion of  almost  the  whole  peninsula  by  the  Moors. 
Voltaire,  in  his  General  History,  expresses  his 
doubts  of  this  popular  story,  and  Gibbon  gives  him 
some  countenance.  But  the  universal  tradition  is 
quite  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  poetry.  The 
Spaniards,  in  detestation  of  Florinda's  memory, 
are  said,  by  Cervantes,  never  to  bestow  that  name 
upon  any  human  female,  reserving  it  for  their  dogs. 
Nor  is  the  tradition  less  inveterate  among  tlie 
Moors,  since  the  same  author  mentions  a  promon- 
tory on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  called  "  The  Cape 
of  Caba  Rumia,  which,  in  our  tongue,  is  the  Cape 
of  the  Wicked  Chrislain  Woman;  and  it  is  a  tradi- 
tion among  the  Moors,  that  Caba,  the  daughter  of 
count  Julian,  who  was  the  cause  of  the  loss  of 
Spain,  lies  buried  there,  and  tliey  think  it  ominous 
to  be  forced  into  that  bay;  for  they  never  go  in 
otherwise  than  by  necessity." 
6.  And  guide  me,  priest,  to  that  mysterious  room, 
Whei-e,  if  augnt  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
His  nation's  future  fate  a  Spanish  king  shall  see. — 
P.  369. 

The  transition  of  an  incident  from  history  to 
tradition,  and  from  tradition  to  fable  and  romance, 
becoming  more  marvellous  at  each  step  from  its 
original  simplicity,  is  not  ill  exemplified  in  the 


account  of  the  "  Fated  Chamber"  of  Don  Rode- 
rick, as  given  by  his  namesake,  the  historian  of 
Toledo,  contrasted  with  subsequent  and  more  ro- 
mantic accounts  of  the  same  subterranean  discove- 
ry. 1  give  the  archbishop  of  Toledo's  tale  in  the 
words  of  Nonius,  who  seems  to  intimate  (though 
very  modestly,)  that  \.\\e fatale palatium,  of  whicii 
so  much  had  been  said,  was  only  the  ruins  of  a 
Roman  ampiiitheatre. 

"Extra  muros,  septentrionein  versus,  vestigia 
magni  olini  thcatri  sparsa  visuntur.  Auctor  est 
RodericusToletanus  Archiepiscopusante  Arabum 
in  Hispanias  irruptionem,  hie  fatale  palatium 
fuisse;  quod  invicti  vectes,  seterna  ferri  robora 
claudebant,  ne  reseratum  Hispanix  excidium  ad- 
ferret;  quod  in  fatis  non  vulgus  solum,  sed  et  pru- 
dentissimi  quique  credebanl.  Sed  Roderici  ultinii 
Golhorum  Regis  animum  infelix  curiositas  subiit, 
sciendi  quid  sub  tot  vetilis  claustris  observaretur; 
ingentes  ibi  sui)eriorum  regum  opes  et  arcanos 
thesauros  servari  ratus.  Seias  et  pessulos  perfringi 
curat,  invitis  omnibus,  niiiil  prajter  arculam  re- 
pertam,  et  in  ea  linteuni,  quo  explicato  novx  et 
insolentes  hominum  facies  liabitusque  apparuere, 
cum  inscriptione  Latina,  Hispanix  excidium  ab 
ilia  gente  imminere;  vultus  liabitusque  Maurorum 
erant.  Quamobrem  ex  Africa  tantam  cladem  in- 
stare  regi  C£eteris(iue  persuasum;  nee  falso  ut  His- 
panioe  annales  etiamniun  queruntur. " — Hisparda 
Ludox'ic.  JVonij,  cap.  lix. 

But  about  the  term  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors 
from  Grenada,  we  find,  in  the  "  Historia  Vcrdadera 
del  Roy  Don  Roderigo,"  a  (pretended)  translation 
from  the  Aral)ic  of  tlie  sage  Alcayde  Albucaciia 
Tarif  Abentarique,  a  legend  which  puts  to  shame 
the  modesty  of  the  historian  Roderick,  with  his 
chest  and  prophetic  picture.  The  custom  of  as- 
cribing a  pretended  Moorish  original  to  these 
legendary  histories,  is  ridiculed  by  Cervantes,  who 
affects  to  translate  the  history  of  the  Knight  of  the 
Woful  Figure,  from  the  Arabic  of  the  sage  Cid 
Hamet  Benengeli.  As  I  have  been  indebted  to  the 
Historia  Verdadera  for  some  of  the  imagery  era- 
ployed  in  the  text,  the  following  literal  translation 
from  the  work  itself  may  gratify  the  inquisitive 
reader: — 

"One  mile  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  of  Tole- 
do, among  some  rocks,  was  situated  an  ancient 
tower,  of  a  magnificent  structure,  though  much 
dilapidated  by  time,  which  consumes  all:  four  es- 
tadoes  [i.  e.  four  times  a  man's  height,)  below  it, 
there  was  a  cave  with  a  very  narrow  entrance,  and 
a  gate  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock,  lined  with  a  strong 
covering  of  iron,  and  fastened  with  many  locks; 
above  the  gate  some  Greek  letters  are  engraved, 
which,  although  abbreviated,  and  of  doubtful  mean- 
ing, were  thus  interpreted,  according  to  the  ex- 
position of  learned  men: — '  The  king  who  opens 
this  cave,  and  can  discover  the  wonders,  will  dis- 
cover both  goo<l  and  evil  things.' — Many  kings 
desired  to  know  the  mystery  of  this  tower,  and 
sought  to  find  out  the  manner  with  much  care:  but 
when  they  opened  tlie  gate,  such  a  tremendous 
noise  arose  in  tlie  cave,  that  it  appeared  as  if  tiie 
earth  was  bursting;  many  of  those  present  sickened 
with  fear,  and  others  lost  their  lives.  In  order  to 
prevent  such  great  perils,  (as  they  supposed  a  <lan- 
gerous  enehantment  was  contained  within,)  they 
secured  the  gate  with  new  locks,  concluding,  that 
though  a  king  was  destined  to  open  it,  the  fated 
time  was  not  vet  arrived.  At  last  king  Don  Ro- 
drigo,  led  on  by  his  evil  fortune  and  unlucky  des- 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


Z77 


tiny,  opened  the  tower;  and  some  bold  attendants 
■whom  he  had  brought  with  him  entered,  although 
agitated  with  fear.  Having  proceeded  a  good  way, 
they  fled  back  to  the  entrance,  terrified  with  a 
frightful  vision  which  they  had  beheld.  The  king 
■was  greatly  moved,  and  ordered  many  torches,  so 
contrived  that  tiie  tempest  in  the  cave  could  not 
extinguish  them,  to  be  lighted.  Then  the  king 
entered,  not  without  fear,  before  all  the  others. 
They  discovered,  by  degrees,  a  splendid  hall,  ap- 
parently built  in  a  very  sumptuous  manner;  Iti  the 
middle  stood  a  bronze  statue  of  very  ferocious  ap- 
pearance, which  held  a  battle-axe  in  its  hands. 
With  this  lie  struck  the  floor  violently,  giving  it 
such  heavy  blows,  that  the  noise  in  the  cave  was 
occasioned  bj-  the  motion  of  the  air.  The  king, 
greatly  affrighted  and  astonished,  began  to  conjure 
this  terrible  vision,  promising  that  lie  would  re- 
turn without  doing  any  injury  in  the  cave,  after  lie 
had  obtained  sight  of  what  was  contained  in  it. 
The  statue  ceased  to  strike  the  floor,  and  the  king, 
■with  his  followers,  somewhat  assured,  and  reco- 
Tering  their  courage,  proceeded  into  the  hall;  and 
on  the  left  of  the  statue  they  found  tiiis  inscription 
on  the  wall;  'Unfortunate  king,  thou  hast  entered 
here  in  evil  hour.'  On  the  right  side  of  the  wall 
these  ■words  were  inscribed,  '  By  strange  nations 
thou  shalt  he  dispossessed,  and  thy  subjects  foully 
degraded.'  On  the  shoulders  of  the  statue  other 
■words  were  written,  wiiich  said,  '  I  call  upon  the 
Arabs.'  And  upon  his  breast  was  written,  '  1  do 
my  office.'  At  the  entrance  of  the  hall  there  was 
placed  a  round  bowl,  from  which  a  great  noise, 
like  the  fall  of  waters,  proceeded.  They  found  no 
other  thing  in  the  hall;  and  when  the  king,  sor- 
rowful and  greatly  affected,  had  scarcely'  turned 
about  to  leave  the  cavern,  the  statue  again  com- 
menced its  accustomed  blows  upon  the  floor.  Af- 
ter they  had  mutually  promised  to  conceal  what 
they  had  seen,  they  again  closed  the  tower,  and 
blocked  up  the  gate  of  the  cavern  ■tt'ith  earth,  that 
no  memory  might  remain  in  the  world  of  such  a 
portentous  and  evil-boding  prodigy.  The  ensuing 
midnight  they  heard  great  cries  and  clamour  from 
the  cave,  resounding  like  the  noise  of  a  battle,  and 
the  ground  shaking  with  a  tremendous  roar;  the 
■whole  edifica  of  the  old  tow  er  fell  to  the  ground, 
by  which  they  were  greatly  aff'righted,  the  vision 
■which  they  had  beheld  appearing  to  them  as  a 
dream. 

"  The  king,  having  left  the  tower,  ordered  wise 
men  to  explain  what  the  inscription  signified;  and 
having  consulted  upon  and  studied  their  meaning, 
they  declared  tiiat  the  statue  of  bronze,  with  the 
motion  which  it  made  with  its  battle-axe,  signified 
Time;  and  that  its  office,  alluded  to  in  the  inscrip- 
tion on  his  breast,  was,  that  he  never  rests  a  single 
moment.  The  words  on  tlie  shoulders,  '  1  call 
upon  the  Arabs,'  they  expounded  that  in  time 
Spain  would  be  conquered  by  the  Arabs.  The 
■words  upon  the  left  wall  signified  the  destruction 
of  king  Rodrigo;  those  on  the  right,  the  dreadful 
calamities  which  were  to  fall  upon  the  Spaniards 
and  Goths,  and  that  the  unfortunate  king  would 
be  dispossessed  of  all  his  states.  Finally,  the  let- 
ters on  the  portal  indicated,  that  good  would  be- 
tide to  the  conquerors,  and  evil  to  the  conquered, 
of  which  experience  proved  tiie  truth." — Historia 
Verdadeyra  del  Key  Don  Rodrigo.  Quinta  im- 
pression. Madrid,  1654-,  4.  p.  23. 

7.  The  tecbii-  war-cr)-,  and  the  lelies'  veil. — P.  370. 

The  tecbir  (derived  from  the  words  Alia  acbar. 


God  is  most  mighty)  was  the  original  war-cry 
of  tlie  Saracens.  It  is  celebrated  by  Hughes,  in 
the  siege  of  Damascus. 

We  heard  the  tecbir;  so  these  Arabs  call 
Their  shout  of  onset,  when  with  loud  appeal 
They  challenge  heaven,  as  if  demanding  conquest. 
The  Lelie,  well  known  to  the  christians  during 
the  crusades,  is  the  shout  of  Alia  ilia  Alia,  the 
Mahommedan  confession  of  faith.  It  is  twice  used 
in  poetry  by  my  friend  Mr.  W.  Stuart  Rose,   in 
the  Romance  of  Partenopax,  and  in  the  Crusade 
of  St.  Lewis. 
8.  By  heaven,  the  Moors  prevail! — the  christians  yield! 
Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign! 
Tlie  scepter'd  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field — 
Is  not  yon  steed  Oreliaf — Yes,  'tis  mine! — P.  370. 
Count  Julian,  the  father  of  the  injured  Florinda, 
witli  the  connivance  and  assistance  of  Oppas,  arch- 
bishop of  Toledo,  invited,  in  "13,  the  Saracens 
into  S|)ain.     A  considerable  army  arrived  under 
the  command  of  Tarik,  or  Tarif,  who  bequeathed 
the  well-known  name  of  Gibraltar  [Gibel  al  Ta- 
rik, or  the  mountain  of  Tarik)  to  the  place  of  his 
landing.     He  was  joined  by  count  Julian,  ravaged 
And:dusia,  and  took  Seville.  In  714  they  returned 
witli  a  still  greater  force,  and  Roderick  marched 
into  Andalusia  at  the  head  of  a  great  array  to  give 
them  battle.    The  field  was  chosen  near  Xeres, 
and  Mariana  gives  the  following  account  of  the  ac- 
tion: 

"  Both  armies  being  drawn  up,  the  king,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  Gothic  kings  ■when 
they  went  to  battle,  appeared  in  an  ivory  chariot, 
clothed  in  cloth  of  gold,  encouraging  his  men;  Ta- 
rit,  on  the  other  side,  did  the  same.  The  armies, 
thus  prepared,  waited  only  for  the  signal  to  fall 
on;  the  Goths  gave  the  charge,  their  drums  and 
trumpets  sounding,  and  the  Moors  received  it  with 
tiie  noise  of  kettle-drums.  Such  were  the  shouts 
and  cries  on  both  sides,  that  the  mountains  and 
vallies  seemed  to  meet.  First  they  began  with 
slings,  darts,  javelins,  and  lances,  then  came  to 
the  swords;  a  long  time  the  battle  was  dubious-, 
but  the  Moors  seemed  to  have  the  worst,  till  D. 
Oppas,  the  archbishop,  having  to  that  time  con- 
cealed his  treachery,  in  the  heat  of  the  fight,  with 
a  great  body  of  his  followers,  went  over  to  the  in- 
fidels. He  joined  count  Julian,  with  whom  was  a 
great  number  of  Goths,  and  both  together  fell  upon 
the  flank  of  our  army.  Our  men,  terrified  with 
that  unparalleled  treachery,  and  tired  with  fight- 
ing, could  no  longer  sustain  that  charge,  but  were 
easily  put  to  flight.  The  king  performed  the  part 
not  only  of  a  wise  general  but  of  a  resolute  soldier, 
relieving  the  weakest,  bringing  on  fresh  men  in 
the  place  of  those  that  were  tired,  and  stopping 
those  that  turned  tlieir  backs.  At  length,  seeing 
no  hope  left,  he  alighted  out  of  his  chariot  for  fear 
of  being  taken,  and,  mounting  on  a  horse,  called 
Orelia,  lie  withdrew  out  of  the  battle.  The  Goths, 
who  still  stood,  missing  him,  were  most  part  put 
to  the  sword,  tiie  rest  betook  themselves  to  flight. 
The  camp  was  immediately  entered,  and  the  bag- 
gage taken.  What  number  was  killed  is  not  known: 
1  suppose  they  were  so  many  it  was  hard  to  count 
them;  for  this  single  battle  robbed  Spain  of  all  its 
glory,  and  in  it  perished  the  renowned  name  of 
the  Goths.  The  king's  horse,  upper  garment,  and 
buskins,  covered  with  pearls  and  precious  stones, 
were  found  on  the  bank  of  tiie  river  Guadelite,  and 
there  being  no  news  of  him  afterwards,  it  was  sup- 
posed he  was  drowned  passing  the  river." — Ma- 
RiA»'.i's  History  of  Spain,  book  vi,  chap.  9. 


STB 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  mentioned 
in  the  text,  and  in  the  above  quotation,  was  cele- 
brated tor  her  speed  and  form.  She  is  mentioned 
repeatedly  in  Spanish  romance,  and  also  by  Cer- 
vantes. 
0.  Wlu'n  for  the  light  boli-ro  rcidy  stand 

The  Mozo  blith,  wiili  Ray  Mueliacha  met.— P.  3(1. 

The  bolero  is  a  verv  li^ht  and  active  dance, 
much  practised  bv  tlie  Spaniards,  in  wliich  casta- 
nets are  always  used.  Jlozo  and  Muchacha  are 
equivalent  to  our  phrase  of  lad  and  lass. 
10.  While  trumpets  lang,  and  heralds  cried,  "  Castile."— 
P.  372. 

The  heralds  at  the  coronation  of  a  Spanish  mo- 
narch proclaim  his  name  three  times,  and  rei)eat 
three  times  the  word  Castilla,  Castilla,  Castilla; 
■which,  with  all  other  ceremonies,  was  carefully 
copied  in  the  mock  inauguration  of  Joseph  Buo- 
naparte. 


is  even  now  enabling  them  to  besiege  and  retake 
the  places  of  strength  which  had  been  wrested 
from  them, — is  a  tale  hitherto  untold  in  the  revo- 
lutionary war.  To  say  that  such  a  people  cannot 
be  subdued,  would  be  presum])tion  similar  to  that 
of  those  who  j)rotested  tiiat  Spain  could  not  defend 
herself  for  a  year,  or  Portugal  for  a  month;  but 
that  a  resistance  which  has  been  continued  for  so 
long  a  space,  when  the  usurper,  except  during  the 
short-lived  Austrian  campaign,  had  no  other  ene- 
mies on  tiie  continent,  should  be  now  less  success- 
ful, wiien  repeated  defeats  have  broken  the  repu- 
tation of  the  French  armies,  and  when  they  are 
likely  (it  would  seem  almost  in  desperation)  to 
seek  occupation  elsewhere,  is  a  prophecy  as  im- 
])robable  as  ungracious.  And  while  we  are  in  the 
luinKiur  of  severely  censuring  our  allies,  gallant 
and  devoted  as  tiiey  have  shown  themselves  in  the 
cause  of  national  liberty,  because  they  may  not 
instantly  adopt   those  measures  which  we   in  our 


11.  Hiffh  blazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and  wide.—    ^yisdom    may  deem   essential   to  success,  it  might 


Those  who  were  disposed  to  believe  that  mere 
virtue  and  energy  are  able  of  themselves  to  ivork 
forth  the  salvation  of  an  oppressed  people,  sur- 
prised in  a  moment  of  confidence,  de|n-ived  of  their 
officers,  armies,  and  fortresses,  who  had  every 
means  of  resistance  to  seek  in  the  very  moment 
when  they  were  to  be  made  use  of,  and  whom  the 
numerous  treasons  among  the  higher  orders  de- 
prived of  confidence  in  their  natural  leaders, — 
those  who  entertained  this  enthusiastic  but  delu- 
sive opinion,  may  be  pardoned  for  expressing  their 
disappointment  .it  the  protracted  warfare  in  the 
peninsula.  Tliere  are,  however,  another  class  of 
persons,  who,  having  themselves  the  highest  dread 
or  veneration,  or  something  allied  to  both,  for  the 
power  of  the  modern  .\ttila,  will  nevertheless  give 
the  heroical  Spaniards  little  or  no  credit  for  the 
long,  stubborn,  and  unsubdued  resistance  of  three 
years  to  a  power  before  whom  their  former  well- 
prepared,  well-armed,  and  numerous  adversaries 
fell  in  the  course  of  as  many  months.  While  these 
gentlemen  plead  for  deference  to  Buonaparte,  and 
crave 

Respect  for  his  great  place — and  bid  the  devil 
Be  duly  honoured  for  his  burning  throne, 

it  may  not  be  .iltogether  unreasonable  to  claim 
some  modification  of  censure  upon  those  who  have 
been  long  and  to  a  great  extent  successfully  re- 
sisting this  great  enemy  of  mankind.  That  the 
energy  of  Spain  has  not  uniformly  been  directed 
by  conduct  equal  to  its  vigour,  has  been  too  ob- 
vious; that  her  .armies,  under  their  complicated 
disadvantages, have  shared  the  fate  of  such  as  were 
defeated  after  taking  the  field  with  every  possible 
advantage  of  arms  and  discipline,  is  surely  not  to 
be  wondered  at.  But  that  a  nation,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances of  repeated  discomfiture,  internal  trea- 
son, and  the  mismanagement  incident  to  a  tempo- 
rary and  hastily  adopted  government,  should  have 
wasted,  by  its  stubborn,  uniform,  and  prolonged 
resistance,  myriads  after  myriads  of  those  soldiers 
who  had  overrun  the  world" — that  some  of  its  pro- 
vinces should,  like  Galicia,  after  being  abandoned 
by  their  allies,  and  overrun  by  their  enemies,  have 
recovered  their  freedom  by  their  own  unassisted 
exertions;  tliat  others,  like  Catalonia,  undismayed 
by  the  treason  which  betrayed  some  fortresses,  and 
the  force  whicii  subdued  others,  should  not  only 
liave  continued  their  resistance,  but  have  attained 
over  their  victorious  enemy  a  superiority,  which 


be  well,  if  we  endeavoured  first  to  resolve  the 
])revious  questions, — 1st,  Whether  we  do  not  at 
this  moment  know  much  less  of  the  Spanish  ar- 
mies than  of  those  of  Portugal,  which  were  so 
promptly  condemned  as  totally  inadequate  to  as- 
sist in  the  preservation  of  their  country  f  2d,  Whe- 
ther, independently  of  any  right  we  have  to  offer 
more  than  advice  and  assistance  to  our  independ- 
ent allies,  we  can  expect  that  they  should  renounce 
entirely  the  national  pride,  whicii  is  inseparable 
fnmi  patriotism,  and  at  once  condescend  not  only 
to  i>e  saved  by  our  assistance,  but  to  be  saved  in 
our  own  way.'  3d,  Whether,  if  it  be  an  object  (as 
undoubtedly  it  is  a  main  one,)  tliat  the  Spanish 
troops  should  be  trained  under  British  discipline, 
to  the  flexibility  of  movement,  and  power  of  rapid 
concert  and  combination,  which  is  essential  to 
modern  war,  such  a  consummation  is  likel)'  to  be 
produced  by  abusing  them  in  newspapers  and  pe- 
riodical publications  I"  Lastly,  Since  the  undoubted 
authority  of  British  officers  makes  us  now  ac- 
quainted with  part  of  the  horrors  that  attend  in- 
vasion, and  which  the  Providence  of  God,  the 
valour  of  our  navy,  and  perhaps  the  very  efforts  of 
these  Spaniards,  have  hitherto  diverted  from  us, 
it  may  be  modestly  questioned  whetlTer  we  ought 
to  be  too  forward  to  estimate  and  condemn  the 
feeling  of  temporary  stupefaction  which  they  cre- 
ate; lest,  in  so  doing,  we  should  resemble  the  wor- 
thy clergyman,  who,  wiiile  he  had  himself  never 
snuffed  a  candle  with  his  fingers,  was  disposed  se- 
verely to  criticise  the  conduct  of  a  martyr  who 
winced  a  little  among  his  flames. 


12.  They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bloody 
tomb.— P.  373. 
The  interesting  account  of  Mr.  Vaughan  ha3 
made  most  readers  acquainted  with  the  first  siege 
of  Zaragoza.  The  last  and  fatal  siege  of  that  gallant 
and  devoted  city  is  detailed  with  great  eloquence 
and  precision  in  the  "Edinburgh  Annual  Regis- 
ter" for  1809, — a  work  in  which  the  affairs  of 
Spain  have  been  treated  of  with  attention  corres- 
ponding to  their  deep  interest,  and  to  the  peculiar 
sources  of  information  open  to  the  historian.  The 
following  are  a  few  brief  extracts  from  this  splen- 
did historical  narrative: — 

"  A  breach  was  soon  made  in  the  mad  walls, 
and  tlien,  as  in  the  former  siege,  the  war  was  car- 
ried on  in  the  streets  and  houses:  but  the  French 
had  been  taught,  by  experience,  that  iii  this  species 


THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


379 


of  warfare  the  Zai-agozans  derived  a  superiority 
from  the  feeling  and  principle  which  inspired 
them,  and  the  cause  for  which  they  fought.  The 
only  means  of  conquering  Zaragoza  was  to  destroy 
it  house  by  house,  and  street  by  street,  and  upon 
this  system  of  destruction  they  proceeded.  Three 
companies  of  miners  and  eight  companies  of  sap- 
pers carried  on  this  subterraneous  war;  the  Spa- 
niards, it  is  said,  attempted  to  oppose  them  by 
countermines:  these  were  operations  to  wliich  they 
were  wholly  unused,  and,  according  to  the  French 
statement,  their  miners  were  every  day  discovered 
and  suffocated.  Meantime  the  bombardment  was 
incessantly  kept  up.  '  Within  the  last  forty-eight 
hours,'  said  Palafox,  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  ge- 
neral Doyle,  '  6000  shells  have  heen  thrown  in. 
Two-thirds  of  the  town  are  in  ruins;  but  we  shall 
perish  under  the  ruins  of  the  remaining  third 
rather  than  surrender.'  In  the  course  of  the  siege 
above  17,000  bombs  were  thrown  at  the  town;  the 
stock  of  powder  with  which  Zaragoza  had  been 
stored  was  exhausted;  they  had  none  at  last  but 
what  they  manufactured  day  by  day;  and  no  other 
cannon-balls  than  those  which  were  shot  into  the 
town,  and  which  they  collected  and  fired  back 
upon  the  enemy. "— — 

In  the  midst  of  these  horrors  and  privations,  the 
pestilence  broke  out  in  Zaragoza..  To  various 
causes,  enumerated  by  the  annalist,  he  adds, "  scan- 
tiness of  food,  crowded  quarters,  unusual  exertion 
of  body,  anxiety  of  mind,  and  the  impossibility  of 
recruiting  their  exhausted  strength  by  needful  rest 
in  a  city  which  was  almost  incessantly  bombarded, 
and  where  everj'  hour  their  sleep  was  broken  by 
the  tremendous  explosion  of  mines.  There  was 
now  no  respite,  either  by  day  or  night,  for  this 
devoted  city;  even  the  natural  order  of  light  and 
darkness  was  destroyed  in  Zaragoza;  by  day  it 
was  involved  in  a  red  sidphureous  atmosphere  of 
smoke,  which  hid  the  face  of  heaven;  by  niglitthe 
fire  of  cannons  and  mortars,  and  the  flames  of  burn- 
ing houses,  kept  it  in  a  state  of  terrific  illumina- 
tion. 

"  When  once  tlie  pestilence  had  begun,  it  was 
impossible  to  check  its  pi'ogress,  or  confine  it  to 
one  quarter  of  the  city.  Hospitals  were  imme- 
diately established, — lliere  wei-e  above  thirty  of 
them;  as  soon  as  one  was  destroyed  by  the  bom- 
bardment, the  patients  were  removed  to  another, 
and  thus  the  infection  was  carried  to  every  part  of 
Zaragoza.  Famine  aggravated  tlie  evil;  the  city 
had  probably  not  been  sufficiently  |)rovided  at  the 
commencement  of  the  siege,  and  of  the  provisions 
which  it  contained,  mucii  Was  destroyed  in  tlie 
dail)'  ruin  which  tlie  mines  and  bombs  effected. 
Had  the  Zaragozans  and  their  garrison  ju-oceeded 
according  to  military  rules,  they  would  have  sur- 
rendered before  the  end  of  January;  their  batte- 
ries had  then  been  demolished,  there  were  open 
breaches  in  many  parts  of  their  weak  walls,  and 
the  enemy  were  already  williin  the  city.  On  tlie 
30th  above  sixty  houses  were  blown  up,  and  the 
French  obtained  possession  of  the  monasteries  of 
the  Augustiiies  and  Les  Monicas,  which  adjoined 
each  other,  two  of  the  last  defensible  places  left. 
The  enemy  forced  their  way  into  the  churcii;  eve- 
ry column,  every  chapel,  every  altar,  became  a 
point  of  defence,  which  was  repeatedly  attacked, 
laken,  and  retaken;  the  pavement  was  covered 
with  blood,  the  aisles  and  bod)'  of  the  church 
strewed  with  the  dead,  who  were  trampled  under 
foot  by  the  combatants.    In  the  midst  of  this  con- 


flict, the  roof,  shattered  by  repeated  bombs,  fell 
in;  the  few  who  were  not  crushed,  after  a  short 
pause,  wliich  this  tremendous  shock  and  their 
own  unexpected  escape  occasioned,  renewed  the 
fight  wilii  rekindling  fury:  fresh  parties  of  the 
enemy  poured  in;  monks,  and  citizens,  and  sol- 
diers came  to  the  defence,  and  the  contest  was 
continued  upon  the  ruins,  and  the  bodies  of  the 
dead  and  the  dying." 

Yet,  seventeen  days  after  sustaining  these  ex- 
tremities, did  the  heroic  inhabitants  of  Zaragoza 
continue  their  defence;  nor  did  they  then  surrender 
until  their  despair  had  extracted  from  the  French 
generals  a  capitulaticm,  more  honourable  than  has 
been  granted  to  fortresses  of  the  first  order. 

AViio  shall  venture  to  refuse  the  Zaragozans  the 
eulogium  conferred  upon  them  by  the  eloquence  of 
Wordsworth' — "Most  gloriously  have  the  citi- 
zens of  Zaragoza  proved  that  the  true  army  of 
Spain,  in  a  contest  of  this  nature,  is  the  whole 
people.  The  same  city  has  also  exemplified  a 
melancholy,  yea,  a  dismal  truth, — yet  consolatoiy 
and  full  of  joy, — that  wlien  a  people  are  calleil 
suddenly  to  fight  for  their  liberty,  and  are  sorely 
pressed  upon,  their  best  field  of  battle  is  the  floors 
upon  which  their  cliildren  have  played;  the  cham- 
bers where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept,  (his 
own  or  his  neighbour's;)  upon  or  under  the  roofs 
by  which  they  have  been  sheltered;  in  the  gardens 
of  their  recreation;  in  the  street,  or  in  the  market 
place;  before  the  altars  of  tlieir  temples,  and  among 
their  congregated  dwellings,  blazing  or  uprooteii. 

"  The  government  of  Spain  must  never  forget 
Zaragoza,  for  a  moment.  Nothing  is  wanting  to 
produce  the  same  effects  every  where,  but  a  lead- 
ing mind,  such  as  that  city  was  blessed  with.  In 
the  latter  contest  this  has  been  proved;  for  Zara- 
goza contained,  at  that  time,  bodies  of  men  from 
almost  all  ]iaits  of  Spain.  The  narrative  of  those 
two  sieges  shouKl  be  tlie  manual  of  e\  ery  Spaniard. 
He  may  add  to  it  the  ancient  stories  of  Numaiitia 
and  Saguntum;  let  him  sleep  upon  the  book  as  a 
pillow,  and,  if  he  be  a  devout  adherent  to  the  re- 
ligion of  bis  country,  let  him  wear  it  in  his  bosom 
for  his  crucifix  to  rest  upon." 

13. the  vault  of  destiny.— P.  374. 

Before  finally  dismissing  the  enchanted  cavern 
of  Don  Roderick,  it  maj-  be  noticed,  that  the  le- 
gend occurs  in  one  of  Calderon's  plays,  entitled. 
La  Virgin  del  Sagrario.  The  scene  opens  with 
the  noise  of  the  chase,  and  Recisundo,  a  prede- 
cessor of  Roderick  upon  the  Gothic  throne,  enters 
pursuing  a  stag.  The  animal  assumes  the  form  of 
a  man,  and  defies  the  king  to  enter  the  cave,  which 
forms  the  bottom  of  the  scene,  and  engage  with 
him  in  single  combat.  The  king  accepts  the  chal- 
lenge, and  they  engage  accordingly,  but  without 
advantage  on  either  side,  which  induces  the  genie 
to  inform  Recisundo,  that  he  is  not  the  monarch 
for  whom  the  adventure  of  the  enchanted  cavern 
is  reserved,  and  he  proceeds  to  predict  the  down- 
fall of  the  Gothic  monarchy,  and  of  the  christian 
religion,  which  shall  attend  tlie  discovery  of  its 
mysteries.  Recisundo,  appalled  by  these  prophe- 
cies, orders  the  cavern  to  be  secured  by  a  gate  and 
bolts  of  iron.  In  the  second  part  of  the  same  play 
we  are  informed,  that  Don  Roderick  had  removed 
the  barrier  and  transgressed  the  prohibition  of  his 
ancestor,  and  had  been  apprized  by  the  prodigies 
which  he  discovered  of  tiie  approacliing  ruin  ot  his 
kingdom. 


580 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WOUKS. 


14.  Wliile  dowiiwui-d  on  the  land  his  U-gions  prcis, 
Hi'fore  tht-ni  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  Hoek, 
And  smiltd  like  Eden  in  her  sinnnitr  drt-ss: — 
Behind  tlnir  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilderness.— 
P.  374. 
I  liave  ventured  to  amily  to  the  movements  of 
the  French  army  t!i;U  sulilinic  passage  in  the  pro- 
phecies of  Joel,  which   seems   applicable  to  liiem 
in  more  respects  than  that  I   have  adopted  in  the 
text.    One  would  think  their  ravages,  their  mili- 
tary appointments,   tiic   terror  which  they  spread 
among  invaded   nations,  their  military  discipline, 
their  arts  of  political  intrigue  and  deceit,  were 
distinctly  pointed  out  in  the  following  verses  of 
Scripture:^ 

2.  "  A  day  of  darknesse  and  of  gloominesse,  a 
day  of  clouds  and  of  thick,  darknesse,  as  the  morn- 
ing spread  upon  the  mountains:  a  great  people 
and  a  strong,  there  hath  not  been  ever  the  like, 
neither  shall  be  any  more  after  it,  even  to  the 
years  of  many  generations. 

3.  "  A  fire  devoureth  before  them,  and  behind 
them  a  flame  burnetii:  the  land  is  as  the  garden 
of  Eden  before  them,  and  behinde  them  a  desolate 
wildernesse,  yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them. 

4.  "  The  appearance  of  them  is  as  the  appear- 
ance of  horses  and  as  horsemen,  so  shall  they  runne. 

5.  "  Uke  the  noise  of  chariots  on  the  tops  of 
mountains  shall  they  leap,  like  the  noise  of  a 
flame  of  fire  that  devouretli  the  stubble,  as  a  strong 
people  set  in  battle  array. 

6.  "  Before  their  face  sliall  the  people  be  much 
pained:  all  faces  shall  gather  blacknesse. 

7.  "  They  shall  run  like  miglity  men,  they 
shall  climbe  the  wall  like  men  of  warre,  and  they 
shall  march  every  one  in  his  wayes,  and  they  shall 
not  break  their  ranks. 

8.  "  Neither  shall  one  trust  another,  they  shall 
walk  everv  one  in  his  path:  and  when  they  fall 
upon  the  sword  they  shall  not  be  wounded. 

9.  "  They  shall  run  to  and  fro  in  thecitie:  they 
shall  run  upon  the  wall,  they  shall  climbe  up  upon 
the  houses;  they  shall  enter  in  at  the  windows  like 
a  thief 

10.  "  The  earth  shall  quake  before  them,  the  hea- 
vens shall  tremble,  the  sunne  and  the  moon  shall 
be  dark,  and  the  starres  shall  withdraw  their  shin- 
ing." 

In  verse  20th  also,  which  announces  the  retreat 
of  the  northern  army,  described  in  such  dreadful 
colours,  into  a  "  land  barren  and  desolate,"  and 
the  dishonour  with  which  God  afl[licted  them 
for  having  "  magnified  themselves  to  do  great 
things,"  theie  are  particulars  not  inapplicable  to 
the  retreat  of  Massena;  Divine  Providence  having, 
in  all  ages,  attached  disgrace  as  the  natural  pun- 
ishment of  cruelty  and  presumption, 
)5.  The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  bom. 

Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  forlorn. — P.  374. 

Even  the  unexampled  gallantry  of  the  British 
army  in  the  campaign  of  1810-11,  although  they 
never  foifp;'''-  l*"*  1°  conquer,  will  do  them  less 
honour  in  history  than  their  humanity,  attentive 
to  soften  to  the  utmost  of  tlieir  power  the  horrors 
which  war,  in  its  mildest  aspect,  must  always  in- 
flict upon  the  defenceless  inhabitants  of  the  coun- 
try in  which  it  is  waged,  and  which,  on  this  oc- 
casion, were  tenfold  augmented  by  the  barbarous 
ci'uelties  of  the  French.  Soup-kitchens  were  esta- 
blished by  subscription  among  the  ofticers,  wher- 
ever the  troops  were  quartered  for  any  length  of 
time.  The  commissaries  contributed    the  heads. 


feet,  &c.  of  the  cattle  slaughtered  for  the  soldieiy; 
rice,  vegetables,  and  bread,  where  it  could  be  had, 
were  purchased  hy  the  oflicers.  Fifty  or  sixty  starv- 
ing peasants  were  daily  fed  at  one  of  these  regi- 
mental establishments,  and  carried  home  the  re- 
lics to  their  famished  households.  The  emaciated 
wretches,  who  could  not  crawl  from  weakness, 
were  speedily  employed  in  pruning  their  vines. 
While  pursuing  Massena,  the  soldiers  evinced  the 
same  spirit  of  humanity;  and,  in  many  instances, 
when  reduced  themselves  to  short  allowance,  from 
having  out-marched  their  supplies,  they  shared 
their  pittance  with  the  starving  intiabitants  who 
had  ventured  backto  view  the  ruins  of  their  habita- 
tions, burned  by  the  retreating  enemy,  and  to  bury 
the  bodies  oftheir  relations  whom  they  iiad  butch- 
ered. Is  it  possible  to  know  such  facts  without  feel- 
ing a  sort  of  confidence,  that  those  who  so  well  de- 
serve victory  are  most  likely  to  attain  it? — It  is  not 
the  least  of  lord  Wellington's  militai-y  merits,  that 
the  slightest  disposition  towards  marauding  meets 
immediate  punishment.  Independently  of  all  mo- 
ral obligation,  the  army  which  is  most  orderly  in 
a  friendly  country,  has  always  proved  most  formi- 
dable to  an  armed  enem}'. 

16.  Vainglorious  fugitive' — P.  374. 

The  French  conducted  this  memorable  retreat 
with  much  of  the  fanfan'onade  proper  to  their 
country,  by  which  they  attempt  to  impose  upon 
others,  and  perhaps  upon  themselves,  a  belief  that 
they  are  triumphing  in  the  very  moment  of  their 
discomfiture.  On  the  30th  March,  1811,  their  rear- 
guard was  overtaken  near  Pega  by  the  British  ca- 
valry. Being  well  posted,  and  conceiving  them- 
selves safe  from  infantry,  (who  were  indeed  many 
miles  in  the  rear,)  and  from  artillery,  they  in- 
dulged themselves  in  parading  their  bands  of  mu- 
sic, and  actually  performed  "  God  save  the  king." 
Their  minstrelsy  was  however  deranged  by  the 
undesired  accompaniment  of  the  British  horse- 
artillery,  on  whose  part  in  the  concert  they  had 
not  calculated.  The  surprise  was  sudden,  and  the 
rout  complete;  for  the  artillery  and  cavalry  did 
execution  upon  them  for  about  four  miles,  pursu- 
ing at  the  gallop  as  often  as  they  got  beyond  the 
range  of  the  guns. 

17.  Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuava's  plain. 
And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar, 

With  frantic  charge  and  ten-fbid  odds,  in  vain! — P.  374. 

In  the  severe  action  of  Fueutes  d'Honoro,  upon 
5th  May, 1811,  the  grand  mass  of  the  French  caval- 
ry attacked  the  right  of  tlie  British  position,  co- 
vered by  two  guns  of  the  horse-artillery,  and  two 
squadrons  of  cavalry.  After  suffering  considerably 
from  the  fire  of  the  guns,  which  annoyed  them  in 
every  attempt  at  formation,  the  enemy  turned 
their  wrath  entirely  towards  them,  distributed 
brandy  among  their  troopers,  and  advanced  to  car- 
ry the  field-pieces  with  the  desperation  of  drunken 
fury.  They  were  in  no  ways  checked  by  the  heavy 
loss  which  they  sustained  in  this  daring  attempt, 
but  closed,  and  fairly  mingled  with  the  British 
cavfdry,  to  w  hom  they  bore  the  proportion  of  ten 
to  one.  Captain  Ramsey,  (let  me  be  permitted  to 
name  a  gallant  countryman,)  who  commanded  the 
two  guns,  dismissed  them  at  the  gallop,  and,  put- 
ting himself  at  the  head  of  the  mounted  artillery- 
men, ordered  them  to  fall  upon  the  French,  sabre- 
in-hand.  This  very  unexpected  conversion  of  ar- 
tillerymen into  dragoons  contributed  greatly  to 
the  defeat  of  the  enemy,  already  disconcerted  by 
the  reception  they  had  met  from  the  two  British 
squadrons;  and  the  appearance  of  some  small  rein- 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


381 


forcements,  notwithstanding  the  immense  dispro- 
portion of  force,  put  them  to  absolute  rout.  A  co- 
lonel or  major  of  their  cavalry,  and  many  prisoners, 
(almost  all  intoxicated,)  remained  in  our  posses- 
sion. Those  who  consider  for  a  moment  the  dif- 
ference of  the  services,  and  how  much  an  artille- 
ryman is  necessarily  and  naturally  led  to  identify 
his  own  safety  and  utility  with  abiding  by  the  tre- 
mendous implement  of  war,  to  the  exercise  of 
•which  he  is  chiefly,  if  not  exclusively,  trained,  will 
know  how  to  estimate  the  presence  of  mind  which 
commanded  so  bold  a  manoeuvre,  and  the  steadi- 
ness and  confidence  with  which  it  was  executed. 

18.  And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  Cameron  slain, 

Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was  given. — 
P.  374. 
The  gallant  colonel  Cameron  was  wounded  mor- 
tally during  the  desperate  contest  in  the  streets  of 
the  village  called  Fuentes  d'Honoro.  He  fell  at 
the  head  of  his  native  highlanders,  the  71st  and  79th, 
■who  raised  a  dreadful  shriek  of  grief  and  rage. 
They  charged,  with  irresistible  fury,  tlie  finest 
body  of  French  grenadiers  ever  seen,  being  a  part 
of  Bonaparte's  selected  guard.  The  officer  who  led 
the  French,  a  man  remarkable  for  stature  and 
symmetry,  was  killed  on  the  spot.  The  French- 
man who  stepped  out  of  his  rank  to  take  aim  at 
colonel  Cameron,  was  also  bayoneted,  pierced  with 
a  thousand  wounds,  and  almost  torn  to  pieces  by 
the  furious  highlanders,  who,  under  the  command 
of  colonel  Cadogan,  bore  the  enem)'  out  of  the 
contested  ground  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Mas- 
sena  pays  my  countrymen  a  singular  compliment 
in  his  account  of  the  attack  and  defence  nf  this  vil- 
lage, in  wliich,  he  says,  the  British  lost  many  of- 
ficers, and  Scotch. 

19.  O  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays, 

Who  broug^ht  a  race  regenerate  to  tlie  field, 
Roused  them  to  eiuulate  their  fathers'  praise, 
Temper'd  their  headlong  rage,  their  courage  steel'd. 
P.  375. 

Nothing  during  the  war  of  Portugal  seems,  to  a 
distinct  observer,  more  deserving  of  praise,  than 
the  self-devotion  of  field-marshal  Beresford,  who 
was  contented  to  undertake  all  the  hazard  of  oblo- 
quy which  might  have  been  founded  upon  any  mis- 
carriage in  the  hi^^hly  important  experiment  of 
training  the  Portuguese   troops  to   an  improved 


state  of  discipline.  In  exposing  his  military  repu- 
tation to  the  censure  of  imprudence  from  the  most 
moderate,  and  all  manner  of  unutterable  calumnies 
from  the  ignorant  and  malignant,  he  placed  at  stake 
the  dearest  pledge  which  a  military  man  had  to 
offer,  and  nolhingbut  the  deepest  conviction  of  the 
high  and  essential  importance  attaclied  to  success 
can  be  supposed  an  adequate  motive.  How  great 
the  ch.ince  of  miscarriage  was  supposed,  may  be 
estimated  from  the  general  opinion  of  officers  of 
unquestioned  talents  and  experience,  possessed  of 
every  opportunity  of  information;  how  completely 
the  experiment  has  succeeded,  and  how  much  the 
spirit  and  patriotism  of  our  ancient  allies  had  been 
underrated,  is  evident,  not  only  from  those  victo- 
ries in  which  they  have  borne  a  distinguished 
share,  but  from  the  liberal  and  highly  honourable 
manner  in  which  these  opinions  have  been  retract- 
ed. The  success  of  this  plan,  with  all  its  impor- 
tant consequences,  we  owe  to  the  indefatigable  ex- 
ertions of  field-marshal  Beresford. 

20.  a  race  renown'd  of  old, 

Whose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-swell. — P.  375. 

This  stanza  alludes  to  the  various  achievements 
of  the  warlike  family  of  GrKme,  or  Graham.  They 
are  said,  by  tradition,  to  have  descended  from  the 
Scottish  chief,  under  wliose  command  his  country- 
men stormed  the  wall  built  by  the  emperor  Seve- 
rus  between  the  firths  of  Forth  and  Clyde,  the 
fragments  of  which  are  still  popularly  called 
Grseme's  dyke.  Sir  John  the  Grseme,  "  the  hardy, 
wight,  and  wise,"  is  well  known  as  the  friend  of 
sir  William  Wallace.  Alderne,  Kilsyth,  and  Tib- 
bermuir,  were  scenes  of  the  victories  of  the  heroic 
marquis  of  Montrose.  The  pass  of  Killy-crankie 
is  famous  for  the  action  between  king  William's 
forces  and  the  highlanders  in  1689, 

"  Where  glad  Dundee  in  faint  huzzas  expired." 

It  is  seldom  that  one  line  can  number  so  many 
heroes,  and  yet  more  rare  when  it  can  appeal  to 
the  glory  of  a  living  descendant  in  support  of  its 
ancient  renown. 

The  allusions  to  the  private  history  and  charac- 
ter of  general  Graham  may  be  illustrated  by  re- 
ferring to  the  eloquent  and  affijcting  speech  of  Mr. 
Sheridan,  upon  the  vote  of  thanks  to  the  victor  ot 
Barosa. 


S^fte  iFirltr  oC  Wuttvloo: 

A  POEM. 

Though  Valois  braved  young  Edward's  gentle  hand, 
And  Albert  rush'd  on  Henry's  wsy-worn  band, 
With  Europe's  chosen  sons  in  arms  renown'd. 
Yet  not  on  Vere's  bold  archers  long  they  look"d. 

Nor  Audley's  squires  nor  Mowbray's  yeomen  brook 'd 

They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  monarch  bound. — AKENSIDE. 

TO  HER  GRACE  THE  DUCHESS  OF  WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS  OF  WATERLOO,  &c.,  &c.,  &c. 
THE  FOLLOWING  VERSES  AUE  MOST  BESPECTFULLT  INSCRIBED,  BY  THE  AUTHOR, 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 
I. 

Fair  Brussels,  thou  art  far  behind. 
Though,  lingering  on  the  morning  wind, 
We  yet  may  liear  the  hour 


Pealed  over  orchard  and  canal, 

With  voice  prolonged  and  measured  fall, 

From  proud  saint  Michael's  tower. 
Thy  wood,  dark  Soignies,  holds  us  now, 
Where  the  tall  beeches'  glossy  bough 

For  many  a  league  around, 


382 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


With  birch  and  darksome  oak  between. 
Spreads  deep  and  far  a  pathless  screen, 

Ottans;led  forest  ground. 
Stems  planted  close  bv  stems  defy 
Th'  adventurous  foot— the  curious  eye 

For  access  seeks  in  vain! 
And  the  brown  tapestry  of  leaves, 
Strewed  on  the  blighted  sp-ound,  receives 

Nor  sun,  nor  air,  nor  ram. 
No  opcnins,'  glade  dawns  on  our  way, 
No  streamlet,  glancing  to  the  ray, 

Our  woodland  path  has  crossed; 
An.l  the  straight  causeway  which  we  tread 
Prolongs  a  line  of  dull  arcade, 
Unvaning  through  the  unvaried  shade, 

Until  in  distance  lost. 
II. 
A  brighter,  livelier  scene  succeeds; 
In  croups  the  scattering  wood  recedes, 
Hedge-rows,  and  huts,  and  sunny  meads, 

And  corn-fields  glance  between; 
The  peasant,  at  his  labour  blith. 
Plies  the  hooked  staff  and  shortened  sithe:>— 

But  when  these  ears  were  green. 
Placed  close  within  destruction's  scope. 
Full  little  was  that  rustic's  hope 

Their  ripening  to  have  seen ! 
And,  lo!  a  hamlet  and  its  fane: — 
I^et  not  the  gazer  with  disdain 

Their  architecture  view; 
For  yonder  rude  ungraceful  shrine. 
And  disproportioned  spire,  are  thine, 

Immortal  Waterloo  ! 

III. 

Fear  not  the  heat,  though  full  and  high 
The  sun  has  scorched  the  autumn  sky, 
And  scarce  a  forest  straggler  now 
To  shade  us  spreads  a  greenwood  bough. 
These  fields  have  seen  a  hotter  day 
Than  e'er  was  fired  by  sunny  ray. 
Yet  one  mile  on— yon  shattered  hedge 
Crests  the  soft  hill  whose  long  smooth  ridge 

Looks  on  the  field  below. 
And  sinks  so  gently  on  the  dale. 
That  not  the  folds  of  Beauty's  veil 

In  easier  curves  can  flow. 
Brief  space  from  thence,  the  ground  again, 
Ascending  slowly  from  the  plain, 

Forms  an  opposing  screen. 
Which,  with  its  crest  of  upland  ground. 
Shuts  the  horizon  all  around. 
The  softened  vale  between 
Slopes  smooth  and  fair  for  courser's  tread; 
Not  the  most  timid  maid  need  dread 
To  give  her  snow-white  palfrey  head 

On  that  wide  stubble-ground. 
Nor  wood,  nor  tree,  nor  bush  are  there. 
Her  course  to  intercept  or  scare, 
Nor  fosse  nor  fence  are  found. 
Save  where,  from  out  her  shuttered  bowers, 
Rise  Hougoumont's  dismantled  towers. 

IV, 

Now,  seest  thou  aught  in  this  lone  scene 
Can  tell  of  that  which  late  hath  been?— 

A  stranger  might  reply, 
«'  The  bare  extent  of  stubble-plain 
Seems  lately  lightened  of  its  grain; 
And  yonder  sable  tracks  remain, 
Marks  of  the  peasant's  ponderous  wain. 

When  harvest-home  was  nigh. 


On  these  broad  spots  of  trampled  ground. 
Perchance  the  rustics  danced  such  round 

As  Teniers  loved  to  draw; 
And  where  tlie  earth  seems  scorched  by  flame. 
To  dress  the  homely  feast  they  came. 
And  toiled  the  kerchiefed  village  dame 
Around  her  fire  of  straw." — 
V. 
So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems, 
Of  that  which  is  from  that  which  seems: — 

But  other  harvest  here 
Than  that  which  peasant's  sithe  demands. 
Was  gathered  in  by  sterner  hands. 
With  bayonet,  blade,  and  spear. 
No  vulgar  crop  was  theirs  to  reap. 
No  stinted  harvest  thin  and  cheap! 
Heroes  before  each  fatal  sweep 

Fell  thick  as  ripened  grain; 
And  ei-e  the  darkening  of  the  day, 
Piled  high  as  autumn  shocks,  there  lay 
The  ghastly  harvest  of  the  fray, 
The  corpses  of  the  slain. 
VI. 
Ay,  look  again — that  line  so  black 
And  trampled,  marks  the  hivouack. 
Yon  deep-graved  ruts,  the  artillery's  track. 

So  often  lost  and  won; 
And  close  beside,  the  hardened  mud 
Still  shows  where,  fetlock-deep  in  blood. 
The  fierce  dragoon,  through  battle's  flood, 

Dashed  the  hot  vvar-horse  on. 
These  spots  of  excavation  tell 
The  ravage  of  the  bursting  shell — 
And  feel'st  thou  not  the  tainted  steam, 
That  reeks  against  the  sultry  beam. 

From  yonder  trenched  mound? 
The  pestilential  fumes  declare 
That  carnage  has  replenished  there 
Her  garner-house  profound. 
VII. 
Far  other  harvest-home  and  feast. 
Than  claims  the  boor  from  sithe  released, 

On  those  scorched  fields  were  known! 
Death  hovered  o'er  the  maddening  rout. 
And,  in  the  thrilling  battle  shout. 
Sent  for  the  bloody  banquet  out 

A  summons  of  his  own. 
Through  rolling  smoke  the  demon's  eye 
Could  well  each  destined  guest  esp)', 
Well  could  his  ear  in  ecstasy 

Distinguish  every  tone 
That  filled  the  chorus  of  the  fray— 
From  cannon-roar  and  trumpet-bray. 
From  charging  squadrons'  wild  hun-a. 
From  the  wild  clang  that  marked  their  way, — 

Down  to  the  dying  groan, 
And  the  last  sob  of  life's  decay 
When  breath  was  all  but  flown. 
VIII. 
Feast  on,  stern  foe  of  mortal  life. 
Feast  on!— but  think  not  that  a  strife. 
With  such  promiscuous  carnage  rife, 

Protracted  space  my  last; 
The  deadly  tug  of  war  at  length 
Must  limits  find  in  human  strength, 
And  cease  when  these  are  passed. 
Vain  hope!— that  morn's  o'erclouded  sun 
Heard  the  wild  shout  of  fight  begun 

Ere  he  attained  his  height, 
And  through  the  war-smoke  volumed  high. 
Still  peals  that  unremitted  ciy, 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


383 


Though  now  he  stoops  to  night. 
For  ten  long  hours  of  doubt  aud  dread, 
Fresh  succours  from  the  extended  head 
Of  either  hill  the  contest  fed; 

Still  down  the  slope  tliey  drew, 
The  charge  of  columns  paused  not, 
Nor  ceased  the  storm  of  shell  and  shot; 

For  all  that  war  could  do, 
Of  skill  and  force,  was  proved  that  day, 
And  turned  not  jet  the  doubtful  fray 

On  bloody  Waterloo. 
IX. 
Pale  Brussels!  then  what  thoughts  were  thine,2 
When  ceaseless  from  the  distant  line 

Continued  thunders  came! 
Each  burgher  held  his  breath  to  hear 
These  forerunners  of  havoc  near, 

Of  rapine  and  of  flame. 
What  ghastly  sights  were  thine  to  meet, 
"VVhen  rolling  through  thy  stately  street. 
The  wounded  showed  their  mangled  plight 
In  token  of  the  unfinished  fight. 
And  from  each  anguish-laden  wain 
The  blood-drops  laid  thy  dust  like  rain! 
How  often  in  the  distant  drum 
Heard 'st  thou  the  fell  invader  come. 
While  ruin,  shouting  to  his  band. 
Shook  high  her  torch  and  gory  brand! — 
Cheer  thee,  fair  city!  from  yon  stand, 
Impatient,  still  his  outstretched  hand 

Points  to  his  prey  in  vain. 
While  maddening  in  his  eager  mood, 
And  all  unwont  to  be  withstood, 

He  fires  the  fight  again. 
X. 
"  On!  On!"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim, 
"Confront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame! 

Rush  on  the  levelled  gun  l^ 
My  steel-clad  cuirassiers,  advance! 
Each  Hulan  forward  with  his  lance, 
My  guard — my  chosen — charge  for  France, 

France  and  Napoleon!" 
Loud  answered  their  acclaiming  shout. 
Greeting  the  mandate  which  sent  out 
Their  bravest  and  their  best  to  dare 
The  fate  their  leader  shunned  to  share.-* 
But  he,  his  country's  sword  and  shield. 
Still  in  the  battle-front  revealed, 
\Vhere  danger  fiercest  swept  the  field. 

Came  like  a  beam  of  light, 
lu  action  prompt,  in  sentence  brief — 
"Soldiers,  stand  firm!"  exclaimed  the  chief, 

"England  shall  tell  the  fight !"3 
XI. 
On  came  the  whirlwind — like  the  last 
But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest  blast — 
On  came  the  whirlwind — steel  gleams  broke 
Like  lightning  tVirough  the  rolling  smoke. 

The  war  was  waked  anew; 
Three  hundred  cannon-mouths  roared  loud. 
And  from  their  throats,  with  flash  and  cloud. 

Their  showers  of  iron  threw. 
Beneath  their  fire,  in  full  career. 
Rushed  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier. 
The  lancer  couched  his  rnihless  spear, 
/ind  hurrving  as  to  havoc  near. 
The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 
In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 
The  advancing  onset  rolled  along, 
Forth  harbingered  by  fierce  acclaim. 
That  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 
Pealed  wildly  the  imperial  name. 


XII. 

But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 
The  terrors  of  the  charging  host; 
For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  viewed 
Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude, 
Xor  was  one  forward  footstep  staid. 
As  dropped  the  dying  and  the  dead. 
Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear. 
Fast  they  renewed  each  serried  square; 
And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 
Closed  their  diminished  files  again. 
Till  from  their  line  scarce  spears'  length  three,. 
Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 
Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply- 
Then  waked  their  fire  at  once! 
Each  musketeer's  revolving  knell, 
As  fast,  as  regularly  fell. 
As  when  they  practise  to  display 
Their  discipline  on  festal  dav. 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 
Down  were  the  eagle  banners  sent, 
Down  reeling  steeds  and  riders  went. 
Corslets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent; 

And  to  augment  the  fray, 
W^heeled  full  againsi  their  staggering  flanks. 
The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranks 

Forced  their  resistless  wav. 
Then  to  the  musket-knell  succeeds 
The  clash  of  swords — the  neigh  of  steeds— = 
As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade. 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  biade;^ 
And  while  amid  their  close  arrav 
The  well-served  cannon  rent  their  way, 
And  while  amid  their  scattered  band 
Raged  the  fierce  rider's  bloody  brand, 
Recoiled  in  common  rout  and  fear, 
Lancer,  and  guard,  and  cuirassier, 
Horsemen  and  foot — a  mingled  host. 
Their  leaders  fall'n,  their  standards  lost. 

Xlll. 
Then,  W^ellixgtox  !  thy  piercing  eye 
This  crisis  caught  of  destiny. 

The  British  host  had  stood 
That  morn  'gainst  charge  of  sworcl  and  lance, 
As  their  own  ocean-rocks  hold  stance. 
But  when  thy  voice  had  said,  "  Advance!" 

They  were  their  ocean's  flood. — 
O  thou,  whose  inauspicious  aim 
Hath  wrought  thy  host  this  hour  of  shame, 
Think'st  thou  thy  broken  bands  will  bide 
The  terrors  of  yon  rushing  tide^ 
Or  will  thy  chosen  brook  to  feel 
The  British  shock  of  levelled  steel  ?7 

Or  dost  thou  turn  thine  eye 
Where  coming  squadrons  gleam  afar. 
And  fresher  thunders  wake  the  war, 

And  other  standards  flv? — 
Think  not  that  in  yon  columns  file 
Thy  conquering  troops  from  distant  Dyle — 

Is  Blucher  yet  unknown' 
Or  dwells  not  in  thy  memorj"  still, 
f  Heard  frequent  in  thine  hour  of  ill,) 
What  notes  of  iiate  and  vengeance  thrill 

In  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  • 
What  yet  remains' — shall  it  be  thine 
To  head  the  relics  of  thy  line 

In  one  dread  effort  more' — 
The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved, 
And  thou  can'st  tell  what  fortune  proved 

That  chieftain,  who,  of  yore. 
Ambition's  dizzy  paths  essaved, 
And  with  the  gladiator's  aid 


384 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


For  empire  enterprised — 
He  stood  the  cast  his  rashness  played, 
Left  not  the  victims  he  liad  made, 
Dug  his  red  grave  with  his  own  blade, 
And  on  liie  field  he  lost  was  laid, 

Abhorred — but  not  despised. 
XIV. 
But  if  revolves  thy  fainter  thought 
On  safety — hoM-soever  bouglit, 
Then  turn  thy  fearful  rein  and  ride, 
Though  twice  ten  thousand  men  have  died 

On  this  eventful  day, 
To  gihl  the  military  fame. 
Which  thou,  for  life,  in  traffick  tame 

\\ilt  barter  thus  away. 
Shall  future  ages  tell  this  tale 
Of  inconsistence  faint  and  frail' 
And  art  thou  lie  of  Lodi's  bridge, 
Marengo's  field,  and  \Vagram's  ridge! 

Or  is  thy  soul  liiie  mountain-tide. 
That,  swelled  by  winter  storm  and  shower, 
Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide; 
Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure. 
Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean,  and  poor, 

Whose  channel  shows  displayed 
The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course, 
But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

By  which  these  wrecks  were  made. 
XV. 
Spur  on  thy  way! — since  now  thine  ear 
Has  brooked  thy  veterans'  wish  to  hear, 

Who,  as  thy  flight  the)'  eyed. 
Exclaimed — while  tears  of  anguish  came. 
Wrung  fortii  by  pride,  and  rage,  and  shame— 

"  Oh  that  he' had  but  died  I" 
But  yet,  to  sum  this  hour  of  ill, 
Look,  ere  thou  leav'st  the  fatal  hill. 

Back  on  yon  broken  ranks — 
Upon  whose  wild  confusion  gleams 
The  moon,  as  on  the  troubled  streams 

When  rivers  break  tiieir  banks, 
And,  to  the  ruined  peasant's  eye. 
Objects  half  seen  roll  swiftly  by, 

Down  the  dread  current  hurled — 
So  mingle  banner,  wain,  and  gun. 
Where  the  tumultuous  flight  rolls  on 
Of  warriors,  who,  when  morn  begun, 

Defied  a  banded  world. 
XVI. 
List — frequent  to  the  luirrying  rout. 
The  stern  pursuers'  vengeful  shout 
Tells,  that  upon  their  broken  ri  ar 
Rages  the  Prussian's  bloody  spear. 

So  fell  a  shriek  was  none. 
When  Beresina's  icy  flood 
Reddened  and  thawed  with  flame  and  blood. 
And,  pressing  on  thy  desperate  way. 
Raised  oft  and  long  their  wild  hurra. 

The  children  of  tlie  Don. 
Thine  ear  no  yell  of  horror  cleft 
So  ominous,  when,  all  bereft 
Of  aid,  the  valiant  Tolack  left — 
Ay,  left  bv  thee — found  soldier's  grave 
In  Leipsic's  corse-encumbered  wave. 
Fate,  in  these  various  perils  past. 
Reserved  thee  still  some  future  cast; — 
On  the  dread  die  thou  now  hast  thrown 
Hangs  not  a  single  field  alone. 
Nor  one  campaign — thy  martial  fame, 
Thv  empire,  dynasty,  and  name, 

Have  felt  the'  fin;il  stroke; 


And  now,  o'er  thy  devoted  head 
The  last  stem  vial's  wrath  is  shed, 
The  last  dread  seal  is  broke. 

xvu. 

Since  live  thou  wilt — refuse  not  now 
Before  these  demagogues  to  bow. 
Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate. 
Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 
Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate. — 
Or  shall  we  say,  thou  stoop 'st  less  low 
In  seeking  refuge  from  the  foe. 
Against  whose  heart,  in  prosperous  life, 
Thine  hand  hath  ever  held  the  knife? 

Such  homage  hath  been  paid 
By  Roman  and  by  Grecian  voice, 
And  there  were  honour  in  the  choice, 

If  it  were  freely  made. 
Then  safely  come — in  one  so  low, 
So  lost — we  cannot  own  a  foe; 
Though  dear  experience  bid  us  end, 
In  thee  we  ne'er  can  hail  a  friend. 
Come,  howsoe'ei' — but  do  not  hide 
Close  in  thy  heart  that  germ  of  pride, 
Erewhile  by  gifted  bard  espied. 

That  "yet  imperial  hope;" 
Think  not  that  for  a  fresh  rebound. 
To  raise  ambition  from  the  ground. 

We  yield  thee  means  or  scope. 
In  safety  come — but  ne'er  again 
Hold  type  of  independent  i-eign; 

No  islet  calls  thee  lord. 
We  leave  thee  no  confederate  band, 
No  symbol  of  thy  lost  command, 
To  be  a  dagger  in  the  hand 

From  which  we  wrenched  the  sword, 
XVill. 
Yet,  e'en  in  )-on  sequestered  spot. 
May  worthier  conquest  be  thy  lot 

Than  yet  thy  life  has  known; 
Conquest,  unbought  by  blood  or  harm, 
That  needs  not  foreign  aid  nor  arm, 

A  triumph  all  thine  own. 
Such  waits  thee  when  thou  shalt  control 
Those  passions  wild,  that  stubborn  soul. 

That  marred  thy  prosperous  scene: 
Hear  this — from  no  unmoved  heart, 
Which  sighs,  comparing  what  thou  art 

With  w  hat  thou  might'st  have  been ! 
XIX. 
Thou,  too,  whose  deeds  of  fame  renewed 
Bankrupt  a  nation's  gratitude. 
To  thine  om  n  noble  heart  must  owe 
More  than  the  meed  she  can  bestow. 
For  not  a  people's  just  acclaim. 
Not  the  full  liail  of  Europe's  fame, 
Thj"  prince's  smiles,  thy  state's  decree. 
The  ducal  rank,  the  gartered  knee. 
Not  these  such  pure  tlelight  afford. 
As  that,  when,  hanging  up  thy  sword. 
Well  may'st  thou  think,  "  This  honest  steel 
Was  ever  drawn  for  public  weal; 
And,  such  was  rightful  heaven's  decree. 
Ne'er  sheathed  unless  with  victorv!" 

XX. 
Look  forth,  once  more,  with  softened  heart, 
Ere  from  the  field  of  fame  we  parl^ 
Triumph  and  Sorrow  border  neai, 
And  Jo)-  oft  melts  into  a  tear. 
Alas!  what  links  of  love  that  moiu 
Has  War's  rude  hand  asunder  torn ! 
For  ne'er  was  field  so  sternly  fought. 
And  ne'er  was  conquest  dearer  bought. 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO. 


385 


Here,  piled  in  common  slaughter,  sleep 

Those  whom  affection  long  shall  weep; 

Here  rests  the  sire,  that  ne'er  shall  straiu 

His  orphans  to  his  heart  again; 

The  son,  whom,  on  his  native  shore. 

The  parent's  voice  shall  bless  no  more; 

The  bridegroom,  who  has  hardly  pressed 

His  blushing  consort  to  his  breast; 

The  husband,  whom,  through  many  a  year, 

Long  love  and  mutual  faith  endear. 

Thou  canst  not  name  one  tender  tie 

But  here,  dissolved,  its  relics  lie! 

O,  when  thou  seest  some  mourner's  veil 

Shroud  her  thin  form  and  visage  pale. 

Or  mark'st  the  matron's  bursting  tears 

Stream  when  the  stricken  drum  she  hears; 

Or  seest  how  manlier  grief,  suppressed, 

Is  labouring  in  a  father's  breast, — 

With  no  inquirj'  vain  pursue 

The  cause,  but  think  on  Waterloo ! 

XXI. 
Period  of  honour  as  of  w^oes. 
What  bright  careers  'twas  thine  to  close! — 
Marked  on  thy  roll  of  blood  what  names 
To  Britain's  memorj',  and  to  Fame's, 
Laid  there  their  last  immortal  claims! 
Tiiou  saw'st  in  seas  of  gore  expire 
Kedoubted  Picton's  soul  of  fire — 
Saw'st  in  the  mingled  carnage  lie 
All  that  of  Ponsonby  could  die — 
De  Lancy  change  Love's  bridal  wreath 
For  laurels  from  the  hand  of  death — 
Saw'st  gallant  jNliller's  failing  eye 
Still  bent  where  Albion's  banners  fly, 
And  Cameron,  in  the  shock  of  steel. 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel; 
And  generous  Gordon,  'mid  the  strife. 
Fall  while  he  watched  his  leader's  life. — 
Ah !  though  her  guardian  angel's  shield 
Fenced  Britain's  hero  through  the  field, 
Fate  not  the  less  her  power  made  known 
Through  his  friends'  hearts  to  pierce  his  own! 

XXU. 
Forgive,  bi-ave  dead,  ih'  imperfect  lay; 
^\'ho  may  your  names,  your  number,  say, 
A\'hat  high-strung  harp,  what  lofty  line. 
To  each  the  dear-earned  praise  assign. 
From  iiigh-born  chiefs  of  martial  fame 
To  the  poor  soldier's  lowlier  name? 
Lightly  ye  rose  that  dawning  day. 
From  your  cold  couch  of  swamp  and  clay, 
To  fill,  before  the  sun  was  low. 
The  bed  that  morning  cannot  know. 
Oft  may  the  tear  the  green  sod  steep, 
And  sacred  be  the  heroes'  sleep, 

Till  time  shall  cease  to  run; 
And  ne'er  beside  their  noble  grave 
May  Bx-iton  pass,  and  fail  to  crave 
A  blessing  on  the  fallen  brave. 
Who  fought  with  Wellington ! 
XXIIl. 
Farewell,  sad  field!  whose  blighted  face 
Wears  desolation's  withering  trace; 
Long  shall  my  memorv'  retain 
Thy  shattered  huts  and  trampled  grain. 
With  every  mark  of  martial  wrong, 
That  scathe  thy  towers,  fair  Hougoumont! 
Yet  though  thy  gardens  green  arcade 
The  marksman's  fatal  post  was  made, 
riiough  on  thy  shattered  beeches  fell 
J'he  blended  rage  of  shot  and  shell, 


Though  from  thy  blackened  portals  torn, 
Their  fall  thy  blighted  fruit-trees  mourn, 
Has  not  such  havoc  bought  a  name 
Immortal  in  the  rolls  of  fame ! 
Yes — Agincourt  may  be  forgot. 
And  Cressy  be  an  unknown  spot. 

And  Blenheim's  name  be  new; 
But  still  in  storj-  and  in  song. 
For  many  an  age  remembered  long. 
Shall  live  the  towers  of  Hougoumont, 

And  field  of  Waterloo. 


COXCLUSION. 

Stem  tide  of  human  Time!  that  know'st  not  rest. 

But,  sweeping  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb, 
Bear'st  ever  downward  on  thy  dusky  breast 

Successive  generations  to  their  doom; 
While  thy  capacious  stream  has  equal  room 

For  the  gaybarkwhere  pleasure's  streamers  sport. 
And  for  the  prison-ship  of  guilt  and  gloom. 

The  fisher-skiff",  and  barge  that  bears  a  court. 
Still  wafting  onward  all  to  one  dark  silent  port. 

Stern  tide  of  time !  through  what  mysterious  change 

Of  hope  and  fear  have  our  frail  barks  been  driven  ? 
For  ne'er,  before,  vicissitude  so  strange 

Was  to  one  race  of  Adam's  offspring  given. 
And  sure  such  varied  change  of  sea  and'heaven 

Such  unexpected  bursts  of  joy  and  wo. 
Such  fearful  strife  as  that  where  we  have  striven, 

Succeeding  ages  ne'er  again  shall  know. 
Until  the  awful  term  when  thou  shalt  cease  to  flow. 

Well  hast  thou  stood,  my  countr)- ! — the  brave  fight 

Hast  well  maintain'd  through  good  report  and  ill; 
In  thy  just  cause  and  in  thy  native  might. 

And  in  heaven's  grace  and  justice  constant  still. 
Whether  the  banded  prowess,  strength,  and  skill 

Of  half  the  world  against  thee,  stood  array 'd. 
Or  when,  with  better  views  and  freer  will. 

Beside  thee  Europe's  noblest  drew  the  blade 
Each  emulous  in  arms  the  ocean  queen  to  aid. 

Well  thou  art  now  repaid — though  slowly  rose. 

And  struggled  long  with  mists  thv  blaze  of  fame, 
While  like  the  dawn  that  in  the  orient  glows 

On  the  broad  wave  its  earlier  lustre  came; 
Then  eastern  Egypt  saw  the  growing  flame. 

And  Maida's  myrtles  gleam'd  beneath  its  ray. 
Where  first  the  soldier,  stung  with  gen'rous  shame 

Rivall'd  the  heroes  of  the  watery  way. 
And  wash'd  in  foemen's  gore  unjust  reproach  away. 

Xow,  Island  empress,  wave  thy  crest  on  high, 

And  bid  the  banner  of  thy  patron  flow. 
Gallant  saint  George,  the  flower  of  chivalr}' ! 

For  thou  hast  faced,  like  him,  a  dragon  foe. 
And  rescued  innocence  from  overthrow. 

And  trampled  down,  like  him,  tyrannic  might. 
And  to  the  gazing  world  mayst  proudly  show 

The  chosen  emblem  of  thy  sainted  knight. 
Who  quell'd  devouring  pride,  and  vindicated  right. 

Yet  'raid  the  confidence  of  just  renown. 

Renown  dear-bouglit,  but  dearest  thus  acquired 
Write,  Britain,  write  the  moral  lesson  down; 

'Tis  not  alone  the  heart  w  ith  valour  fired 
The  discipline  so  dreaded  and  admired. 

In  many  a  field  of  bloody  conquest  known- 
— Such  may  by  fame  be  lured — by  gold  be  hired 

'Tis  constancy  in  the  good  cause  alone. 
Best  justifies  the  meed  t'liy  valiant  sous  have  won 


386 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


XOTKS. 

I.  The  peasant,  at  hii  labmir  blith, 
Plits  the  )i()ok\l  staff  and  shorn  iied  sithc.— P.  382. 

The  re:\pL-r  in  Flanders  caixies  in  his  left  hand 
a  stick  with  an  iron  hook,  with  which  he  collects 
as  much  grain  as  lie  can  cut  at  one  sweep  with  a 
short  sithe,  which  he  holds  in  his  right  hand.  They 
carry  on  this  double  process  with  great  spirit  and 
dexterity. 
2.  Pale  Brussels!  then  what  thouglits  were  lliine. — P.  383. 

It  was  affirmed  by  the  prisoners  of  war,that  Uo- 
naparte  had  promised  his  army,  in  case  of  victorj', 
twenty -four  hours'  plunder  of  the  city  of  Brussels. 
3.  "Confront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame.' 
Rush  on  the  levelPd  gun."— P.  383. 

The  characteristic  obstinacy  of  Napoleon  was 
never  more  fully  displayeil  than  in  what  we  maj' 
be  permitted  to  hope  will  prove  the  last  of  his 
fields.  He  would  listen  to  no  advice,  and  allow 
of  no  obstacles.  An  eye-witness  has  given  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  his  demeanour  towards  the  end 
of  the  action: — 

"  It  was  near  seven  o'clock;  Honaparte,  who, 
till  then,  had  remained  upon  the  ridge  of  the  hill 
■whence  he  could  best  behold  what  ])assed,  con- 
templated, with  a  stern  countenance,  the  scene  of 
this  horrible  slaughter.  The  more  that  obstacles 
seemed  to  multiply,  the  morehis  obstinacy  seemed 
to  increase.  He  became  indignant  at  these  unfor- 
seen  difficulties;  and,  far  from  fearing  to  push  to 
extremities  an  armv  whose  confidence  in  himw-as 
boundless,  he  ceased  not  to  pour  down  fresh  troops, 
and  to  give  orders  to  marcli  forward — to  charge 
•with  the  bayonet — to  carry  by  storm.  He  was  re- 
peatedly informed,  from  different  points,  that  the 
day  went  against  him,  and  that  the  troops  seemed 
to  be  disordered;  to  which  he  only  replied, — '  En 
avant!  en  avant." 

•'  One  general  sent  to  inform  the  emperor  that 
he  was  in  a  position  which  he  could  not  maintain, 
because  it  was  commanded  by  a  batter}',  and  re- 
quested to  know,  at  the  same  time,  in  what  way  he 
should  protect  his  division  from  the  murderous 
fire  of  the  English  artillery.  '  Let  him  storm  the 
battery,'  replied  Bonaparte,  and  turned  his  back 
on  the  aid-de-camp  who  brought  the  message." — 
Relation  de  la  bataille  du  Mont  saint-Jeaji,  par 
un  T^moin  Oculaire.  Paris,  1815,  8vo.  p.  51. 
4.  The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share. — P.  333. 

It  has  been  reported  that  Bonaparte  charged  at 
the  head  of  his  guards  at  the  last  ])erioil  of  this 
dreadful  conflict.  This,  how^ever,  is  not  accurate. 
He  came  down,  indeed,  to  a  hollow  part  of  the 
high-road  leading  to  Charleroi,  within  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  farm  of  La  Haye  Sainte, 
one  of  the  points  most  fiercely  disputed.  Here  he 
harangued  the  guards,  and  informed  them  that  his 
preceding  operations  had  destroyed  the  British  in- 
fantry and  cavalry,  and  that  they  had  only  to  sup- 
port the  fire  of  the  arlillerv,  which  they  were  to 
attack  with  the  bayonet.  This  exhortation  was  re- 
ceived with  shouts  of  Vive  V Emjjereiir,  which  were 
heard  over  all  our  line,  and  led  to  an  idea  that 
Napoleon  was  charging  in  person.  But  the  guards 
were  led  on  by  Ney;  nor  did  Bonaparte  approach 


nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  the  spot  already 
mentioned,  which  the  rising  banks  on  each  side 
rendered  secure  from  all  such  balls  as  did  not  come 
in  a  straight  line.  He  witnessed  the  earlier  part 
of  the  b.iitle  from  places  yet  more  remote,  parti- 
cularly from  an  observatory  which  had  been  placed 
there  by  the  king  of  the  Netiierlands,  some  weeks 
before,  for  the  purpose  of  surveying  the  country." 
It  is  not  meant  to  infer  from  these  particulars  that 
Napoleon  showed  on  that  memorable  occasion,  the 
least  deficiency  in  personal  courage;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  evinced  the  greatest  composure  and  jire- 
sence  of  mind  during  the  whole  action.  But  it  is 
no  less  true  that  report  has  erred  in  ascribing  to 
him  any  desperate  effiDrts  of  valour  for  recovery  of 
the  battle;  and  it  is  remarkable,  that  during  the 
whole  carnage,  none  of  his  suite  were  either  killed 
or  wouniled,  whereas  scarcely  one  of  the  duke  of 
Wellington's  personal  attendants  escaped  unhurt 

5.  "  England  shall  tell  the  fight.— P.  333." 

In  riding  up  to  a  regiment  which  was  hard  press- 
ed, the  duke  called  to  the  men,  "  Soldiers,  we 
must  never  be  beat, — what  will  they  say  in  Eng- 
land?" It  is  needless  to  say  how  this  appeal  was 
answered. 

6.  As  jilies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade, 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  blade. — P.  383. 

A  private  soldier  of  the  95th  regiment  compared 
the  sound  which  took  place  immediately  upon  the 
British  cavalry  mingling  with  those  of  the  enemy, 
to  "  a  thousand  tinkers  at  -work  mending  pots  and 
kettles." 

7.  Or  will  thv  chosen  brook  to  feel 

The  British  shock  of  levelled  steel.— P.  383. 
No  persuasion  or  authority  could  prevail  upon 
the  French  troops  to  stand  the  shock  of  the  bayo- 
net. The  imperial  guiirds,  in  particular,  hardly 
stood  still  till  the  British  were  within  thirty  yards  ot 
them,  although  the  French  author,  already  quoted, 
has  put  into  their  mouths  the  magnanimous  senti- 
ment, "  The  guards  never  yield — they  die."  The 
same  author  has  covered  the  plateau,  or  eminence 
of  St.  Jean,  which  formed  the  British  position, 
with  redoubts  and  entrenchments  which  never  had 
an  existence.  As  the  narrative,  which  is  in  many 
respects  curious,  was  written  by  an  eye-witness, 
he  w  as  probably  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  a 
road  and  ditch  which  runs  along  part  of  the  hill. 
It  may  be  also  mentioned,  in  criticising  this  work, 
that  tiie  writer  states  the  chateau  of  Hougoumont 
to  have  been  carried  by  the  French,  although  it 
was  resolutely  and  successfully  defended  during 
the  whole  action.  The  enemy,  'ndeed,  possessed 
themselves  of  the  wood  by  which  it  is  surrounded, 
and  at  length  set  fire  to  the  house  itself;  but  the 
Britisii  (a  detachment  of  the  guards,  under  the 
command  of  colonel  Macdonnell,  and  afterwards 
of  colonel  Home,)  made  good  the  garden,  and  thus 
preserved,  bv  their  desperate  resistance,  the  post 
which  covered  the  return  of  the  duke  of  Welling- 
ton's right  flank. 


I 


*  The  mistakes  concerning  this  observatory  have  been 
mutual.  The  English  supposed  it  was  erected  for  the  use 
of  Bonaparte;  and  a  French  writer  affrms  it  was  con- 
structed by  the  duke  of  Wellington. 


A  DRAMATIC  SKETCH  FROM  SCOTTISH  HISTORY. 


Knights,  squii-es,  and  steeds,  shall  enter  on  the  stage. 
Essay  on  Criticism. 


TO  JOANNA  BAILLIE, 

AT  WHOSE  INSTANCE  THE  TASK  WAS  UNDERTAKEN, 

THESE   SCEIfES   ARE   INSCRIBED,  AS  A    SLIGHT  TESTOIONT  OF   THE   AVTHOR's   HIGH   RESPECT  FOR  HER 
TALEXTS,  AS  WELL  AS  OF  HIS  SINCERE  AXD  FAITHFUL  FRIENHSHIP. 


AD^T^RTISEMENT. 

Though  the  public  seldom  takes  much  interest 
in  such  communications,  (nor  is  there  any  reason 
■whv  they  should,)  the  auliior  takes  the  liberty  of 
stating,  that  these  scenes  were  commenced  witli 
llie  purpose  of  contributing  to  a  miscellany  pro- 
iected  by  a  much  esteemed  friend.  But  instead  ot 
being  confined  to  a  scene  or  two  as  intended,  the 
work  gradually  swelled  to  the  size  of  an  independ- 
ent publication.  It  is  designed  to  illustrate  mili- 
tarj- antiquities,  and  the  manners  of  chivahy.  The 
drama  (if  it  can  be  termed  one)  is  in  no  particular 
either  designed  or  calculated  for  the  stage;  so  that 
in  case  any  attempt  shall  be  made  to  produce  it  in 
action  (as  has  happened  iu  similar  cases,)  the  au- 
thor takes  the  present  opportunity  to  intimate, 
that  it  shall  be  solely  at  the  peril  of  those  who 
make  such  an  experiment. 

The  subject  is  to  be  found  in  Scottish  histoiy; 
but  not  to  overload  so  slight  a  publication  with 
antiquarian  research,  or  quotations  from  obscure 
chronicles,  may  be  sufficiently  illustrated  by  the 
following  passage  from  Pinkertmi's  History  of 
Scotland,  vol.  i,  p.  71. 

"  The  governor  (anno  1402)  dispatched  a  con- 
siderable force  under  Muriiac,  his  eldest  son;  the 
earls  of  Angus  and  Moray  also  joined  Douglas, 
who  entered  England  with  an  array  of  ten  thousand 
men,  carrying  terror  and  devastation  to  the  walls 
of  Newcastle. 

"  Henry  IV  was  now  engaged  in  the  Welch  war 
against  Owen  Glendour;  but  the  earl  of  Northum- 
berland, and  his  son,  the  Hotspur  Percy,  with  the 
earl  of  March,  collected  a  numerous  array,  and 
awaited  the  return  of  the  Scots,  impeded  with 
spoil,  rtear  Milfield,  in  the  north  part  of  Jforth- 
umberland.  Douglas  had  reached  Wooler  on  his 
return;  and,  pei-ceiving  the  enemy,  seized  a  strong 
post  between  the  two  armies,  called  Homildon- 
hill.  In  tliis  method  he  rivalled  his  predecessor 
at  the  battle  of  Otterburn,  but  not  with  like  suc- 
cess. The  English  advanced  to  the  assault,  and 
Henry  Percy  was  about  to  lead  them  up  the  hill, 
when"  March  caught  his  bridle,  and  advised  him 
to  advance  no  farther,  but  to  pour  the  dreadful 
shower  of  English  arrows  into  the  enemy.  This 
advice  was  followed  w  iili  the  usual  fortune;  for  in 
all  ages  the  bow  was  the  English  weapon  of  vic- 
tory, and  though  the  Scots,  and  perhaps  the  French, 
•were  superior  in  the  use  of  the  spear,  yet  this  wea- 
pon was  useless  after  the  distant  bow  had  decided 
the  combat.  Robert  the  Great,  sensible  of  this  at 
the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  ordered  a  prepared 
dclaciiment  of  cavalrj'  to  rush  among  the  English 


archers  at  the  commencement,  totally  to  disperse 
them,  and  stop  the  deadly  efl'usion.  But  Douglas 
now  used  no  such  precaution;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  his  people,  drawn  up  on  the  face  of  the 
hill,  presented  one  general  mark  to  the  enemy, 
none  of  whose  arrows  descended  in  vain.  The 
Scots  fell  without  fight,  and  unrevenged,  till  a 
spirited  knight,  Swinton,  exclaimed  aloud,  '  O 
my  brave  countrymen !  what  fascination  has  seized 
you  to-day,  that  you  stand  like  deer  to  he  shot, 
instead  of  indulging  your  ancient  courage,  and 
meeting  your  enemies  hand  to  hand'  Let  those 
who  will,  descend  with  me,  that  we  may  gaio 
victory,  or  life,  or  fall  like  men.'  This  being  heard 
by  Adam  Gordon,  between  whom  and  Swinton 
there  existed  an  ancient  deadly  feud,  attended 
with  the  mutual  slaughter  of  many  followers,  he 
instantly  fell  on  his  knees  before  Swinton,  begged 
his  pardon,  and  desired  to  be  dubbed  a  knight  by 
him  whom  he  must  now  regard  as  the  wisest  and 
the  boldest  of  that  order  in  Britain.  The  ceremony 
performed,  Swinton  and  Gordon  descended  the 
hill,  accompanied  only  by  one  hundred  men;  and 
a  desperate  valour  led  the  whole  body  to  death. 
Had  a  similar  spirit  been  shown  by  the  Scottish 
army,  it  is  probable  that  the  event  of  the  day  would 
have  been  different.  Douglas,  who  was  certainly 
deficient  in  the  most  important  qualities  of  a  ge- 
neral, seeing  his  army  begin  to  disperse,  at  length 
attempted  to  descend  the  hill;  but  the  English 
archers,  retiring  a  little,  sent  a  flight  of  arrows  so 
sharp  and  strong,  that  no  armour  could  withstand; 
and  the  Scottish  leader  himself,  whose  panoply 
was  of  remarkable  temper,  fell  under  five  wounds, 
though  not  mortal.  The  English  men-of-arms, 
knights,  or  squires,  did  not  strike  one  blow,  but 
remained  spectators  of  the  rout,  which  was  now 
complete.  Great  numbers  of  Scots  were  slain,  and 
near  five  hundred  perished  in  the  river  Tweed 
upon  their  flight.  Among  tiie  illustrious  wounded 
were  Douglas,  whose  chief  wound  deprived  him 
of  an  eye;  Murdac,  son  of  Albany;  the  earls  of 
Moray  and  Angus;  and  about  four  gentlemen  of 
eminent  rank  and  power.  The  chief  slain,  were, 
Swinton,  Gordon,  Livingston  of  Calender,  Ramsay 
of  Dalhousie,  Walter  Sinclair,  Roger  Gordon, 
Walter  Scott,  and  others.  Such  was  the  issue  of 
the  unfortunate  battle  of  Homildon." 

It  may  be  proper  to  observe,  that  the  scene  of 
action  has,  in  the  following  pages,  been  transferred 
from  Homildon  to  Halidon  Hill.  For  this  there 
was  an  obvious  reason,  for  who  would  again  ven- 
ture to  introduce  upon  the  scene  the  celebrated 
Hotspur,  who  commanded  the  English  at  the  for- 


388 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


nier  battle'  There  are,  however,  several  coinci- 
dences which  may  reconcile  even  the  severer  an- 
tiquary to  tlie  substitution  of  Halidon  Hill  for 
Homildon.  A  Scottish  army  was  dtteated  by  the 
English  on  botli  occasions,  and  inider  nearly  the 
same  circumstances  of  address  on  the  part  ot  the 
victors,  and  mismanagement  on  that  of  the  van- 
quislied,  for  the  English  long-bow  decided  the 
day  in  both  cases.  In  both  cases,  also,  a  Gordon 
■wa's  left  on  the  field  of  battle;  and  at  Halidon,  as 
at  Homildon,  the  Scots  were  commanded  by  an 
ill-fated  representative  of  the  great  house  of  Dou- 
glas. He  of  Homildon  was  surnamed  Tine-7nan, 
I.  e.  Losemaii,  from  his  repealed  defeats  and  mis- 
carriages, and  with  all  the  personal  valour  of  his 
race,  seems  to  have  enjoyed  so  small  a  portion  of 
their  sagacity,  as  to  be  unable  to  learn  military 
experience  from  reiterated  calamity.  I  am  lar, 
however,  from  intimating,  that  the  trails  of  im- 
becility and  envy,  attributed  to  the  regent  in  the 
following  sketch,  are  to  be  historically  ascribed 
either  to  the  elder  Douglas  of  Halidon  Hill,  or  to 
him  called  Tiiie-man,  w  ho  seems  to  have  enjoyed 
the  respect  of  his  countrymen,  notwithstanding 
that,  like  the  celebrated  Anne  de  Montmorency, 
he  was  either  defeated,  or  woundtd,  or  made  pri- 
soner in  everj' battle  which  he  fought.  The  regent 
of  the  sketch  is  a  character  purely  imaginary. 

The  tradition  of  the  Swinton  family,  which  still 
survives  in  a  lineal  descent,  and  to  which  the  au- 
thor has  the  honour  to  be  related,  avers,  that  the 
Swinton  who  fell  at  Homildon,  in  the  manner  nar- 
rated in  the  preceding  extract,  had  slain  Gordon's 
father;  which  seems  sufficient  ground  for  adopting 
that  circumstance  into  tiie  following  Dramatic 
Sketch,  though  it  is  rendered  improbable  by  other 
authorities. 

If  any  reader  will  take  the  trouble  of  looking  at 
Froissart,  Fordun,  or  other  historians  of  the  pe- 
riod, he  will  find,  that  the  character  of  the  lord  of 
Swinton,  for  strength,  courage,  and  conduct,  is  by 
no  means  exaggerated. 

DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 
SCOTTISH. 
The  Uegest  of  Scotlauh. 


GOKDOX, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

sutrerlanb, 

Ross, 

Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

LiNDESAT. 


^ 


Scottish  chief  8  and  nobles. 


J 


Adam  de  Vipont,  a  Knight  Templar. 

The  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Retnald,  Sivinton''s  Squire. 

Hob  Hattelt,  a  Border  J\Ioss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 
King  Edward  HI. 
Chandos,       -s 

Percy,  C     English  and  JVorman  JVobles. 

Kibaumont.  J 
The  Abbot  of  Waltuamstow. 


HALIDON  HILL. 

ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

The  northern  side  nfllie  eminence  of  Halidon.    The 
back:  scejie   represents  the  sintimit  of  the  ascent, 


occupied  by  tlie  rear  guard  of  the  Scottish  army. 
Bodies  of  armed  men  appear  as  advancing  from 
different  points  to  join  the  main  body. 

Enter  De  Vii'ont  andthe  Puior  of  Maison-Dieu. 
Vip.  No   farther,  failiei- — here  1  need  no  guid- 
ance— 
I  have  already  brought  your  peaceful  step 
Too  near  the  verge  of  battle. 

I^ri.  Fain  would   I   see  you  join  some  baron's 
banner. 
Before  I  say  farewell.  The  honour'd  sword 
That  fought  so  w-ell  in  Syria  shoidd  not  wave 
Amid  the  ignoble  crowd. 

Vip.  Each  spot  is  noble  in  a  pitched  field. 
So  that  a  man  has  room  to  fight  and  fall  on't: 
But  I  shall  find  out  friends.    'Tis  scarce  twelve 

years 
Since  I  left  Scotland  for  the  wars  of  Palestine, 
And  then  the  flower  of  all  the  Scottish  nobles 
Were  known  to  me;  and  I,  in  my  degree, 
Not  all  unknown  to  them. 

P;v.  Alas!  there  have  been  changes  since  that 
time; 
The  royal  Bruce,  with  Randolph,  Douglas,  Gra- 

hame, 
Then  shook  in  field  the  banners  which  now  moul- 
der 
Over  their  graves  i'  the  chancel. 

Vip.  And  thence  comes  it. 

That  while  I  look'd  on  many  a  well-known  crest 
And  blazon'd  shield,  as  hitherward  ive  came, 
The  faces  of  the  barons  who  display'd  tliem 
Were  all  unknown  to  me.    Brave  youths   they 

seem'd; 
Yet,  surely  fitter  to  adorn  the  tilt-yard. 
Than  to  be  leaders  of  a  war.  Their  followers. 
Young  like  themselves,  seem  like  themselves  un- 
practised— 
Look  at  their  battle  rank. 

Fri.  I  cannot  gaze  on't  with  undazzled  eye, 
So  thick  the  rays  dart  back  from  shield  and  helmet, 
And  sword  and  battle-axe,  and  spear  and  pennon. 
Sure  'tis  a  gallant  show!  the  Bruce  himself 
Hath  often  conquered  at  the  head  of  fewer 
And  worse  appointed  followers. 

Vip.  Ay,  but  'twas  Bruce  that  led  them.  Rever- 
end father, 
'Tis  not  the  falchion's  weight  decides  a  combat; 
It  is  the  strong  and  skilful  hand  that  wields  it. 
Ill  fate,  that  we  should  lack  the  noble  king. 
And  all  his  champions  now!  Timecall'd  them  not, 
For  when  I  parted  hence  for  Palestine, 
The  brows  of  most  were  free  from  grizyJed  hair. 
T'ri.  Too  true,  alas!    But  well  you  know,  in 
Scotland, 
Few  hairs  are  silver'd  underneath  the  helmet; 
'Tis  cowls  like  mine  which  hide  them.    'Mongst 

the  laity. 
War's  the  rasli  reaper,  who  thrusts  in  his  sickle 
Before  the  grain  is  white.  In  threescore  years 
And  ten,  which  I  have  seen,  I  have  outlived 
Well  nigh  two  generations  of  our  nobles. 
The  race  which  holds  jon  summit  is  the  third. 
Vip.  Thou  may'st  outlive  them  also. 
I'n.  Heaven  forefend! 

My  prayer  shall  be,  that  heaven  w  ill  close  my  eyes, 
Before  they  look  upon  the  wrath  to  come. 

Vip.  Retire,  retire,  good  father! — Pray  for  Scot- 
land— 
Think  not  on  me.    Here  comes  an  ancient  friend. 
Brother  in  arms,  with  whom  to-day  I'll  join  me. 
Back  to  your  choir,  assemble  all  your  brotherhood, 


HALIDOX  HILL. 


389 


And  weary  heaven  with  prayers  fur  victory. 

Pri.  Heaven's  blessing  rest  with  tliee, 
Champion  of  heaven,  and  of  thy  suffering  country! 
[^Ejcit  Prick.    Vipoxt  draws  a  little  aside, 
and  lets  down  the  beaver  of  his  helmet. 
En^er  SwixTox,  followed  by  Retstald  andothers, 
to  whom  he  speaks  as  he  enters. 
S-unn.  Halt  here,  and  plant  my  pennon,  till  the 
regent 
Assign  our  band  its  station  in  the  host. 

Hey.  That  must  be  by  the  standard.  We  have  had 
That  right  since  good  saint  David's  reign  at  least. 
Fain  would  1  see  the  Marcher  would  dispute  it. 
Swin.    Peace,  Reynald!     Where  the  general 
plants  the  soldier. 
There  is  his  place  of  honour,  and  there  only 
His  valour  can  win  worship.    Thou'rt  of  those. 
Who  would  have  war's  deej»  art  bear  the  wild 

semblance 
Of  some  disorder'd  hunting,  where,  pell-mell. 
Each  trusting  to  the  swiftness  of  his  horse, 
Gallants  press  on  to  see  the  quarry  fall. 
Yon  steel-clad  Southrons,  Reynald,  are  no  deer; 
And  England's  Edward  is  no  stag  at  bay. 

Vip.  [advancing.)  There  needed  not,  to  blazen 
forth  the  Swinton, 
His  ancient  burgonet,  the  sable  boar 
Chain'd  to  the  gnarled  oak, — nor  his  proud  step, 
Xor  giant  stature,  nor  the  ponderous  mace. 
Which  only  he  of  Scotland's  realm  can  wield: 
His  discipline  and  wisdom  mark  the  leader. 
As  doth  his  frame  the  champion.     Hail,  brave 
Swinton! 
Swi7i.  Brave  templar,  thanks !  Such  your  cross'd 
shoulder  speaks  you; 
But  the  closed  visor,  which  conceals  5'our  features. 
Forbids  more  knowledge.    Umfraville,  perhaps — 
Vip.  [unclosing  his  helmet.)  No;  one  less  worthy 
of  our  sacred  order. 
Yet,  unless  Syrian  suns  have  scorch 'd  my  features 
Swart  as  ray  sable  visor,  Alan  Swinton 
Will  welcome  Symon  V'ipont. 

Swill,  [embracing  him. )    As  the  blith  reaper 
Welcomes  a  practised  mate,  when  the  ripe  harvest 
Lies  deep  before  him,  and  the  sun  is  high. 
Thou 'It  follow  yon  old  pennon,  wilt  thou  not? 


In  twelve  years'  space! — And  thy  brave  sons,  sir 

Alan, 
Alas !  1  fear  to  ask. 

Swin.  All  slain,  de  Vipont.  In  my  empty  home 
A  puny  babe  lisps  to  a  widow'd  mother, 
"  Where  is  my  grandsire?  wherefore  doyou  weep?" 
But  for  that  prattler,  Lyulph's  house  is  heirless. 
I'm  an  old  oak,  from  which  the  foresters 
Have  hew'd  four  goodly  boughs,  and  left  beside  me 
Only  a  sapling,  which  the  fawn  may  crush 
As  he  springs  over  it. 

Vip.  All  slain— alas! 

Sioin.  Ay,  all,  De  Vipont.  And  their  attributes, 
John  with  the  Long  Spear — Archibald  with  the 

Axe — 
Richard  the  Ready — and  my  youngest  darling. 
My  Fair-haired  William — do  but  now  survive 
In  measures  which  the  gray-hair'd  minstrels  sing, 
When  they  make  maidens  weep. 

Vip.  These  wars  w  itii  England,  they  have  rooted 

out 
The  flowers  of  Christendom.   Knights,  who  might 

win 
The  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  the  rude  heathen. 
Fall  in  unholy  warfare! 
S-unn.  Unholy  warfare?  ay,  well  hast  thou  named 

it; 
But  not  with  England — would  her  cloth-yard  shafts 
Had  bored  their  cuirasses!    Their  lives  had  been 
Lost  like  their  grandsires',  in  the  bold  defence 
Of  their  dear  country — but  in  private  feud 
With  the  proud  Gordon,  fell  my  Long-spear'd  John, 
He  with  the  Axe,  and  he  men  call'd  the  Ready, 
xVy,  and  my  Fair-hair'd  Will — the  Gordon's  wrath 
Devour 'd  my  gallant  issue. 

Vip.  Since  thou  dost  weep,  their  death  is   una- 
venged ? 
Swin.  Templar,  what  think'sl  thou  me'     See 

yonder  rock. 
From  which  the  fountain  gushes — is  it  less 
Compact  of  adamant,  tliough  waters  flow  from  it? 
Firm  hearts  have  moister  eyes.     They  are  avenged ; 
I  wept  not  till  they  were — till  the  proud  Gordon 
Had  with  his  life-blood  dyed  my  father's  swurd, 
la  guerdon  that  he  thinn'd  my  father's  lineage. 
And  then  I  wept  my  sons;  and,  as  the  Gordon 


'Tis  tatter'd  since  thou  saw'st  it,  and  the  hoarheads  \  Lay  at  my  feet,  there  was  a  tear  for  him. 


Look  as  if  brought  from  off  some  Christmas  board, 
Where  knives  had  notch'd  them  deeply. 

Vip.  Have  with  them  ne'ertheless.  The  Stuart's 

chequer. 
The  bloody  heart  of  Douglas,  Ross's  lymphads, 
Sutherland's  wild-cats,  nor  the  royal  lion, 
Rampant  in  golden  tressure,  wins  me  from  them. 
We'll  back  the  boar-heads  bravely.    1  see  round 

them 
A  chosen  band  of  lances — some  well  known  to  me. 
Where's  the  main  body  of  thy  followers 


W'hich  mingled   with   the  rest. — We  had  been 

friends. 
Had  shared  the  banquet  and  the  chase  together. 
Fought  side  by  side, — and  our  first  cause  of  strife. 
Wo  to  the  pride  of  both,  was  but  a  liglit  one. 
Vip.  You  are  at  feud,   then,  with  the  mighty 

Gordon? 
Swin.  At  deadly  feud.  Herein  this  border-land 
Where  the  sire's  quarrels  descend  upon  the  son, 
As  due  a  part  of  his  inheritance. 
As  ihe  strong  castle,  and  the  ancient  blazon. 


Swin.  Symon  de  Vipont,  thou  dost  see  them  all   Where  private  vengeance  holds  the  scales  of  justice. 
That  Swinton's  bugle-horn  can  call  to  battle.  Weighing  each  drop  of  blood  as  scrupulously 

However  loud  it  rings.  There's  not  a  boy  !  As  Jews  or  Lombanls  balance  silver  pence, 

I^eft  in  my  halls,  whose  arm  has  strength  enough    Not  in  this  land,  'twixt  Solway  and  saint  .\bb's. 
To  bear  a  sword — there's  not  a  man  behind,  '  Rages  a  bitterer  feud  than  mine  and  their's, 

However  old,  who  moves  without  a  staff.  I  The  Swinton  and  the  Gordon. 

Striplings  and  graybeards,  every  one  is  here,  |      Vip.  You,  with  some  threescore  lances — and  the 

And  here  all  should  be— Scotland  needs  them  all: !  Gordon 

And  more  and  better  men,  were  each  a  Hercules,    Leading  a  thousand  followeis. 
And  yonder  handful  centuplied.  Swin.  You  rate  him  far  too  low.    Since  you 

Vip.  A  thousand  followers — such,  with  friends  '  sought  Palestine, 


and  kinsmen, 
Allies  and  vassals,  thou  wert  wont  to  lead — 
A  thousand  followers  shrunk  to  sixty  lances 


I  He  hath  had  grants  of  baronies  and  lordships 

I  In  the  far-distant  north.     A  thousand  horse 

I  His  southern  friends  and  vas'^ali  al«HN  s  uuinber'd. 


390 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Add  Badenoch  kerne,  and  horse  from  Dee  and 

Spey, 
He'll  count  a  thousand  more. — And  now,  De  Vi- 

pont, 
If  the  l)();ir-hcads  seem  in  your  eyes  less  worthy, 
For  lack  of  followers — seek  yonder  standard — 
The  houudins;  sta;j;,  with  a  hnive  host  around  it: 
There  the  vouiip;  (iordon  makes  his  earliest  field. 
And  pants  to  win  his  spurs.  His  father's  friend, 
As  well  as  n)iiie,  tiiou  werl — go,  join  his  pennon. 
And  grace  him  wilii  lliy  iiresence. 

Vip.  When  you  were  friends,  I  was  the  friend 
of  hoth, 
And  now  1  can  be  enemy  to  neither; 
But  my  poor  per-son,  though  hut  slight  the  aid. 
Joins  on  this  field  tiie  banner  of  the  two 
Whieii  hath  the  smallest  following. 
Sivin.  Spoke   like   the  generous  knight,  who 
gave  up  all, 
Leading  and  lordship,  in  a  heathen  land 
'J'o  fight  a  christian  soldier — yet,  in  earnest, 
1  pray,  De  Vipont,  you  would  join  the  Gordon 
In  this  high  battle.   'Tis  a  noble  youth. 
So  fame  doth  vouch  him, — amorous,  quick,  and 

valiant; 
Takes  knightiiood,  too,  this  day,  and  well  may  use 
His  spurs  too  rashly  in  the  wish  to  win  them. 
A  friend  like  thee  beside  him  in  the  fight. 
Were  worth  a  hundred  spears,  to  rein  his  valour 
And  temper  it  willi  prudence; — 'tis  the  aged  eagle 
Teaches  his  brood  to  gaze  upon  the  sun, 
With  eye  undazzled. 

Vip.  Alas,  brave  Swinton,  wouldst  thou  train 
the  hunter 
That  soon  must  bring  thee  to  the  bay  ?  your  cus- 
tom, 
Your  niost  unchristian,  savage,  fiend-like  custom, 
Binds  Gordon  to  avenge  his  father's  death. 

Svdn.  Why,  be  it  so!  1  look  for  nothing  else: 
My  part  was  acted  when  1  slew  his  father. 
Avenging  my  four  sons — Young  Gordon's  sword, 
If  it  should  find  my  heart,  can  ne'er  inflict  there 
A  pang  so  poignant  as  his  father's  did. 
But  I  would  perish  by  a  noble  hand. 
And  such  will  his  be  if  he  bear  him  nobly, 
Nobly  and  wisely  on  this  field  of  Halidon. 
Enter  a  puhsuivant. 
Pursuivant.  Sir  knights,  to   council! — 'tis  the 
regent's  order, 
Thatknightsand  menofleadingraeet  him  instantly 
Before  the  royal  standard.  Edward's  army 
Is  seen  from  the  hill  summit. 

Sivin.  Say  to  the  regent,  we  obey  his  orders. 

[Exit  puRsurvANi-. 
[To  Reynald.]  Hold  thou  my  casque,  and  furl  my 

peiuion  uj) 
Close  to  the  staff.  I  will  not  show  my  crest, 
Nor  standard,  till  the  common  foe  shall  challenge 

them. 
I'll  wake  no  civil  strife,  nr«-  tempt  the  Gordon 
With  augiit  that's  like  defiance. 

Tip.  Will  lie  not  know  your  features.' 
Swin.  He  ni;vei-  saw  me.    lu  the  distant  north. 
Against  his  will  'tis  said,  iiis  friends  detain'd  him 
During  iiis  nurture — caring  not,  belike. 
To  trust  a  pledge  so  precious  near  the  boar-tusks. 
It  was  a  natural  but  needless  caution: 
I  wage  no  wai  with  children,  for  I  think 
Too  deeply  on  mine  own. 

Vip.  i  have  tbouglii  on  it,  and  will  seethe  Gor- 
don 
As  we  so  hence  to  council.  1  do  liear 


A  cross,  which  binds  me  to  be  christian  priest, 
As  well  as  christian  champion.  God  may  grant. 
That  1,  at  once  his  father's  friend  and  yours. 
May  make  some  peace  betwixt  you. 

Swill.  Wiien  that  your  priestly  zeal,  and  knight- 
ly valour. 
Shall  force  the  grave  to  render  up  the  dead. 

[Exeu7it  severally. 

SCENK  II. 

T/ie  summit  of  Halidon  Hill,  before  the  regenVs 
tent.  The  royal  standard  of  Scotla^ul  is  seen  in 
the  back  ground,  -with  the  pennons  and  banners 
of  the  princil>al  nobles  around  it. 
Council  of  Scottish  nobles  and  chiefs.    Sutheh- 
LAND,  Ross,  Lennox,  Maxwell,  and  other  no- 
bles of  the  Mghest  rank,  are  close  to  the  Regent's 
person,  arid  in  the  act  of  keen  debate.    Vipont, 
■with  Gordon  and  others,  remain  grouped  at  some 
distance  on  the  fight  hand  of  the  stage.     On  the 
left,  standing  also  apart,  is  Swinton,  alone  and 
bare-headed.  The  nobles  are  dressed  in  liighland 
or  loxuland  habits,  as  lustorical  costume  requires. 
Trumpets,  Heralds,  &c.  are  in  attendance. 
Len.   Nay,  lordings,    put   no   shame   upon  my 
counsels; 
I  did  but  say,  if  we  retired  a  little. 
We  should  have  fairer  field  and  better  vantage. 
I've  seen  king  Robert, — ay,  the  Bruce  himself — 
Retreat  six  leagues  in  length,  and  think  no  shame 
on't. 
Reg.  Ay,  but  king  Edward  sent  a  haughty  mes- 
sage. 
Defying  us  to  battle  on  this  field, 
This  very  hill  of  Halidon;  if  we  leave  it 
Uiifought  withal,  it  squares  not  with  our  honour. 
Sivin.  [apart.)  A  perilous  honour,  that  allows 
the  enemy. 
And  such  an  enemy  as  this  same  Edward, 
To  choose  our  field  of  battle!  He  knows  how 
To  make  our  Scottish  pride  betray  its  master 
Into  the  pitfall.     [During  tins  speech  the  debate 
among  the  nobles  seems  to  coniiyvue. 
Suth.  [aloud.)  We  will  not  back   one  furlong 
— not  one  yard, 
No,  nor  one  inch;  where'er  we  find  the  foe. 
Or  where  the  foe  finds  us,  there  will  we  fight  him. 
Retreat  will  dull  the  spirit  of  our  followers, 
Who  now  stand  prompt  for  battle. 

Hoss.  My  lords,  methinks  great  Morarchat  has 
doubts. 
That,  if  his  northern  clang  once  turn  the  seam 
Of  their  check'd  hose  behind,  it  will  be  hard 
To  halt  and  rally  them. 

Stith.  Say'st  thou,  Mac-Donnell? — add  another 
falsehood. 
And  name  when  Morarchat  was  coward  orti-aitor! 
Thine  island  race,  as  chronicles  can  tell, 
Were  oft  aftianced  to  the  southern  cause; 
Loving  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  gold. 
More  than  tlie  weiglit  and  temper  of  their  steel. 
Heg.  Peace,  my  lords,  ho! 
Hoss,  [  Throwing  down  his  glove. )  Mac-Donnell 
will  not  peace!  There  lies  my  pledge. 
Proud  Morarch.-xt,  to  witness  thee  a  liar. 
JUax.  Brought  1  all  Nithsdale  from  the  western 
border; 
Left  1  my  towers  exposed  to  foraying  England, 
And  thieving  Annandale,  to  see  such  misrule.' 
John.  Who  speaks  of  Annandale.'    Dare  Max- 
well slander 
The  gentle  house  of  Lochwooil.' 

Heg.  Peace,  lordings,  once  again.  We  represent 


IIALIDON  HILL. 


391 


The  majesty  of  Scotland — in  our  presence 
Brawling  is  treason. 

SiUh.  Were  it  in  presence  of  the  king  himself, 

What  should  prevent  my  saying 

Enter  Lindesat. 

JJnd.  You  must  determine  quickly.    Scarce  a 

mile 

Farts  our  vanguard  from  Edward's.  On  the  plain, 

Bright  gleanisof  armour  flash  thro' clouds  of  dust, 

Like  stars  through  frost-mist — steeds  neigh,  and 

weapons  clash — 
And  arrows  soon  will  whistle — the  worst  sound 
That  waits  on  English  war. — You  must  determine. 

Be''-.  VVe  are  determined.   We  will  spare  proud 
Edward 
Half  of  the  ground  that  parts  us. — Onwanl,  lords; 
Saint  Andrew  strike  for  Scotland !    We  will  lead 
The  middle  ward  ourselves,  the  royal  standard 
Display'd  beside  us;  and  beneath  its  shadow 
Shall  the  young  gallants  whom  we  knight  this  day. 
Fight  for  theirgoUlen  spurs. — Lennox,  thou'rt  wise, 
And  wilt  obey  command — lead  thou  the  rear. 

Leii.  The  rear! — why  1  the  rear?  The  van  were 
fitter 
For  him  who  fought  abreast  with  Robert  Bruce. 

Swin.  (a/)ar<.)  discretion  hath  forsakeu  Lennox 
•too! 
The  wisdom  he  was  forty  years  in  gathering 
Has  left  him  in  an  instant.   ' lis  contagious 
Even  to  witness  frenzy. 

Snth.  The  regent  hath  determined  well.  The  rear 
Suits  him  the  best  who  counsell'd  our  retreat. 

Leri.  Proud  northern  thane,  the  van  were  soon 
the  rear. 
Were  thy  disordered  followers  planted  there. 

Sut/i.  Then,  for  that  verj-  word,  1  make  a  vow, 
By  my  broad  earldom  and  my  father's  soul, 
That  if  I  have  not  leading  of  the  van, 
1  will  not  fight  to-day ! 

Jioss.  Morarchat!  thou  the  leadiRg  of  the  van! 
Not  whilst  Mac-Donnell  lives. 

Sivin.  [apart.)  Nay,  then  a  stone  would  speak. 
[Addresses  the  hecjent.]  .May't  please  your  grace. 
And  yours,  great  lords,  to  hear  an  old  man's  coun- 
sel. 
That  hath  seen  fights  enow.  These  open  bickerings 
Dishearten  all  our  host.  If  that  your  grace. 
With  these  great  earls  and  lords,  must  needs  debate, 
Let  the  closed  tent  conceal  your  disagreement; 
Else  'twill  be  said,  ill  fares  it  with  the  flock, 
If  shepherds  wrangle  w  hen  tlie  wolf  is  nigh. 

Reg.  The  old  knight  counsels  well.    Let  every 
lord 
Or  chief,  who  leads  five  hundred  men  or  more, 
Follow  to  council — others  are  excluded — 
We'll  have  no  vulgar  censurers  of  our  conduct. 

[Looking  at  SwixToy. 
Young  Gordon,  your  high  rank  and  numerous  fol- 
lowing 
Give  you  a  seat  with  us,  though  yet  unknighted. 

Gov.  1  pray  you  pardon  me.  My  youth's  unfit 
To  sit  in  council,  when  that  knight's  gray  hairs 
And  wisdom  wait  without. 

Heg.  Do  as  you  will;  we  deign  not  bid  you  twice. 

[The    KEGENT,     Ross,     SUTHEIILAXD,     LeX- 

Nox,  Maxwell,  {s;c.  enter  tlie  tent.    The 
rest  remain  grouped  about  the  stage. 
Gor.    [observing  Swinto.v.]    That  helmetless 
old  knight,  his  giant  stature. 
His  awful  accents  of  rebuke  and  wisdom, 
Have  caught  ray  fancy  strangely.  He  doth  seem 
Like  to  some  vision'd  form  which  1  have  dream'd  of, 

27 


Hut  never  saw  with  waking  eyes  till  now. 
I  will  accost  him. 

Vip.  Pray  you,  do  not  so; 
Anon  I'll  give  you  reason  why  you  should  not 
There's  other  work  in  hand 

Go7\  1  will  but  ask  his  name.    There's  in  his 
presence 
Something  that  works  upon  me  like  a  spell. 
Or  like  the  feeling  made  my  childish  ear 
Doat  upon  tales  of  superstitious  dread, 
Attracting  while  they  chill'd  my  heart  with  fear. 
Now,  born  the  Gordon,  I  do  feel  right  well 
I'm  bound  to  fear  nought  earthly— and  I  fear  nought. 
I'll  know  who  this  man  is 

[Accosts  SwiNTOIf. 

Sir  knight,  I  pray  you,  of  your  gentle  courtesy, 
To  tell  your  honour'd  name.    I  am  ashamed, 
Being  unknown  in  arms,  to  say  that  mine 
Is  Adam  Gordon. 

Siuin.  [shows  emotion,  but  instantly  subdues  it.) 
It  is  a  name  that  soundeth  in  my  ear 
Like  to  a  death-knell — ay,  and  like  the  call 
Of  tlie  shrill  trumpet  to  the  mortal  lists; 
Yet  'tis  a  name  which  ne'er  hath  beendishonour'd, 
And  never  will,  I  trust — most  surely  never 
By  such  a  youth  as  thou. 

Gor.  There's  a  mysterious  courtesy  in  this, 
And  yet  it  yields  no  answer  to  my  question. 
I  trust,  you  hold  the  Gordon  not  unworthy 
To  know  the  name  he  asks? 

S-n'in.  Worthy  of  all  that  openness  and  houour 
May  show  to  friend  or  foe — but,  for  my  name, 
Vipont  will  show  it  you;  and,  if  it  sound 
Harsh  in  your  ear,  remember  that  it  knells  there 
But  at  your  own  request.  This  day,  at  least. 
Though  seldom  wont  to  keep  it  in  concealment. 
As  there's  no  cause  I  should,  you  had  not  heard  it. 

Gor.  This  strange 

Vip.  The  mystery  is  needful.    Follow  me. 

[  They  retire  behind  the  side  scene. 

Sivin.  [looking  after  them.)  'TIS  a  brave  youth. 
How  blush'd  ills  noble  cheek. 
While  youthful  modesty,  and  the  embarrassment 
Of  curiosity,  combined  with  wonder, 
And  half  suspicion  of  some  slight  intended. 
All  mingled  in  the  flush;  but  soon  'twill  deepen 
Into  revenge's  glow.    How  slow  is  Vipont! 
I  wait  the  issue,  as  I've  seen  spectators 
Susi)eiKl  the  motion  even  of  the  eye-lids, 
When  the  slow  gunner,  with  his  lighted  match, 
Approach'd  the  charged  cannon,  in  the  act 
To  waken  its  dread  slumbers. — Now  'tis  out; 
He  draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  towards  me. 
Who  will  nor  seek  nor  shun  him. 

Enter  Gordos,  idthheld  by  Vipost. 
Vip.  Hold,  for  the  sake  of  heaven! — O,  for  the 

sake 
Of  your  dear  country,  hold! — Has  Swinton  slaio 

your  father. 
And  must  you,  therefore,  be  yourself  a  parricide 
.\nd  stand  recorded  as  the  selfish  traitor, 
Wiio,  in  her  hour  of  need,  his  country's  cause 
Deserts,  that  he  may  wi-eak  a  private  wrong? 
Look  lO  yon  banner — that  is  Scotland's  standard; 
Look  to  the  regent — he  is  Scotland's  general; 
Look  to  the  English — they  are  Scotland's  foemen! 
Betliink  thee,  then,  thou  art  a  son  of  Scotland, 
And  think  on  nought  beside, 

Gor.  He  hath  come  here  to  brave  me !     Off! 

Unhand  me ! 
Thou  canst  not  be  my  father's  ancient  friend. 


.392 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


That  stand'st  'twixt  me  and  him  who  slew  my  fa» 

tlier. 

Vip.  You  know  not  Swinton.    Starce  one  pass- 
.  ing  tlioiight 
Of  his  liii^h  niiiul  was  with  you;  now,  his  soul 
Is  fixtcl  oil  this  (lay's  battle.   You  might  slay  him 
At  unawares  before  he  saw  your  blade  drawn. 
Stand  still,  and  watch  him  close. 

Enter  Maxwell  frorn  tlie  tent. 

Svrin.  How  go  our  councils,  Maxwell,  may  I  ask? 

Max.  As  wild,  as  if  the  very  wind  and  sea 
With  every  breeze  and  every  billow  battled 
For  their  precedence. 

Sii'in.  Most  sure  they  are  possess'dl  Some  evil 
spirit. 
To  mock  t^ieir  valour,  robs  them  of  discretion. 
Fie,  fie,  upon't! — O  that  Dunfermline's  tomb 
Coulil  render  up  the  Bruce!  that  Spain's  red  shore 
Could  give  us  back  the  good  lord  James  of  Douglas! 
Or  that  fierce  Randolph,  witti  his  voice  of  terror, 
Were  here,  to  awe  these  brawlers  to  submission! 

Vip.  {to  Gordon.)  Thou  hast  perused  liim  at 
more  leisure  now. 

Gor.  1  see  the  giant  form  wliich  all  men  speak  of, 
The  stately  port — but  not  the  sullen  eye, 
Not  the  blood-thirsty  look,  that  should  belong 
To  him  that  made  me  orphan.    I  shall  need 
To  name  my  father  twice  ere  1  can  strike 
At  such  gray  hairs,  and  face  of  such  command; 
Yet  my  hand  clenches  on  my  falchion-hilt, 
In  token  he  sliall  die. 

Vip.   Need  I  again  remind  you,  that  the  place 
Permits  not  private  quarrel? 

Gor.   I'm  calm,    1  will  not  seek — nay,   I  will 
shun  it — 
And  yet  methinks  that  such  debate's  the  fashion. 
Y'ou've  heard  how  taunts,  reproaches,  and  the  lie, 
The  lie  itself,  hath  ftown  from  mouth  to  mouth; 
As  if  a  band  of  peasants  were  disputing 
About  a  foot-ball  match,  rather  than  chiefs 
Were  ordering  a  battle.     1  am  young. 
And  lack  experience;  tell  me,  brave  De  Vipont, 
Is  such  the  fashion  of  your  wars  in  Palestine? 

Vip.  Such  it  at  times  hath  been;  and  then  the 
cross 
Hath  sunk  before  the  crescent.     Heaven's  cause 
Won  us  not  victory  where  wisdom  was  not. 
Behold  yon  English  host  comes  slowly  on, 
With  equal  front,  rank  marshall'd  upon  rank, 
As  if  one  spirit  ruled  one  moving  body; 
The  leaders,  in  their  places,  each  prepared 
To  charge,  support,  and  rally,  as  the  fortune 
Of  changeful  battle  needs: — then  look  on  ours, 
Broken,  disjointed,  as  the  tumbling  surges 
Which  the  winds  wake  at  random.  Look  on  both, 
And  dread  the  issue; — yet  there  might  be  succour. 

Gor.  We're  feaf-fully  o'ermatch'd  in  discipline; 
So  even  my  inexperienced  eye  can  judge. 
What  succour  save  in  heaven  ? 

Vip.  Heaven  acts  by  human  means.  Tlie  artist's 
skill 
Supplies  in  war,  as  in  mechanic  crafts. 
Deficiency  of  tools.     There's  courage,  wisdom, 
And  skill  enough,  live  in  one  leader  here, 
As,  flung  into  the  balance,  might  avail 
To  counterpoise  the  odds  'twixt  that  ruled  host 
And  our  wild  miiltitu<le  — I  must  not  name  him. 

Gor.  I  guess,  but  dare  not  ask.     What  band  is 
yonder, 
Arranged  as  closely  as  tlie  English  discipline 
H:ilh  marshall'd  their  best  files? 

Vip.   Know'st  thou  not  the  pennon' 


One  day,  perhaps,  thoul't  see  it  all  too  closely, 
It  is  sir  Alan  Swinton's. 

Gor.  These,  then,  are  his, — the  relics  of  his 
power; 
Yet  worth  an  host  of  ordinary  men. 
And  I  must  slay  my  country's  sagest  leader, 
And  crusii  by  numbers  tliat  determined  handful. 
When  most  my  country  needs  their  practised  aid. 
Or  men  will  say,  "  There  goes  degenerate  Gordon; 
His  father's  blood  is  on  the  Swinton's  sword, 
And  his  is  in  his  scabbard!"  [J\iiises. 

Vip.    {apart.)    High  blood  and  mettle,   mix'd 
with  early  wisdom. 
Sparkle  in  this  brave  youth.    If  he  survive 
This  evil-omened  day,  1  pawn  my  word. 
That,  in  the  ruin  which  1  now  forebode, 
Scotland  has  treasure  left.     How  close  he  eyes 
Each  look  and  step  of  Swinton!    Is  it  hate, 
Or  is  it  admiration,  or  are  boih 
Commingled  strangely  in  that  steady  gaze' 

[SwiNToy  and  Maxwell  return  from 
the  bottom  of  the  staoe. 
J\'lax.  The  storm  is  laid  at  length  amongst  these 
counsellors: 
See,  they  come  forth. 

S-udn.  And  it  is  more  than  time; 

For  I  can  mark  the  van-guard  archery 
Handling  their  quivers — bending  up  their  bows 
Enter  the  Regext  and  Scottish  lords. 
Reg.  Thus  shall  it  be  then,  since  we  may  no 
better: 
And,  since  no  lord  will  yield  one  jot  of  way 
To  this  high  urgency,  or  give  the  van-guard 
Up  to  another's  guidance,  we  will  abide  them 
Even  on  this  bent;  and  as  our  troops  are  rank'd, 
So  shall  they  meet  the  foe.  Chief,  nor  thane, 
Nor  noble,  can  complain  of  the  precedence 
Which  chance  has  thus  assign'd  him. 

Sxvin.  {apart.)  O,  sage  discipline. 
That  leaves  to  chance  the  marshalling  of  a  battle! 
Gor.  Move  him  to  speech,  De  Vipont. 
Vip.  Move  Am! — Move  whom' 
Gor.  Even  him,  whom,  but  brief  space  since, 
My  hand  did  burn  to  put  to  utter  silence. 

Vip.  I'll  move  it  to  him.     Swinton,   speak  to 
them. 
They  lack  thy  counsel  sorely. 

Sivi7i.  Had  I  the  thousand  spears  which  once  1 
led, 
I  had  not  thus  been  silent.     But  men's  wisdom 
Is  rated  by  their  means.     From  the  poor  leader 
Of  sixty  lances,  who  seeks  words  of  weight? 

Gor.  (steps  fo)-ward.)  Swinton,  there's  that  of 
wisdom  on  thy  brow. 
And  valour  in  thine  eye,  and  that  of  peril 
In  this  most  urgent  hour,  that  bids  me  say,^ 
Bids  me,  thy  mortal  foe,  say — Swinton,  speak, 
For  king  and  country's  sake! 

Siviii.  Nay,  if  that  voice  commands  me,  speak 
I  will; 
It  sounds  as  if  the  dead  lay  charge  on  me. 

Reg.  { To  Lexnox,  with  -whom  he  has  been  con- 
sulting.) 'Tis  better  than  you  think.    This 
broad  hill  side 
Affords  fair  compass  for  our  power's  dispLiy, 
Rank  above  rank  rising  in  seemly  tiers; 
So  that  the  rear-ward  stands  as  fair  and  open 
S-ivin.   As  e'er  stood  mark  before  an  English 

archer. 
Reg.  Who  dares  to  say  so! — \\'ho  is't  dai-e  im- 
peach 
Our  rule  of  discipline' 


HALIDON  HILL. 


39*? 


Sicln.  A  poor  knight  of  these  marches,  good  my 
lord; 
Alan  of  SwintoD,  'who  hath  kept  a  house  here, 
He  and  his  ancestry,  since  the  old  days 
Of  Malcolm,  called  the  maiden. 
jffeg-.  You  have  brought  here,  even  to  this  pitch- 
ed field. 
In  which  the  royal  banner  is  display'd, 
I  think,  some  sixty  spears,  sir  knight  of  Swinton: 
Our  musters  name  no  more. 

Swin.  I  brought  each  man  I  had;  and  chief,  or 
earl. 
Thane,  duke,  or  dignitarj-,  brings  no  more: 
And  with  them  brought  I  what  raav  here  be  use- 
ful— 
An  aged  eye,  which,  what  in  England,  Scotland, 
Spain,  France,  and  Flanders,  hath  seen  fifty  bailies. 
And  ta'en  some  judgment  of  them;  a  stark  hand  too, 
Which   plays   as   with    a.  straw   with   this   same 

mace. 
Which  if  a  young  arm  here  can  wield  more  lightly, 
1  never  more  will  offer  word  of  counsel. 

Le7i.  Hear  him,  my  lord;  it  is  the  noble  Swin- 
ton— 
He  hath  had  high  experience. 

,Max.  He  is  noted 

The  wisest  warrior  'twixt  the  Tweed  and  Solway, — 
1  do  beseech  you  hear  him. 

Johji.  Ay,  hear  the  Swinton — hear  stout  old  sir 
Alan; 
Alaxwell  and  Johnstone  both  agree  for  once. 

Heg:  Where's  your  impatience  now? 
Late  you  were  all  for  battle,  would  not  hear 
Ourselves  pronounce  a  word — and  now  you  gaze 
On  yon  old  warrior,  in  his  antique  armour. 
As  if  he  were  arisen  from  the  dead. 
To  bring  us  Bruce's  counsel  for  the  battle. 

Sivin.  'Tis  a  proud  word  to  speak;  but  he  who 
fought 
Long  under  Robert  Bruce,  may  something  guess, 
Without  communication  with  the  dead, 
At  what  he  would  have  counsell'd. — Bruce  had 

bidden  ye 
Review  your  battle-order,  marshall'd  broadly 
Here  on  the  bare  hill-side,  and  bidden  you  mark 
Yon  clouds  of  southron  archers,  bearing  down 
To  the  green   meadow-lands  which  stretch  be- 
neath— 
The  Bruce  had  warn'd  you,  not  a  shaft  to-day 
But  shall  find  mark  within  a  Scottish  bosom. 
If  thus  our  field  be  order'd.     The  callow  boys. 
Who  draw  but  four-foot  bows,  shall  gall  our  front. 
While  on  our  mainward,  and  upon  the  rear, 
Tiie  cloth-yard  shafts  shall  fall  like  death's  own 

darts. 
And,  tho'  blind  men  discharge  them,  find  a  mark. 
Thus  shall  we  die  the  death  of  slaughter'd  deer, 
Which,  driven  into  the  toils,  are  shot  at  ease 
By  boys  and  women,  while  they  toss  aloft 
All  idly  and  in  vain  their  branchy  horns. 
As  we  shall  sliake  our  unavailing  spears. 

Beg.  Tush,  tell  not  me !    If  tlieir  shot  fall  like 
hail. 
Our  men  have  Milan  coats  to  bear  it  out. 

Sivi7i.  Never  did  armourer  temper  steel  on  stithy 
That  made  sure  fence  against  an  English  arrow; 
A  cobweb  gossamer  were  guard  as  good 
Against  a  wasp-sting. 

Jieg.  Who  fears  a  wasp-sling' 
Sivin.  I,  my  lord,  fear  none; 

Vet  should  a  wise  man  brush  the  insect  ofl', 
Or  he  m:iv  smart  for  it. 


Reg.  We'll  keep  the  hill;  it  is  the  vantage  ground 
When  the  main  battle  joins. 

S-win.  It  ne'er  will  join,  while  their  light  archery 
Can  foil  our  spear-men  and  our  barbed  horse. 
To  hope  Plantagenet  would  seek  close  combat 
^^  hen  he  can  conquer  riskless,  is  to  deem 
Sagacious  Edward  simpler  than  a  babe 
In  batile-knowledge.    Keep  the  hill,  my  lord, 
W'nh  the  main  body,  if  it  is  your  pleasure; 
But  let  a  body  of  your  chosen  horse 
Make  execution  on  yon  waspish  archers. 
I've  done  such  work  before,  and  love  it  well; 
If  'tis  )  our  pleasure  to  give  me  the  leading. 
The  damesof  Sherwood,  Inglewood,and  Weardale, 
Sliall  sit  in  widowhood  and  long  for  venison, 
And  long  in  vain.  Whoe'er  remembers  Bannock- 
burn, — 
And  when  shall  Scotsman,  till  the  last  loud  trumpet, 
Forget  that  stirring  word !— knows  that  great  battle 
Even  thus  was  fought  and  won. 

Zen.  This  is  the  shortest  road  to  bandy  blows; 
For  v.lien  tlie  bills  step  forth  and  bows  go  back, 
Then  is  the  moment  that  our  hardy  spearmen, 
W  ith  their  strong  bodies,and  their  stubborn  hearts. 
And  limbs  well  knit  by  mountain  exercise. 
At  the  close  tug  shall  foil  the  short-breathed  south- 
ron. 
_  Sii-in.  I  do  not  say  the  field  will  thus  be  won; 
The  English  host  is  numerous,  brave,  and  loyal; 
Their  monarch  most  accomplish'd  in  war's  ait, 
Skill'd,  resolute,  and  waiy— — 

Beg.  And  if  your  scheme  secure  not  victory. 
What  does  it  promise  us? 

Sitnn.  This  much  at  least, — 

Darkling  we  shall  not  die;  the  peasant's  shaft, 
Loosen'd  perchance  without  an  aim  or  purpose. 
Shall  not  drink  up  the  life-blood  we  derive 
From  those  famed  ancestors,  who  made  their  breasts 
This  frontier's  barrier  for  a  thousand  years. 
We'll  meet  these  southrons  bravely  hand  to  hand. 
And  eye  to  eye,  and  weapon  against  weapon; 
Each  man  who  falls  shall  see  the  foe  who  strikes 

him. 
W'hile  our  good  blades  are  faithful  to  the  hilts, 
And  our  good  hands  to  these  eood  blades  are 

faithful, 
Blow  shall  meet  blow,  and  none  fall  unavenged — 
We  shall  not  bleed  alone. 
^  Beg.  And  this  is  all 

Your  wisdom  hath  devised! 

S-MTi.  Xot  all;  for  I  would  pray  you,  noble  lords, 
(If  one,  among  the  guilty  guiltiest,  might,) 
For  this  one  day  to  charm  to  ten  hours'  rest 
The  never-dying  worm  of  deadly  feud. 
That  gnaws  our  vexed  hearts — think  no  one  foe 
Save  Edward  and  his  host — days  will  remain. 
Ay,  days  by  far  too  many  will  remain. 
To  avenge  old  feuds  or  struggles  for  precedence; 
Let  this  one  day  be  Scotland's.     J'or  myself, 
If  there  is  any  here  may  claim  from  me 
(As  well  may  chance)  a  debt  of  blood  and  hatred. 
My  life  is  his  to-morrow  unresisting, 
So  he  to-day  will  lei  me  do  the  best 
That  my  old  arm  may  achieve  for  the  dear  country 
That's  mother  to  us  both. 

[GoBBox  sho-i's  much  emotion  during  this 
and  the  preceding  speech  o/'Swinton. 
Beg.  It  is  a  dream — a  vision! — If  one  troop 
Rush  down  upon  the  archers,  all  will  foUow, 
And  order  is  destroy 'd — we'll  keep  the  battle-rank 
Our  fathers  wont  to  do.  No  moi"e  on't. — Ho! 


594 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Where  be  those  youths  seek  knighthood  from  our 

sword  ^ 
Her.  Hert-  are  the  Gordon,  Sonierville,  and  Hay, 
And  Hepburn,  with  a  score  of  gallants  more. 
Jieg.  Gordon,  stand  forth. 

Gov.  I  pray  your  grace,  forgive  me. 

jyt;'.  How!  seek  you  not  for  knighthood* 
Gov.  I  do  thirst  for't. 

But,  pardon  me — 'tis  from  another  sword. 

Reg.   It  is  your  sovereign's — seek  you  for  a 

worthier' 
Gor.  VVho  would  drink  purely,  seeks  the  secret 
fountain. 
How  small  soever — not  the  general  stream. 
Though  it  be  deep  and  wide.    My  lord,  1  seek 
The  boon  of  knighthood  from  the  lionour'd  weapon 
Of  the  best  knight,  .ind  of  the  sagest  leader, 
That  ever  graced  a  ring  of  chivalry. 
. —  Therefore,  1  beg  the  boon  on  bended  knee. 
Even  from  sir  Alan  Swinton.  \^Kiieels. 

Reg.  Degenerate  boy !  Abject  at  once  and  inso- 
lent!— 
See,  lords,  he  kneels  to  him  that  slew  his  father! 
Gor.  [starting  up.)  Shame  be  on  him  who  speaks 
such  shameful  word ! 
Shame  be  on  him  whose  tongue  would  sow  dis- 
sension, 
'WTien  most  the  time  demands  that  native  Scots- 
men 
Forget  each  private  wrong! 

S~M7i.  [intemtpting  /urn. )  Youth,  since  you  crave 
me 
To  be  your  sire  in  chivalry,  1  remind  you 
W^ar  has  its  duties,  office  has  its  reverence; 
Who  governs  in  the  sovereign's  name  is  sove- 
reign. 
Crave  the  lord  regent's  pardon. 

Gor.  You  task  me  justly,  and  I  crave  his  pardon, 
[  Bows  to  the  Regent. 
His  and  these  noble  lords';  and  pr.'iy  them  all 
Bear  witness  to  my  words. — Ye  noble  presence, 
Here  I  remit  unto  the  knight  of  Swinton 
All  bitter  memory  of  ray  father's  slaughter. 
All  thoughts  of  malice,  hatred,  and  revenge; 
By  no  base  fear  or  composition  moved. 
But  by  the  thought,  th.it  in  our  country's  battle 
All  hearts  should  be  as  one.  I  do  forgive  him 
As  freely  as  I  pray  to  be  forgiven, 
And  once  more  kneel  to  him  to  sue  for  knighthood. 
Swin.  [affected,  and  drawing  Ids  sword.)  Alas! 
brave  youth,  'tis  I  sliould  kneel  to  you. 
And,  tendering  thee  the  hilt  of  the  fell  sword 
That  made  thee  fatherless,  bid  thee  use  the  point 
After  thine  own  discretion.    For  thy  boon — 
Trumpets  be  ready — In  the  holiest  name. 
And  in  our  lady's  and  saint  Andrew's  name, 

[Touching  Ms  shoulder  with  the  srjord. 
1  dub  thee  knight!   Arise,  sir  Adam  Gordon! 
Be  faithful,  brave,  and  O  be  fortunate, 
Should  this  ill  hour  permit! 

[The  trumpets  sound;  the /leralds cry, 

"   Largessee;"  and  the  attendants 

shout,  "  A  Gordon!    A  Gordon!" 

JReg.  Beggars  and  flatterers!    Peace,  peace,  1 

say ! 

We'll  to  the  standard:  knights  shall  there  be  made 

Who  will  with  better  reason  crave  your  clamour. 

Len.  What  of  Swinton's  council? 
Here's  Maxwell  and  myself  think  it  woi'th  noting. 
Reg.  [with  concentrated  indignation. )    Let  tlie 
best  kuight,  and  let  the  sagest  leader, — 
So  Gordon  quotes  the  man  who  slew  his  father, — 


With  his  old  pedigree  and  heavy  mace, 
Essay  the  adventure  if  it  pleases  him, 
W  ith  his  fair  threescore  horse.  As  for  ourselves, 
We  will  not  \)eril  aught  upon  the  measure. 

Gor.  Lord  regent,  yori  mistake;  for  if  sir  Alan 
Shall  venture  such  attack,  each  man  who  calls 
The  Gordon  chief,  and  ho|)es  or  fears  from  him 
Or  good,  or  evil,  follows  Swinton's  banner 
In  this  achievement. 

Reg.  Why,  God  ha'  mercy!  This  is  of  a  piece. 
Let  young  and  old  e'en  follow  their  own  counsel, 
Since  none  will  list  to  mine. 

Ross.  The  border  cockerel  fain  would   be  on 
horseback: 
'Tis  siife  to  be  prepared  for  fight  or  flight: 
And  tills  comes  of  it  to  give  northern  lands 
To  the  false  Normrin  blood. 

Gor.  Hearken,  proud  chief  of  Isles!  Within  my 
st.-dls 
I  have  two  hundred  iiorse;  two  hundred  riders 
Mount  guard  upon  my  casile,  who  would  tread 
Into  the  dust  a  thousand  of  your  redshanks, 
Nor  count  it  a  <lay's  service. 

Swin.  Hear  I  this 

Prom  thee,  young  man,  and  on  the  day  of  battle? 
And  to  the  brave  Mac-Donnell' 

Gor.  'Twas  he  tliat  urged  me;  but  I  am  rebuked. 
Reg.  He   crouches  like  a  leash-hound  to  his 

master  I 
Swin.  Each   hound  must  do  so  that  would  head 
the  deei- — 
'Tis  mongrel  curs  whicli  snatch  at  mate  or  master. 
Reg.  Too  much  of  this. — Sirs,   to  the   royal 
standard ! 
I  bid  you,  in  the  name  of  good  king  David, 
Sound   trumpets — sound  for   Scotland   and  king 
Duvid! 

[The  Regent  and  the  rest  go  off,  and  tJie 
scene  closes.  JYlaiientCionvicfs,  Swintox, 
and  ViPONT,  with  Reysald  and  follow- 
ers. Lennox  follows  tlie  Regent;  but  re- 
turns arul  addresses  Swinton. 
Len.  O,  were  my  western  horsemen  but  come 
up, 
I  would  take  part  with  you ! 

Swin.  Better  that  you  remain. 

They  lack  discretion;  such  gray  head  as  yours 
Ma)  best  supply  that  want. 

Lennox,  mine  ancient  friend,  and  hoiiour'd  lord, 
Farewell,  I  think,  forever! 
Len.  Farewell,  br;'.\e  friend! — and  farewell,  no- 
ble Gordon, 
Whose  sun  will  be  eclipsed  even  as  it  rises! 
The  regent  will  not  ai(l  you. 

Swin.  We.  will    so  bear  us,   that   as   soon   the 
blood-iiound 
Shall  halt,  and  take  no  part,  what  time  his  comrade 
Is  gi-apling  witn  the  deer,  as  he  stand  still, 
And  see  us  overmatch'd. 

Len.  Alas!  thou  dost  not  know  how  mean  his 
pride  is, 
How  strong  his  envy. 

Swin.  Then  will  we  die,  and  leave  the  shame 
with  him.  [Exit  Lennox. 

Vip.  [to  GonnoN.)  What  ails  thee,  noble  youtii.' 
What  means  this  pause' 
Thou  dost  not  rue  thy  generosity  ? 

Gor.\  have  been  hurried  on  by  a  strong  impulse. 
Like  to  a  bark  tliat  scuds  before  the  storm. 
Till  driven  upon  some  strange  and  distant  coast. 
Which  never  pilot  dream'd  of.     I'ave  1  not  foi'gi- 
vcn? 


IIALIDON  HILL. 


395 


And  am  I  not  still  fatherless ! 

Swin.  Gordon,  no; 

For  while  we  live,  1  am  a  father  to  thee. 

Gor.  Thou,  Swinton?     no!  that  cannot,  cannot 

be. 
S-ivin.  Then  change  the  phrase,  and   say,  that 
while  we  live, 
Gordon  shall  be  my  son.     If  thou  art  fatherless, 
Am  I  not  childless  too?  Bethink  thee,  Gordon, 
Our  death-feud  was  not  like  the  household  fire, 
A\'Tiich  the  poor  peasant  hides  among  its  embers, 
To  smoulder  on,  and  wait  a  time  for  waking. 
Ours  was  the  conflagration  of  the  forest, 
Which,  in  its  fury,  spares  nor  sprout  nor  stem. 
Hoar  oak,  nor  sapling — not  to  be  extinguish'd. 
Till  heaven,  in  mercy,  sends  down  all  her  waters. 
But,  once  subdued,  it's  flame  is  quench'd  for  ever; 
And  spring  shall  liide  the  track  of  devastation. 
With  foliage   and  with  flowers.     Give   me   thy 
hand. 
Gor.  My  hand  and  heart  I — And  freelv  now — 

to  fight! 
Fi/>.  How  will  you  act?    [To  Swintoit.]    The 
Gordon's  band  and  thine 
Are  in  the  rearward  left,  I  think,  in  scorn. 
Ill  post  for  them  who  wish  to  charge  the  foremost! 
Siviii.  We'll  turn  that   scorn  to  vantage,  and 
descend 
Sidelong  the  hill — some  winding  path  there  must 

be. 
O,  for  a  well-skill'd  guide! 

Hob  Hattely  starts  up  from  a  thicket. 
Hob.  So  here  he  stands. — An  ancient  friend,  sir 
Alan. 
Hob  Hattely,  or,  if  you  like  it  better. 
Hob  of  the  Heron  Plume,  here  stands  your  guide! 
Sivin.  An  ancient  friend? — A   most  notorious 
knave, 
Whose  thro.'tt  I've  destined  to  the  dodder'd  oak 
Before  my  castle,  these  ten  nionllis  and  more. 
Was  it  not  you,  who  drove  trom  Simprim-mains, 
And  Swinton-quarter,  sixty  head  of  cattle? 

Hob.  What  then '  If  now  I  lead  your  sixty  lances 
Upon  the  English  flank,  where  they'll  find  spoil 
Is  worth  six  hundred  beeves? 

Swin.   Why,  thou  canst  do  it,  knave.     I  would 
not  trust  tiiee 
With  one  poor  bLdloek;  yet  would  risk  my  life. 
And  all  my  followers,  on  thine  honest  guidance. 

Hob.  There  is  a  dingle,  and  a  most  discreet  one, 
(I've   trod  each  step  by  starlight,)  that  sweeps 

round 
The  rearward  of  this  hill,  and  opens  secretly 
Upon  the  archers'  flank.     Will  not  that  serve 
Your  present  turn,  sir  Alan  ? 

Swill.  Bravely,  bravely! 

Gor.  Mount,  sirs,  and  cry  my  slogan. 
Let  all  who  love  the  Gordon  follow  me! 

S~win.  Ay,  let  all  follow — but  in  silence  follow. 
Scare  not  the  hare  tiiut's  couohant  on  iier  form — 
Tlie  cushat  from  her  nest — brush  not,  if  possible, 
The  dew-drop  from  the  spray — 
Let  no  one  whisper,  until  1  cry,  "  Havoc!" 
Then  shout  as  loud's  ye  will. — On,  on,  brave  Hob; 
On,  thou  false  thief,  but  yet  most  faithful  Scotsman! 

ACT  II.— SCEXE  I. 

^  rising  groimd  imms<liatelii  in  front  of  the  position 
oftheFjigUsh  main  body.  Percy,  Cha>T)0S, 
KiBAU^ioxT,  and  other  English  and  JVormuJi 
nobles  are  grouped  on  the  stage. 


Per.    The  Scots  still  keep   the   hill — the   sun 
grows  liigh. 
Would  that  the  charge  would  sound! 

Chan.  Thou  scent'st  the  slaughter,  Percy. 
Who  comes  here? 

Enter  the  abbot  of  Waltuajcstow. 
Now,  by  my  life,  the  holy  priest  of  ^V'althamstow, 
Like  to  a  lamb  among  a  herd  of  wolves! 
See,  he's  about  to  bleat. 
Ab.  The  king,  methinks,  delays  the  onset  long. 
Chan.    Your   genera),    father,  like    your   rat- 
catcher. 
Pauses  to  bait  his  traps,  and  set  his  snares. 
Ab.  The  metaphor  is  descent. 
Chan.  Reverend  sir, 

I  will  u[)hold  it  just.    Our  good  king  Edward 
Will  presently  come  to  tliis  battle-field. 
And  speak  to  you  of  the  last  tilting  match. 
Or  of  some  feat  he  did  a  twenty  years  since; 
But  not  a  word  of  the  day's  work  before  him. 
Even  as  the  artist,  sir,  w  hose  name  oftends  you, 
Sits  prosing  o'er  his  chu,  until  the  trap  fall, 
Announcing  that  the  vermin  are  secured. 
And  then  'tis  up,  and  on  tliem. 
Per.  Chandos,  you  give  your  tongue  loo  bold  a 

license. 
Chan.   Percy,  I  am  a  necessary  evil. 
King  Edward  would  not  want  me,  if  he  could. 
And  could  not,  if  he  would.    I  know  my  value; 
My  heavy  hand  excuses  my  light  tongue. 
So  men  wear  weighty  swords  in  tlieir  defence. 
Although  they  may  oiTend  the  tender  shin, 
Wlien  the  steel  boot  is  doft'd. 

'ib.  My  lord  of  Chandos, 

This  is  but  idle  speech  on  brink  of  battle, 
When  christian  men  should  think  upon  their  sins; 
For  as  the  tree  f;dls,  so  the  trunk  nuist  lie. 
Be  it  for  good  or  evil.    Lord,  bethink  thee. 
Thou  iiHst  wiihlitld  from  our  most  reverend  iiouse. 
The  lithts  of  Everingham  and  Seltleton; 
Wilt  thou  make  satisfaction  to  the  chui-cli 
Before  her  thunders  strike  thee?    1  do  warn  thee 
In  most  paternal  sort. 

Chan.  I  thank  you,  father,  filially. 
Though  but  a  truant  son  of  holy  church, 
I  would  not  choose  to  undergo  her  censures. 
When  Scottish  blades  are  waving  at  my  throat. 
I'll  make  fair  composition. 

..lb.   No  composition;  I'll  have  all  or  none. 
Chan.    None,   then — 'tis   soonest   spoke.     I'll 
take  my  chance, 
And  trust  my  sinful  soul  to  heaven's  mercy, 
Rather  than  risk  my  worldly  goods  with  thee— 
My  hour  may  not  be  come. 
Ab.  Impious — impenitent  — 
Per.  Hush!  the  king — tlieking! 

Enter  king  Edwahd,   attended  by  Baliol,  an, 
othci  s. 
King,  {apart  to  Chaxdos.)  Hark  hither,  Chan- 
dos!— Have  the  Yorkshire  arciiers 
Yet  join'd  the  vanguard  ^ 

Chan.  I'hey  are  marching  thither. 

K.  Ed.  Bid  them  make  haste,  for  shame — senil 

a  quick  rider. — 

The  loitering  knaves,  were  it  to  steal  my  venison. 

Their  steps  were  light   enough. — How  now,  sir 

al)bot  ? 
Say,  is  your  reverence  come  to  study  with  us 
The  princely  art  of  war? 

Ab.  I've  had  a  lecture  from  my  lord  of  Chandos, 
In  which  lie  term'd  your  grace  a  rat-c.ather. 
K.  Ed.  Chandos,  how's  this? 


396 


SCOTT'S  P01:^ri(;AL  WORKS. 


Cfuin.  O,  I  will  prove  it,  sir! — These  skipping 
Scots 
Have  clii»>p;((l  a  dozen  times  'iwixt  Bruce  and 

Rali'ol, 
Quitting  eauh  house  when  it  began  to  totter: 
I'iiey're  fierce  and  cunning,  treacherous,  too,  as 

rats. 
And  we,  as  such,  will  smoke  them  in  their  fast- 
nesses. 
A'.  Ed.  These  rats  have  seen  your  back,  ray  lord 
ot'Chandns, 
And  noble  Percy's  too. 

J^er.  Av;  but  the  mass  which  now  lies  weltering 
On  yon  hill  side,  like  a  Leviathan 
That's  stranded  on  the  shallows,  then  h.id  soul  in't. 
Order  and  discipline,  and  power  of  action. 
Now  'tis  a  headless  corpse,  which  only  shows, 
B_v  wild  convulsions,  that  some  life  remains  in't. 
A''.  Ed.  True,  they  had  once  a  head;  and  'twas 
a  wise 
Although  a  rebel  head. 

.i6.  [bowing  to  the  kin'g.)  Would  he  were  here! 

we  shoidd  find  one  to  match  him. 
A'.  Ed.  There's  something  in  that  wish  which 
wakes  an  echo 
Within  ray  bosom.     Yet  it  is  as  well, 
Or  better,  that  the  Bruce  is  in  his  grave. 
We  have  enough  of  powerful  foes  on  earth, 
No  need  to  summon  them  from  other  worlds. 
Per.  Your  grace  ne'er  met  the  Bruce? 
A'.  Ed.  Never  himself;  but,  in  my  earliest  field, 
I  did  encounter  with  his  famous  captains, 
Douglas  and  Randolph.    Faith!  they  press'd  me 
hard. 
M.  My  liege,  if  I  might  urge  you  with  a  question, 
Will  the  Scots  fight  to-day? 

A'.  Ed.  [sharply.)  Go  look  your  breviarj-. 

Chan,  [apart.)  The  abbot  has  it — Edward  will 

not  answer 

On  that  nice  point.  We  must  observe  hishumour. — 

[Mdresses  the  king. 

Your  first   campaign,    my   liege?— That  was   in 

Weardale, 
When  Douglas  gave  our  camp  yon  midnight  ruffle, 
And  turn'd  men's  beds  to  biers. 

A'.  Ed.  Ay,  by  saint  Edward! — I  escaped  right 
nearly. 
1  was  a  soldier  then  for  holidays. 
And  slept  not  in  mine  armour:  my  safe  rest 
Was  startled  by  the  cry  of  Douglas !  Douglas ! 
And  by  my  couch,  a  grisly  chamberlain, 
Stood  Alan  Swinton,  witli  his  bloody  mace. 
It  was  a  churchman  saved  me — my  stout  chaplain, 
Heaven  quit  his  spirit!  caught  a  weapon  up. 
And  grappled  with  the  giant. — How  now,  Louis? 
Enter  an  ojfficei-,  -who  -whispers  the  king. 

K.  Ed.  Say  10  him,— thus — and  thus 

[  JVhispers. 
Ab.  That  Swinton's  dead,  a  monk  of  ours  re- 
ported. 
Bound  ht)me\vard  from  saint  Ninian's  pilgrimage. 
The  lord  of  Gordon  sle«  him. 

Per.  Father,   and  if  your  house  stood  on  our 
borders. 
You  might  have  cause  to  know  that  Swinton  lives. 
And  is  on  horseback  yet. 

Chan.  He  slew  the  Gordon, 

That's  all  the  difference — a  very  trifle. 

Ab.  Trifling  to  those  who  wage  a  war  more  noble 
Tlian  Willi  the  arm  of  flesh. 

Chan,  [apart.)  The  abbot's  vex'd,  I'll  rub  the 
sore  for  him. 


[Aloud.)  I  have  used  that  arm  of  flesh, 
And  used  it  sturdily — most  reverend  father. 
What  say  you  to  the  chaplain's  deed  of  arms 
In  the  king's  tent  at  W^eardale' 

Ab.  It  was  most  siiifid,  being  against  the  canou 
Prohibiting  ail  cliurclimen  to  bear  weapons; 
And  as  he  fell  in  that  unseemly  guise, 
Perchance  his  soul  may  rue  it. 
King,  (overhearing  the  last  -words.)  Who  may 
rue  ? 
And  what  is  to  be  rued' 

Chan,  [apart.)  I'll  match  his  reverence  for  the 
tithes  of  Everingham. 
The  abbot  says,  my  liege,  the  deed  was  sinful 
By  which  your  chaplain,  wielding  secular  weapons, 
SecTU-ed  your  grace's  life  and  liberty. 
And  that  lie  suflTers  for't  in  purgatory. 

King,  [to  the  abbot.)  Say'st  thou  my  chaplain 

is  m  purgatory' 
Ab.  It  is  the  canon  speaks  it,  good  my  liege. 
King.  In  purgatorj' !  thou  shalt  pray  him  outon't, 
Or  I  will  make  thee  wish  thyself  beside  him. 

Ab.  My  lord,  perchance  his  soul  is  past  the  aid 
Of  all  the  church  may  do — there  is  a  place 
From  which  there's  no  redemption. 

King.  And  ifl  thought  my  faithful  chaplain  there, 
Thou  shouldst  there  join  him,  priest ! — Go,  watch, 

fast,  pray, 
And  let  me  have  such  prayers  as  will  storm  hea- 
ven— 
None  of  your  maim'd  and  mutter'd  hunting  masses. 
Ab.  [apart  to  Chandos. )  For  God's  sake,  take 

him  off". 
Chan.  \Vilt  thou  compound,  then, 
The  tithes  of  Everingham? 
King.  I  tell  thee,  if  thou  bear'st  the  keys  of 
heaven, 
Abbot,  thou  shalt  not  turn  a  bolt  with  them 
'Gainst  any  well-deserving  English  subject. 
Ab.  (to  Chandos.)   We  will  compound,   and 
grant  thee,  too,  a  share 
1'  the  next  indulgenci-.    Thou  dost  need  it  much, 
And  greatly  'twill  avHil  tbee. 

Chan.  Enough — we're  friends,  and  when  occa- 
sion serves, 

1  will  strike  in. 

\_Looks  as  if  towards  the  Scottish  army. 
King.  Answer,    proud  abbot,  is  my  chaplain's 
soul, 
If  thou  knowest  aught  on't,  in  the  evil  place? 
Chan.  My  liege,  the  Yorkshire  men  havegain'd 
the  meadow. 
I  see  the  pennon  green  of  merry  Sherwood. 

King.  Then  give  the  signal  instant.  We  have  lost 
But  too  much  time  already. 
Ab.   My  liege,   your  holy   chaplain's  blessed 

soul 

King.  To  hell  with  it,  and  thee!  Is  this  a  lime 
To  speak  of  monks  and  chaplains' 

'^Flourish  of  trumpets,  ariswered  by  a  distant 
sound  of  bugles. 
See,   Ciiandos,    Percy — Ha,  saint   George!   saint 

Edward! 
See  it  descending  now,  the  fatal  bail  shower, 
The  storm  of  England's  wrath — sure,  swift,  re- 
sistless. 
Which  no  mail-coat  can  brook.    Brave  English 

hearts! 
How  close  they  shoot  together! — as  one  eye 
Had  aimed  five  thousand  shafts — as  if  one  hand 
Had  loosed  five  thousand  bow-strings! 

Per.  The  thick  volley 


HALIDON  HILL. 


397 


Darkens  the  air,  and  hides  the  sun  from  us. 

King.  It  falls  on  those  shall  see  the  sun  no  more. 
The  -winged,  the  resistless  plague  is  with  them. 
How  their  vex'd  host  is  reeling  to  and  fro, 
Like  the  chafed  whale  with  fifty  lances  in  him! 
They  do  not  see,  and  cannot  shun  the  wound. 
The  storm  is  viewless,  as  death's  sable  wing. 
Unerring  as  his  sitlie. 

Fei'.  Horses  and  riders  are  going  down  together. 
'Tis  almost  pity  to  see  nobles  fall, 
And  by  a  peasant's  arrow. 

Bal.  I  could  weep  them. 

Although  they  are  my  rebels. 

Chan,  [aside  to  Percy.)   His  conquerors,  he 
means,  who  cast  him  out 
From  his  usurp'd  kingdom.     [Moxid.)  'Tis  the 

worst  of  it. 
That  knights  can  claim  small  honour  in  the  field 
Which  archers  win,  unaided  by  our  lances. 
King.  The  battle  is  not  ended.   [Looks  towards 
the  field. 

Not  ended  ! — scarce  begun! — What  horse  are  these. 
Rush  from  the  thicket  underneath  the  hill? 

Per.  They're  Hainaulters,  the  followers  of  queen 

Isabel. 
King,  [hastily.)  Hainaulters  I — thou  art  blind — 
wear  Hainaulters 
Saint  Andrew's  silver  cross? — or  would  they  charge 
Full  on  our  archers,  and  make  havoc  of  them  ? 
Bruce  is  alive  again — ho,  rescue!  rescue! 
^^'ho  was't  surveyed  the  ground. i" 
Ribau.  Most  royal  liege — 
King.  A  rose  hath  fallen  from  thy  chaplet,'  Ri- 

baumont. 
Ribau.  I'll  win  it  back,  or  lay  my  head  beside  it. 

[Exit. 
King.  Saint  George!  saint  Edward!  Gentlemen, 
to  horse. 
And  to  the  rescue!  Percy,  lead  the  bill-men; 
Chandos,  do  thou  bring  up  tiie  men-at-arms. 
If  yonder  numerous  host  should  now  bear  down 
Bold  as  their  van-suard,  {to  the  abbotAyhon  mav'st 

pray  tor  us. 
We  may  need  good  men's  prayers.  To  the  rescue, 
Lords,  to  the  rescue!  ha,  saint  George!  saint  Ed- 
ward! [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

A  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle  betxvixt  the  txvo  .Main 
Armies;  tumidts  ieliind  the  scenes;  alarms,  and 
cr/eso/'"  Gordon  !  a  Gordon  !""  Swiiiton!"  &cc. 

Enter,  as  victorious  over  the  English  van-g^iard, 
ViPOXT,  Retxald,  and  ot/iers. 

Vip.  'Tis  sweet  to  hear  these  war-cries  sound 
together, — 
Gordon  and  Swinton. 

i?^^. 'Tis  passing  pleas:  •  t,yet  'tis  strange  withal. 
Faith,  when  at  first  1  iieard  tiie  Gordon's  slogan 
Sounded  so  near  me,  I  bad  nigh  struck  down 
The  knave  who  cried  it. 

Enter  Swixrox  and  Gohdos. 

Siinn.  Pitch  down  my  pennon  in  yon  holly  bush. 

Gor.  Mine  in  the  thorn  beside  it;  let  them  wave, 
As  fought  tliis  morn  their  masters,  side  by  side. 

S~i>in.  let  the  men  rally,  anil  restore  their  ranks 
Here  on  this  vantage-ground — disorder'd  chase 
Leads  to  disorder'd  flight;  we  have  done  our  part, 
And  if  we're  succour'd  now,  Plantagenet 
Must  tarn  his  bridle  southward. 
Reynald,  spur  to  tiie  regent  with  the  basnet 
Of  stout  De  Grey,  the  leader  of  their  van-guardj 
Say,  that  in  battle-front  the  Gordon  slew  him. 


And  by  that  token  bid  him  send  us  succour. 

Gor.  And  tell  him  that  when  Selby's  headlong 
charge 
Had  well  nigh  borne  me  down,  sir  Alan  smote 

him. 
I  cannot  send  his  helmet,  never  nutshell 
Went  to  so  many  shivers. — Hark 'ye,  grooms! 

[  To  those  behind  the  scenes 
Wliy  do  you  let  my  noble  steed  stand  stiffening 
After  so  hot  a  course .' 

Sivin.  Ay,  breathe  your  horses,  they'll   have 
work  anon. 
For  Edward's  men-at-arms  will  soon  be  on  us. 
The  flower  of  England,  Gascony,  and  Flanders; 
But  with  swift  succour  we  will  bide  them  bravely. 
De  Vipont,  thou  look'st  sad  ! 

Vip.  It  is  because  I  hold  a  templar's  sword 
Wet  to  the  crossed  hilt  with  christian  blood. 

SiviTi.  The  blood  of  English  archers — what  can 
gild 
A  Scottish  blade  more  bravely? 

Vip.  Even  therefore  grieve  I  for  those  gallant 
yeomen, 
England's  peculiar  and  appropriate  sons. 
Known  in  no  other  land.  Each  boasts  his  hearth 
And  field  as  free  as  the  best  lord  his  barony, 
Owing  subjection  to  no  human  vassalage. 
Save  to  their  king  and  law.    Hence  are  they  re- 
solute. 
Leading  the  van  on  every  day  of  battle. 
As  men  who  know  the  blessings  they  defend. 
Hence  are  they  frank  and  generous  in  peace. 
As  men  who  have  their  portion  in  its  plenty. 
No  other  kingdom  shows   such  worth  and  happi- 
ness 
Veil'd  in  such  low  estate — therefore  I  mourn  them. 

S'-tvin.  I'll  keep  my  sorrow  for  our  native  Scots, 
Who,  spite  of  hardship,  poverty,  oppression, 
Still  follow  to  tile  field  their  chieftain's  banner. 
And  (lie  in  the  defence  on't. 

Gor.  And  if!  live  and  see  my  halls  again. 
They  shall  have  ])orli()n  in  the  good  they  fight  for. 
Each  hardy  follower  shall  have  his  field. 
His  household  hearth  and  sod-built  home,  as  free 
.\s  ever  southron  had.  They  shall  be  happy! 
And  my  Elizabeth  shall  smile  to  see  it! 
I  have  betray'd  myself. 

Swiji.  Do  not  believe  it. 

Vipont,  do  thou  look  out  from  yonder  height, 
And  see  what  motion  in  the  Scottish  host. 
And  in  king  Edward's.  [Exit  Vipont, 

Now  will  I  counsel  thee; 
The  templar's  ear  is  for  no  tale  of  love. 
Being  wedded  to  his  order.  But  I  tell  thee. 
The  brave  young  knight  that  hath  no  lady-love 
Is  like  a  lamp  unlighted;  his  brave  deeds. 
And  its  rich  painting,  do  seem  then  most  glorious. 
When  the  pure  ray  gleams  through  them. 
Hath  thy  Elizabeth  no  other  name? 

Gor.  Must  I  then  speak  of  her  to  you,  sir  Alan? 
The  thought  of  thee,  and  of  thy  matchless  strength. 
Hath  conjured  phantoms  up  amongst  her  dreams. 
The  name  of  Swinton  hath  been  spell  sufficient 
To  chase  the  rich  blood  from  lier  lovely  cheek, 
And  would'st  thou  now  know  her's? 

S-uiin.  I  would,  nay,  must. 

Thy  father  in  the  paths  of  chivalry 
Should   know  the   load-star  thou  dost  rule  thy 

course  by. 
Gor.  Nay,  then,  her  name  is — hark [  JMuspers. 

Sivin.  I   know  it  well,    that   ancient   northeru 
house. 


593 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gor.  O,  thou  shah  see  its  fairest  grace  and  ho- 
nour, 

III  niv  Elizalxtli.   Aiul  it' music  Inucli  tliee 

.S-i'ti'n.  It  (iiii,  before  disaslers  had  uiiluned  me. 

(I'ir.  O,  her  notes 
Sh-.dl  hush  each  sad  remembrance  to  oblivion, 
(>v  melt  tiieni  to  sucti  gentleness  of  feeling, 
Tbiit  grief  shall  h;(ve  it's  sweetness.  Who,  but  she. 
Knows  tiie  wild  iiiirpings  of  our  native  land? 
Whether  thev  ImII  the  siiepherd  on  his  hill, 
Oi-  wake-  the  "knight  to  battle;  rouse  to  merriment, 
Or  sooth  to  sadness;  she  can  touch  each  mood. 
I'riiices  and  statesmen,  chiefs  renown'd  in  arms. 
And  graj-hair'd  bards,  contend  which  shall  the 

'first 
And  choicest  homage  render  to  th'  ench.antress. 

S-m'u.  You  speak  her  t.nlent  bravely. 

{;oi:  Though  you  smile, 

1  do  not  speak  it  half.  Her  gift  creative 
New  measures  adds  to  every  air  she  wakes; 
A'arying  and  gracing  it  with  liquid  sweetness, 
Like  the  wild  modulation  of  the  lark. 
Now  leaving,  now  returning  to  the  strain! — 
To  listen  to  her,  is  to  seem  to  wander 
In  some  enchanted  labyrinth  of  romance, 
^^"he^ce  nothing  but  the  lovely  fairy's  will, 
Who  wove  the  spell,  can  extricate  the  wanderer: 
Methinks  I  hear  her  now! — 

S-iviii.  liless'd  privilege 

Of  youth!  There's  scarce  three  minutes  to  decide 
'I'wixt  death  and  life,  'twixt  triumph  and  defeat. 
Yet  all  his  thoughts  are  in  his  lady's  bower, 

Listn'ing  her  harping! 

Enter  Vipont. 

Where  are  thine,  De  Vipont? 

Ji'p.  On  death — on  judgment — on  eternity! 
For  lime  is  over  with  us. 

Swin.  There  moves  not  then  one  pennon  to  our 
aid. 
Of  all  lliat  flutter  yonder? 

Ji'p.  From  the  main  English  host  come  rushing 
forward 
Pennons  enow — ay,  and  their  royal  standard. 
But  ours  stand  rooted,  as  for  crows  to  roost  on. 

Sivin.  {to  Jamself. )  I'll  rescue  him  at  least.  Young 
lord  of  Gordon, 
Spur  to  the  regent — show  the  instant  need 

Gor.  I  penetrate  thy  purpose;  but  I  go  not. 

Swin.  Not  at  my  bidding?  I,  thy  sire  in  chival- 
ry— 
Thy  leader  in  the  battle? — I  command  thee. 

(jor.  No,  thou  wilt  not  command  me  seek  my 
safety. 
For  such  is  thy  kind  meaning,  at  the  expense 
Of  the  last  hope  which  heaven  reserves  for  Scot- 
land. 
While  1  abide,  no  follower  of  mine 
Will  turn  his  rein  for  life;  but  were  I  gone. 
What  power  can  stay  them?    and,   our   band  dis- 
persed. 
What  sword  shall  for  an  instant  stem  yon  host. 
And  save  tlie  latest  chance  for  victory' 

J'ip.  The  noble  youth  speaks  truth;  and  were 
he  gone, 
TiuM-e  will  not  twenty  spears  be  left  with  us. 

Gor.  No,  bravely  as  we  have  begun  the  field, 
no  let  us  figlit  it  out.  The  regent's  eyes. 
More  certain  than  a  thousand  messages, 
Siiall  see  us  stan<l,  the  barrier  of  his  host 
Against  yon  bursting  storm,   if  not  for  iionour. 
If  not  fop  warlike  rule,  for  shame  at  least. 
He  nmsl  bear  down  to  aid  us. 


Srvin,  Must  it  be  so? 

And  am  I  forced  to  yield  the  sad  consent. 
Devoting  thy  young  life?  O,  dordon,  (iordon! 
I  do  it  as  the  patriarcli  doom'd  his  issue; 
1  at  my  country's,  he  at  heaven's  command; 
But  1  seek  vainly  some  atoning  sacrifice, 
Rather  than  such  a  victim! — [Tnanpcts.)  Hark, 

they  coine! 
That  music  sounds  not  like  thy  lady's  lute. 

Gor.  Yet  shall  my  lady's  name  mix  witii  it  gayly. 
Mount,  vassals,  couch  your  lances,  and  cry,  "  Gor- 
don ! 
Gordon  for  Scotland  and  Elizabeth!" 

[Exeunt.  Loud  ulanan. 

SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle,  adjacent  to  the 

former  scene. 
Alanims.  EnterSwisTOS,  followed  by  H»ii  Hat- 

TELY. 

Swi7i.  Stand  to  it  yet!  The  man  who  flies  to-day. 
May  bastards  warm  them  at  his  household  heartii ! 
Jlob  Hat.  That  ne'er  shall  be  my  curse.     My 
Magdalen 
Is  trusty  as  my  broadsword. 

Swin.  Ha,  thou  knave. 

Art  thou  dismounted  too! 

Bob.  Hat.  I  know,  sir  Alan, 

You  want  no  homeward  guide;  so  threw  my  reins 
Upon  my  palfrey's  neck,  and  let  him  loose. 
Within  an  hour  he  stands  before  my  gate: 
And  Magdalen  will  need  no  other  token 
To  bid  the  Melrose  monks  say  masses  for  me. 
S~Mii.    Thou  art  resolved  to  cheat  the  halter, 

then? 
Hob  Hat.  It  is  my  purpose, 

Having  lived  a  thief,  to  die  a  brave  man's  death; 
And  never  had  1  a  more  glorious  chance  for't. 
Swin.  Here  lies  the  way  to  it,  knave. — Make 
in,  make  in. 
And  aid  young  Gordon! 

[  Exeunt.  Loud  and  long  alarums.  After 
which  the  back  scene  rises,  and  discovers 
SwiNTOX  on  the  ground,  Gorhox  suj)- 
porting  him;  both  much  woii/nded. 
Svdn.  All  are  cut  down — the  reapers  have  pass'd 
o'er  us, 
And  hie  to  distant  harvest.     My  toil's  over; 
There  lies  my  sickle,  [dropping  Ids  sword,]  hand 

of  mine  again 
Shall  never,  never  wield  it ! 

Gor.  O  valiant  leader,  is  thy  light  extinguish 'd  ! 
That  only  beacon  flame  which  promised  safety 
In  this  day's  deadly  wreck! 

Swin.  My  lamp  hath  long  been  dim.    But  thine, 
young  Gorilon, 
Just  kindled,  to  be  queiich'd  so  suddenly. 

Ere  Scotland  saw  its  splendour! 

Gor.  Five  thousand  horse  hung  idly  on  yon  hill, 
Saw  us  o'erpowered,  and  no  one  stirr'd  to  aid  us. 

S'a.'in.  It  was  the  regent's  en\y — Out! — alas! 
Why  blame  I  him? — It  was  our  civil  discord. 
Our  selfish  vanity,  our  jealous  hatred. 
Which  framed  this  day  of  dole  for  our  poor  coun- 
try. 
Had  thy  brave  father  held  yon  leading  staff". 
As  well  his  rank  and  valour  might  have  claim'd  it. 
We  had  not  fall'n  unaided.     How,  O  how 
Is  he  to  answer  it,  whose  deed  prevented ! 

Gor.  Alas!  Alas!  the  author  of  the  death-feud. 
He  has  his  reckoning  too!  for  had  your  sons 
And  num'rous  vassals  liv'd,  we  had  lack'd  no  aid. 


I 


HALIDON  HILL. 


399 


Swtn.  May  God  assoil  the  dead,  and  him  who 
follows! 
We've   drank   the  poisou'd   beverage  which  we 

brew'd; 
Have  sown  the  wind,  and  reap'd  the  tenfold  whirl- 
wind! 
But  thou,  brave  youth,  whose  nobleness  of  heart 
Pour'd  oil  upon  the  wounds  our  hate  inflicted; 
Thou,  who  hast  done  no  wrong,  need'st  no  for- 
giveness. 
Why  should'st  thou  share  our  punishment? 

Gor.  All  need  forgiveness — [distant  alarums] — 
Hark!  in  yonder  shout 
Did  the  maiu  battles  counter! 

Swi7i.  Look  on  the  field,  brave  Gordon,  if  thou 
canst. 
And  tell  me  how  the  day  goes.     But  I  guess. 

Too  surely  do  1  guess 

Gor.  All's  lost !  all's  lost !     Of  the  main  Scottish 
host, 
Some  wildly  fly,  and  some  rush  wildly  forward; 
And  some  there  are  who  seem  to  turn  their  spears 
Against  their  countrymen. 

Sivin.  Rashness,  and  cowardice,  and  secret  trea- 
son. 
Combine  to  ruin  us;  and  our  hot  valour. 
Devoid  of  discipline,  is  madmen's  strength. 
More  fatal  unto  friends  than  enemies! 
I'm  glad  that  these  dim  eyes  shall  see  no  more 

on't. 
Let  thy  hand  close  them,  Gordon — I  will  think 
My  fair-hair'd  William  renders  me  that  ofiice ! 

[Dies. 
Gor.  And,  Swinton,  1  will  think  1  do  that  duty 
To  my  dead  father. 

Enter  De  Vipont. 
Fip.  Fly,  fly,  brave  youth !     A  handful  of  thy 
followers, 
The  scattered  gleaning  of  this  desperate  day. 
Still  hover  yonder  to  essay  thy  rescue. 
O  linger  not! — I'll  be  your  guide  to  them. 

Gor.  Look  there,  and  bid  me  fly! — The  oak  has 
fallen ! 
And  the  young  ivy  bush,  which  learn'd  to  climb 
By  its  support,  must  needs  partake  its  fall! 

Vip.    Swinton i"    alas!    the    best,    the   bravest, 
strongest, 
And  sagest  of  our  Scottish  chivalry! 
Forgive  one  moment,  if  to  save  the  living, 
My  tongue  should  wrong  the  dead.    Gordon,  be- 
think thee. 
Thou  dost  but  stay  to  perish  with  the  corpse  , 
Of  him  who  slew  thy  father. 

Gor.  Ay,  but  he  was  my  sire  in  chivalry ! 
He  taught  my  youth  to  soar  above  the  promptings 
Of  mean  and  selfish  vengeance;  gave  my  jouth 
A  name  that  shall  not  die  even  on  this  death-spot. 
Records  shall  tell  this  field  had  not  been  lost, 
Had  all  men  fought  like  Swinton  and  like  Gordon. 
Save  thee,  De  Vipont — Hark!  the  southron  trum- 
pets. 
Vip.  Nay,  without  thee,  I  stir  not. 
Enter  Edwakb,  Chaxdos,  Percy,  Baliol,  &c. 
Gor.  Ay,  they  come  on,  the  tyrant  and  the  trai- 
tor, 
Workman  and  tool,  Plantagenet  and  Baliol. 
O  for  a  moment's  strength  in  this  poor  arm, 
To  do  one  glorious  deed. 

[He  rushes  on  the  English,  but  is 
mmle  prisoner  ivilh  Vipont. 


Xi7ig.  Disarm  them— harm  them  not;  though  it 
was  they 
Made  havoc  on  the  archers  of  our  van-guard, 
They  and  that  bulky  champion.    Where  is  he? 
Chan.  Here  lies  the  giant!  Say  his  name,  young- 
knight  ! 
Gor.  Let  it  suffice,  he  was  a  man  this  morning. 
Chan.  I  question'd  thee  in  sport.   I  do  not  need 
Thy  information,  youth.    Who  that  has  fought 
Through  all  these  Scottish  wars,  but  knows  that 

crest. 
The  sable  boar  chain 'd  to  the  leafy  oak, 
And  that  huge  mace  still  seen  where  war  was 
wildest. 
Jiang.  'Tis  Alan  Swinton! 
Grim  chamberlain,  who  in  my  tent  at  Weardale, 
Stood  by  ray  startled  couch  with  torch  and  mace,. 
When  the  black  Douglas  war-cry  waked  my  camp. 
Gor.  {^sinking  doivn.)  If  thus  thouknow'st  him. 
Thou  wilt  respect  his  corpse. 

King.  As  belted  knight  and  crowned  king,  I  will, 
Gor.  And  let  mine 
Sleep  at  his  side,  in  token  that  our  death 
Ended  the  feud  of  Swinton  and  of  Gordon. 

King.  It  is  the  Gordon ! — Is  there  aught  beside 
Edward  can  do  to  honour  braver}-. 
Even  in  an  enemy? 

Gor.  Nothing  but  this: 

Let  not  base  Baliol,  with  his  touch  or  look. 
Profane  my  corpse  or  Swinton's.  I've  some  breath 

still, 
Enough  to  say— Scotland— Elizabeth!  [Dies. 

Chan.   Baliol,   1  would  not  brook  such  dying 
looks 
To  buy  the  crown  you  aim  at. 

King,  [to  Vipont.)  Vipont,  thy  crossed  shield 
shows  ill  in  warfare 
Against  a  christian  king. 

Vip.  That  christian  king  is  warring  upon  Scot- 
latid. 
I  was  a  Scotsman  ere  I  was  a  templar,^ 
Sworn  to  my  country  ere  I  knew  my  order. 
King.  I  will  but  know  thee  as  a  christian  c 
pion. 
And  set  thee  fi-ee  unramsf)m'd. 

E?iter  ABBOT  OF  Waltiiamstow. 
M.  Heaven  grant  your  majesty 
Many  such  glorious  days  as  tiiis  has  been! 

King.  It  is  a  day  of  much  advantage; 
Glorious  it  might  have  been,  had  all  our  foes 
Fought  like  these  two  brave  champions. — Strike 

the  drums, 
Sound  trumpets,  and  pursue  the  fugitives. 
Till  the  Tweed's  eddies  whelm  them.  Berwick's 

rendered — 
These  wars,  1  trust,  will  soon  find  lasting  close. 


NOTES. 
1.  A  rose  hath  fallen  from  thy  thaplet.— P.  397. 
The  well-known  expression  by  which  Robert 
Bruce  censured  the  negligence  of  Randolph,  for 
permitting  an  English  body  of  cavalry  to  pass  his 
flank  on  the  day  preceding  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn. 

2.  I  was  a  Scotsman  ere  I  was  a  templar.— P.  399. 
A  Venetian  general  observing  his  soldiers  testi- 
fied some  unwillingness  to  fight  against  those  of 
the  pope,  whom  they  regarded  as  fatlier  of  the 
church,  addressed  them  in  terms  of  similar  en- 
couragement:— "Fight  on!  we  were  \'enetian3 
before  we  were  christians." 


cham- 


jjalla^fii  auDf  %vttitul  W^ttt^. 


GLEXFIXLaS; 

OR 
LORD  RONALD'S  CORONACH.' 

For  them  the  viewless  forms  of  air  obey, 
Their  bidding  heed,  and  at  their  beck  i-epair; 

They  know  what  spirit  brews  the  siormful  day, 
And  lieartless  oft,  like  moody  madness,  stare, 
To  see  the  phantom  train  their  secret  work  prepare. 

The  tradition  upon  which  the  following  stanzas 
are  founded  runs  thus:  While  two  highland  hun- 
ters were  passing  the  night  in  a  solitary  bathy  (a 
hut  built  for  the  purpose  of  hunting,)  and  tnaking 
merry  over  their  venison  and  whisky,  one  of  them 
expressed  a  wish,  that  they  had  pretty  lasses  to 
complete  their  party.  The  words  were  scarcely 
uttered,  when  two  beautiful  young  women,  habited 
in  green,  entered  the  hut,  dancing  and  singing. 
One  of  the  hunters  was  seduced  by  the  syren,  who 
attached  herself  particularly  to  him,  to  leave  the 
hut:  the  other  remained,  and,  suspicious  of  the 
fair  seducers,  continued  to  play  upon  a  trump,  or 
Jew's  harp,  some  strain  consecrated  to  the  virgin 
Mary.  Day  at  length  came,  and  the  temptress 
vanished.  Searching  in  the  forest,  he  found  the 
bones  of  his  unfortunate  friend,  who  had  been  torn 
to  pieces  and  devoured  by  the  fiend,  into  whose 
toils  he  had  fallen.  The  place  was  from  thence 
called,  the  Glen  of  the  Green  Women. 

Glenfinlas  is  a  tract  of  forest  ground,  lying  in 
the  highlands  of  Perthshire,  not  far  from  Callen- 
der,  in  Menteith.  It  was  formerly  a  royal  forest, 
and  now  belongs  to  the  earl  of  Moray.  This  coun- 
try as  well  as  the  adjacent  district  of  Balquidder, 
was,  in  times  of  yore,  chiefly  inhabited  by  llie 
Maco-ren-ors.  To  the  west  of  the  torest  of  Glen- 
finlas lies  Loch  Katrine,  and  its  romantic  avenue 
called  the  Trosachs.  Benledi,  Benmore,  arid  Ben- 
voirlich,  are  mountains  in  the  same  district,  and 
at  no  great  distance  from  Glenfinlas.  The  river 
Teith  passes  Callender  and  the  castle  ot  Doune, 
and  joins  the  Forth  near  Stirling.  The  pass  of 
Lenny  is  immediately  above  Callender,  and  is  the 
principal  access  to  the  highlands  from  that  town. 
Glenartney  is  a  forest  near  Benvnirlich.  1  he 
whole  forms  a  sublime  tract  of  Alpine  sceneiy. 

O  HOXE  a  rie".  O  hone  a  rie'lt 

The  pride  of  Albyn's  line  is  o'er, 
And  fallen  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  lord  Ronald  more! 
O,  spruno;  from  great  Macgillianore, 

The  chief  that  never  fear'd  a  foe. 
How  matcliless  was  thy  broad  claymore, 

How  deadly  thine  unerring  bow! 
Well  can  the  Saxon  widows  tell,i 

How,  on  ilie  Teilh's  resounding  shore, 
The  boldest  lowland  warriors  fell. 

As  down  from  Lenny's  pass  you  bore. 
But  o'er  his  hills,  on  festal  day. 

How  blazed  lord  Ronald's  beltane  tree;2 
While  youths  and  maids  the  light  strathspey 

So  nimbly  danced,  with  highland  glee. 
Cheered  by  the  strengtli  of  Ronald's  shell. 

E'en  age  forgot  his  tresses  hoar; 


»  Coronach  is  the  lamentation  for  a  deceased  warrior, 

iuneby  theagfdoftheclan.  ..  ,„ 

to  hone  a  rie'  sig^nifiea— "  Alas  for  the  pnnce,  or  chief. 


But  now  the  loud  lament  we  swell, 
O,  ne'er  to  see  lord  Ronald  more! 

From  distant  isles  a  chieftain  came, 

The  joys  of  Ronald's  hall  to  find, 
And  chase  with  him  the  dark  brown  game. 

That  bounds  o'er  Albyn's  hills  of  wind. 

'Twas  Moy;  whom,  in  Columba's  isle, 
The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found, 3 

As,  with  a  minstrel's  fire  the  while, 
He  waked  his  harp's  harmonious  sound. 

Full  many  a  spell  to  him  was  known, 
Which  wandering  spirits  shrink  to  hear; 

And  many  a  lay  of  potent  tone. 
Was  never  meant  for  mortal  ear. 

For  there,  'tis  said,  in  mystic  mood. 
High  converse  with  the  dead  they  hold, 

And  oft  espy  the  fated  shroud, 
That  shall  the  future  corpse  enfold. 

O  so  it  fell,  that  on  a  day, 

To  rouse  the  red  deer  from  their  den, 
The  chiefs  have  ta'en  their  distant  way, 

And  scoured  the  deep  Glenfinlas'  glen. 

No  vassals  wait,  their  sports  to  aid. 

To  watch  their  safety,  deck  their  board: 

Their  simple  dress,  the  highland  plaid; 
Their  trusty  guard,  the  highland  sword. 

Three  summer  days,  through  brake  and  dell, 

Their  whistling  shafts  successful  flew; 
And  still,  when  dewy  evening  fell, 

Tlie  quarry  to  their  hut  they  drew. 
In  gray  Glenfinlas'  deepest  nook 

The  solitary  cabin  stood. 
Fast  by  Moneira's  sullen  brook. 

Which  murmurs  through  that  lonely  wood. 

Soft  fell  the  night,  the  sky  was  calm, 

W^hen  three  successive  days  had  flown; 
And  summer  mist  in  dewy  balm 

Steeped  heathy  bank  and  mossy  stone. 
The  moon,  half  hid  in  silver}^  flakes. 

Afar  her  dubious  radiance  shed. 
Quivering  on  Katrine's  distant  lakes, 

And  resting  on  Benledi's  head. 

Now  in  their  hut,  in  social  guise. 
Their  sylvan  fare  the  chiefs  enjoy; 

And  pleasure  laughs  in  Roland's  eyes, 
As  many  a  pledge  he  quaffs  to  Moy. 

"  What  lack  we  here  to  crown  our  bliss, 

While  thus  the  pulse  of  joy  beats  high? 
What,  but  fair  woman's  yielding  kiss, 

Her  panting  breath  and  melting  eye? 
"  To  chase  the  deer  of  yonder  shades, 

This  morning  left  their  father's  pile 
The  fairest  of  our  mountain  maids. 

The  daughters  of  the  proud  Glengyle. 
"  Long  have  1  sought  sweet  Mary's  heart. 

And  dropped  the  tear,  and  heaved  the  sigh: 
But  vain  the  lover's  wily  art, 

Beneath  the  sister's  watchful  eye. 
"  But  thou  raay'st  teach  that  guardian  fair, 

While  far  with  Mary  I  am  flown. 
Of  other  hearts  to  cease  her  care. 

And  find  it  hard  to  guard  her  own. 
"  Touch  but  thy  harp,  thou  soon  shall  see 

The  lovely  Flora  of  Glengyle, 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


401 


Unmindful  of  her  charge  and  me, 
Hang  on  thy  notes,  'twixt  tear  and  smile. 

"  Or,  if  she  choose  a  melting  tale, 
All  underneath  the  green-wood  bough. 

Will  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail,"* 
Stern  huntsman  of  the  rigid  brow?" 

'•  Since  Enrick's  fight,  since  Morna's  death, 
No  more  on  me  shall  rapture  rise. 

Responsive  to  the  panting  breath. 
Or  yielding  kiss,  or  melting  eyes. 

*'  E'en  then,  when  o'er  the  heath  of  wo, 
Were  sunk  my  hopes  of  love  and  fame, 

I  bade  my  harp's  wild  wailings  flow, 
On  me  the  seer's  sad  spirit  came. 

"  The  last  dread  curse  of  angry  heaven. 
With  ghastly  sights  and  sounds  of  wo. 

To  dash  each  glimpse  of  joy,  was  given— 
The  gift,  the  future  ill  to  know. 

*'  The  bark  thou  saw'st,  yon  summer  morn. 

So  gayly  part  from  Oban's  bay. 
My  eye  beheld  her  dashed  and  torn. 

Far  on  the  rocky  Colonsay. 

"  The  Fergus  too,  thy  sister's  son. 

Thou  saw'st,  with  pride,  the  gallant's  power, 
As  marching  'gainst  the  lord  of  Downe, 

He  left  the  skirts  of  huge  Benmore. 

"  Thou  only  saw'st  their  tartans*  wave. 
As  down  Benvoirlioh's  side  they  wound, 

Heard'st  but  the  pibroch, t  answering  brave 
To  many  a  target  clanking  round. 

"  I  heard  the  groans,  I  marked  the  tears, 

I  saw  the  wound  his  bosom  bore. 
When  on  the  serried  Saxon  spears 

He  poured  his  clan's  resistless  roar. 

"  And  thou,  who  bidst  me  think  of  bliss. 

And  bidst  my  heart  awake  to  glee, 
And  court,  like  thee,  the  wanton  kiss, 

That  heart,  O  Ronald,  bleeds  for  thee! 
"I  see  the  death-damps  chill  thy  brow; 

I  hear  thy  warning  spirit  cry; 
The  corpse-li  ghts  dance — they  're  gone,  and  now— 

No  more  is  given  to  gifted  eye!" 

"Alone  enjoy  thy  dreary  dreams, 

Sad  prophet  of  the  evil  hour! 
Say,  should  we  scorn  joy's  transient  beams. 

Because  to-morrow's  storm  may  lour? 
"  Or  false,  or  sooth,  thy  words  of  wo, 

Clangillian's  chieftain  ne'er  shall  fear; 
His  blood  shall  bound  at  rapture's  glow. 

Though  doomed  to  stain  the  Saxon  spear. 

"E'en  now,  to  meet  me  in  yon  dell, 
My  Mary's  buskins  brush  tiie  dew." 

He  spoke,  nor  bade  the  chief  farewell. 
But  called  his  dogs  and  gay  withdrew. 

Within  an  hour  returned  each  liound; 

In  rushed  the  rousers  of  the  deer; 
TJjey  howled  in  melancholy  sound, 

Then  closely  couciied  beside  the  seer. 

No  Ronald  yet;  though  midnight  came, 
And  sad  were  Moy's  prophetic  dreams. 

As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  flame. 

He  fed  the  watch-fire's  quivering  gleams. 


•  Tartans,  the  full  highland  dress,  made  of  the  che- 
quered stuff  so  termed. 

+  Pibroch,  a  piece  of  martial  music,  adapted  to  the  high- 
land bagpipe, 


Sudden  the  hounds  erect  their  ears, 
And  sudden  cease  their  moaning  howl; 

Closed  press'd  to  Moy,  they  mark  their  fears 
By  shivering  limbs,  and  stifled  growl. 

Untouched,  the  harp  began  to  ring, 
As  softly,  slowly,  op'd  the  door, 

And  shook  responsive  every  string. 
As  light  a  footstep  pressed  the  floor. 

And,  by  the  watch-fire's  glimmering  light, 
Close  by  the  minstrel's  side  was  seen 

An  huntress  maid,  in  beauty  bright. 
All  dropping  wet  her  robes  of  green. 

All  dropping  wet  her  garments  seem, 
Chilled  was  her  cheek,  her  bosom  bare. 

As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  gleam,  ^ 

She  wrung  the  moisture  from  her  hair. 

With  maiden  blush  she  softly  said, 
"  O  gentle  huntsman,  hast  thou  seen. 

In  deep  Glenfinlas'  moonlight  glade, 
A  lovely  maid  in  vest  of  green  i" 

*'  With  her  a  chief  in  highland  pride; 

His  shoulders  bear  the  hunter's  bow, 
The  mountain  dirk  adorns  his  side. 

Far  on  the  wind  his  tartans  flow?" 

"And  who  art  thou?  and  who  are  they?" 
All  ghastly  gazing,  Moy  replied: 

"  And  why,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray. 
Dare  ye  thus  roam  Glenfinlas'  side?" 

"  Where  wild  Loch  Katrine  pours  her  tide. 
Blue,  dark,  and  deep,  round  many  an  isle. 

Our  father's  towers  o'erhang  her  side. 
The  castle  of  the  bold  Glengyle. 

"  To  chase  the  dun  Glenfinlas  deer. 
Our  woodland  course  this  morn  we  bore, 

And  haply  met,  while  wandering  here, 
The  son  of  great  Macgillianore. 

"  O  aid  me,  then,  to  seek  the  pair, 
.Whom,  loitering  in  the  woods,  1  lost; 

Alone,  1  dare  not  venture  there, 

Where  walks,  they  saj',  the  shrieking  ghost." 

"Yes,  many  a  shrieking  ghost  walks  there; 

Then,  first,  my  own  sad  vow  to  keep, 
Here  will  I  pour  my  midnight  prayer. 

Which  still  must  rise  when  mortals  sleep." 

"  O  first,  for  pity's  gentle  sake. 
Guide  a  lone  wanderer  on  her  way ! 

For  I  must  cross  the  haunted  brake. 
And  reach  my  father's  towers  ere  day. " 

"  First,  three  times  tell  each  ave-bead. 

And  thrice  a  pater-noster  say; 
Then  kiss  with  me  tlie  holy  reed: 

So  shall  we  safely  wind  our  way." 

"  O  shame  to  knighthood,  strange  and  fouL' 
Go,  dofl"  the  bonnet  from  thy  brow. 

And  shroud  thee  in  tlie  monkish  cowl, 
Which  best  befits  thy  sullen  vow. 

"Not  so,  by  high  Ounlathmon's  fire. 
Thy  heart  was  froze  to  love  and  jov, 

When  gayly  rung  thy  raptured  lyre,  ' 
To  wanton  Morna's  melting  eye." 

Wild  stared  the  minstrel's  eye  of  flame 

And  higii  his  sable  locks  arose. 
And  quick  Ids  colour  went  andcame, 

As  fear  and  rage  alternate  rose. 


402 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"And  lliou!  when  by  the  blazing  oak 

I  lay,  10  liiT  and  love  resis^n'd, 
Say,  rode  ye  on  llie  eddyinu;  smoke, 

Or  sail'J  ye  on  tlie  m'uhiiglit  wind? 

•'  Not  tiiine  a  race  ol"  mortal  blood, 
Nor  old  Ck-nsjyle's  pretended  line; 

Thy  dame,  tlie  lady  of  tlie  flood, 

Thy  sire,  the  monarcii  of  the  mine." 

He  mutter'd  thrice  St.  Oran's  rhyme. 
And  thrice  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer;5 

Then  turned  him  to  the  e.TStern  clime, 
And  sternly  shook  his  coal-black  hair. 

And,  bending  o'er  iiis  harp,  he  flung 
Ilis  wildest  witch-notes  on  the  wind; 

And  loud,  and  high,  and  strange,  they  rung, 
As  many  a  magic  change  they  find. 

Tall  waxed  the  spirit's  altering  form. 
Till  to  the  roof  her  stature  grew; 

Then,  mingling  with  the  rising  storm, 
With  one  wild  yell,  away  she  flew. 

Rain  beats,  hail  rattles,  whirlwinds  tear: 
The  slender  hut  in  fragments  flew; 

But  not  a  lock  of  Moy's  loose  hair 
Was  waved  bv'  wind,  or  wet  by  dew. 

Wild  mingling  with  the  howling  gale. 
Loud  bursts  of  ghastly  laughter  rise; 

High  o'er  the  minstrel's  bead  they  sail, 
And  die  amid  the  northern  skies. 

The  voice  of  thunder  shook  the  wood, 
As  ceased  the  inore  than  mortal  yell; 

And,  spattering  foul,  a  shower  of  blood 
Upon  the  hissing  firebrands  fell. 

Next,  dropped  from  high  a  mangled  arm; 

The  fingers  strained  a  half-drawn  blade; 
And  last,  the  life-blood  streaming  warm, 

Torn  from  the  trunk,  a  gasping  head. 

Oft  o'er  that  head,  in  battling  field. 

Streamed  the  proud  crest  of  high  Benmore; 

That  arm  the  broad  claymore  could  wield, 
Which  dyed  the  Teith  with  Saxon  gore.   • 

Wo  to  Moneira's  sullen  rills! 

Wo  to  Glenfinlas'  dreary  glen! 
There  never  son  of  Albyn's  hills 

Shall  draw  the  hunter's  shaft  agen! 

E'en  the  tired  pilgrim's  burning  feet 
At  noon  shall  shun  that  sheltering  den. 

Lest,  journeying  in  their  rage,  he  meet 
The  wayward  ladies  of  the  glen. 

And  we — behind  the  chieftain's  sliield, 
No  more  shall  we  in  safety  dwell; 

None  leads  tlie  peojile  to  tiie  field — 
And  we  the  loud  lament  must  swell. 

O  hone  a  rie'!  O  hone  a  rie'! 

The  pride  of  Albyn's  line  is  o'er. 
And  fallen  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  lord  Ronald  more! 

KOTES. 

1.  Well  can  the  Saxon  widows  tell.— P.  400. 
The  term  Sassenach,  or  Saxon,  is  applied   by 
the  highlanders  to  their  low-country  neighbours. 
2.  How  blazed  lord  Ronald's  beltane  tree.— P.  400. 
The  fires   lighted    by  the  highlanders  on  the 
first  of  May,  in  compliance  with  a  custom  derived 
from  the  pagan  times,  are  termed,  the  Beltane 
Tree.     It  is  a  festival  celebrated  with  various  su- 


perstitious rites,  both  in  the  north  of  Scotland  and 
in  Wales. 

3.  The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found,  &c.— P.  400. 

I  can  only  describe  the  second  sight,  by  adopting 
Dr.  Johnson's  definition,  who  calls  it  "  an  impres- 
sion, either  by  the  mind  upon  the  eye,  or  hy  the 
eye  upon  the  mind,  by  which  things  distant  and 
future  are  perceived  and  seen  as  if  they  were  pre- 
sent." To  which  I  wouM  only  add,  that  the  spec- 
tral appearances,  thus  presented,  usually  presage 
misfortune;  that  the  faculty  is  ])ainful  to  those  who 
suppose  they  possess  it;  and  that  they  usually  ac- 
quire it,  while  themselves  under  the  pressure  ot 
melancholy. 

4.  Will  good  St.  Oraii's  rule  prevail.— P.  401. 

St.  Oran  was  a  friend  and  follower  of  St.  Co- 
lumba,  and  was  buried  in  Icolmkill.  His  pre- 
tensions to  be  a  saint  were  rather  dubious.  Ac- 
cording to  the  legend,  he  consented  to  be  buried 
alive,  in  order  to  propitiate  certain  demons  of  the 
soil,  who  obstructed  the  attempts  of  Columba  to 
build  a  chapel.  Columba  caused  the  body  of  his 
friend  to  be  dug  up,  after  three  days  had  elapsed; 
when  Oran,  to  the  horror  and  scandal  of  the  as- 
sistants, declared,  that  there  was  neither  a  God, 
a  judgment,  nor  a  future  state!  He  had  no  time  to 
make  further  discoveries,  for  Columba  caused  the 
earth  once  more  to  be  shovelled  over  him  with  the 
utmost  despatch.  The  chapel,  however,  and  the 
cemetery,  was  called  Reilig  Oz/ron;  and,  in  memory 
of  his  rigid  celil)acy,  no  female  was  permitted  to 
pay  her  devotions,  or  be  buried,  in  that  place. 
This  is  the  rule  alluded  to  in  the  poem. 

5.  And  thriee  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer.— P.  402. 

St.  Fillan  has  given  his  name  to  many  chapels, 
holy  fountains,  !>cc.  in  Scotland.  He  was,  accord- 
ing to  Camerarius,  an  abbot  of  Pittenweem,  iu 
Fife,  from  whic'i  situation  he  retired,  and  died  a 
hermit  in  the  wilds  of  Glenurchy,  A.  D.  649. 
While  engaged  in  transcribing  the  Scriptures,  his 
left  hand  was  observed  to  send  forth  such  a  splen- 
dour, as  to  aftVird  light  to  that  with  which  he  wrote; 
a  miracle  which  saved  many  candles  to  the  con- 
vent, as  St.  Fillan  used  to  spend  whole  nights  in 
that  exercise.  The  9th  of  January  was  dedicated 
to  this  saint,  who  gave  his  name  to  Kilfillan,  in 
Renfrew,  and  St.  Phillans,  or  Forgend,  in  Fife. 
Lesley,  lib.  7,  tells  us,  that  Robert  the  Bruce  was 
possessed  of  F"illan's  miraculous  and  luminous 
arm,  which  he  inclosed  in  a  silver  shrine,  and  had 
it  carried  at  the  head  of  his  army.  Previous  to  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn,  the  king's  chaplain,  a  man 
of  little  faith,  abstracted  the  relic,  and  deposited 
it  in  some  place  of  security,  lest  it  should  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  English.  But,  lo!  while  Robert 
was  ad(h-essing  his  prayers  to  the  empty  casket,  it 
was  observed  lo  open  and  shut  suddeidy;  and,  on 
inspection,  the  saint  was  found  to  have  himself 
deposited  his  arm  in  the  shrine,  as  an  assurance 
of  victory.  Such  is  the  tale  of  Lesley.  But  though 
Bruce  little  needed  that  the  arm  of  St.  Fillan 
should  assist  his  own,  he  dedicated  to  him,  in 
gratitude,  a  priory  at  Killin,  upon  Loch  Tay. 

In  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1  SO'2  (a  national 
periodical  publication,  v  hich  has  lately  revived 
with  considerable  energy,)  there  is  a  copy  of  a 
very  curious  crown-grant,  dated  11th  July,  1487, 
by  which  James  HI  confirms  to  Malice  Doire,  an 
inhabitant  of  StrathfiUan,  in  Pertiishire,  the  peace- 
able exercise  and  enjoyment  of  a  relic  of  St.  Fil- 
lan, called  the  Quegrich,  which  he,  and  his  pre- 


BAi^LADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


403 


decessors,  are  said  to  have  possessed  since  the   And  he  whistled  thrice  for  his  little  foot-page 
days  of  Robert  Bruce.    As  the  quegrich  was  used       His  name  was  English  Will. 


to  cure  diseases,  this  document  is,  probabl)-,  the 
most  ancient  patent  ever  granted  for  a  quack  me- 
dicine. The  ingenious  correspondent,  by  whom  it 
\s  furnished,  further  observes,  that  additional  par- 
ticulars concerning  St.  Fillan  are  to  be  found  in 
Sallendeti's  Boece,  book  4,  folio  ccxiii,  and  in 
Pennant's  Tour  in  Scotland,  \7T2,  pp.  11,  15. 


"  Come  thou  hither,  my  little  foot-page; 

Come  hither  to  my  knee; 
Though  thou  art  young,  and  tender  of  age, 

I  think  thou  art  true  to  me. 

"  Come,  tell  me  all  that  thou  hast  seen, 

And  look  thou  tell  me  true ! 
Since  I  from  Smaylho'me  tower  have  been. 
What  did  thy  lady  do'" 
THE  EYE  OF  ST.  JOHN.  ,.,,    ,    ,  •',     ..  . .  ,     ,       ,    ,.  , 

o  ,  o      11V,  1     -r  .u  c      -^v  '^oy'  ^^'^h  night,  sought  the  lonely  lieht, 

bMATLHo'ME,  or  Smallholm  Tower,  the  scene  of]      That  >>,.,-nc  r.^  t\.t  ,.';i^  •iv-„.,.k.„ij.     ■'     &  '' 


L  11    J    -       •.     .  J        .1  .u  That  burns  on  the  wild  Watchfold: 

owing  ballad,  is  situated  on  the  northern   f^^,  from  height  to  height,  the  beacons  bright 
7  ot   Roxburghshire,  among   a   cluster  ot       yf  the  English  foemen  told.  ^ 


"The  bittern  clamoured  from  tlie  moss, 
The  wind  blew  loud  and  shrill; 

Yet  the  craggy  pathway  she  did  cross. 
To  the  eiry  beacon  hill. 

"I  watched  her  steps,  and  silent  came 
\\  here  she  sat  her  on  a  stone; 

No  watchman  stood  by  the  dreary  flame; 
It  burned  all  alone. 

"  The  second  night  I  kept  her  in  sight. 
Till  to  the  fire  she  came, 


the  followin 
boundary 

wild  rocks,  called  Sandiknow  Crags,  the  property 
of  Hugh  Scott.  Esq.,  of  Harden.  The  tower  is  a 
high  square  building,  surrounded  by  an  outer  wall, 
now  ruinous.  The  circuit  of  the  outer  court,  be- 
ing defended,  on  three  sides,  by  a  precipice  and 
morass,  is  accessible  only  from  the  west,  by  a 
steep  and  rocky  path.  The  apartments,  as  is  usual 
in  a  border-keep,  or  fortress,  are  placed  one  above 
another,  and  communicate  by  a  narrow  stair;  on 
the  roof  are  two  bartizans,  or  platforms,  for  defence 
or  pleasure.  The  inner  door  of  the  tower  is  wood, 

the  outer  an  iron  grate;  the  distance  between  them  j  And,  by  Mary's  might!  an  armed  knight 
being  nine  feet,  tlie  thickness,  namely,  of  the  wall.       Stood  by  the  lonel}-  flame. 
From  the  ele^ated  situation  of  Smavlho'me  Tower,  I       .     ,  ,    ,  -i-,     ,      , 

it  is  seen  manv  miles  in  everv  direction.    Among  j      ^.";'  ™a".^'  »  ^'"™  that  warlike  lord 
the   crags  by  "which  it  is   sun-ounded,  one,  more       IJ'd  speak  to  my  lady  there; 
eminent!  is  called  Tlie  Watchfold;  and  is   said  to  !  l*ut  the  rain  fell  tast,  and  loud  blew  the  blast, 
have  been  the  station  of  a  beacon,  in  the  times  of 
war  with  England.   Without  the  tower-court  is  a 
ruined  chapel.    Brotherstone   is  a  heath,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Smaylho'me  Tower. 

This  ancient  fortress  and  its  vicinity  formed  the 
scene  of  the  author's  infancy,  and  seemed  to  claim 
from  him  this  attempt  to  celebrate  them  in  a  border 
tale.  The  catastrophe  of  the  tale  is  founded  upon 
a  well-known  Irish  tradition. 


The  baron  of  Smaylho'me  rose  with  day, 

He  spurred  his  courser  on, 
"Without  stop  or  stay,  down  the  rocky  way. 

That  leads  to  Brotherstone. 
He  went  not  with  the  bold  Buccleuch, 

His  banner  broad  to  rear: 
He  went  not  'gainst  the  English  yew 

To  lift  the  Scottish  spear. 
Yet  his  plate-jack*  was  braced,  and  his  helmet 
was  laced. 

And  his  vaunt-brace  of  proof  he  wore; 
At  his  saddle-gerthe  was  a  good  steel  sperthe, 

Full  ten  pound  weight  and  more. 
The  baron  returned  in  three  days'  space. 

And  his  looks  were  sad  and  sour; 
And  weary  was  his  courser's  pace. 

As  he  reached  his  rocky  tower. 
He  came  not  from  where  Ancram  Moor' 

Ran  red  with  English  blood; 
Where  the  Douglas  true,  and  the  bold  Buccleuch, 

'Gainst  keen  lord  Evers  stood. 
Yet  was  his  helmet  hacked  and  hewed. 

His  acton  pierced  and  tore; 
His  axe  and  his  dagger  witii  blood  emhrued. 

But  it  was  not  English  gore. 
He  lighted  at  the  Chapellage, 

He  held  him  close  and  still; 


And  I  lieard  not  what  they  were. 
"  The  third  night  there  the  sky  was  fair. 

And  the  mountain  blast  was  still. 
As  again  I  watched  the  secret  pair. 

On  the  lonesome  beacon  hill. 
"  And  I  heard  her  name  the  midnight  hour 

And  name  this  holy  eve;  . 
And  say,  '  Come  this'  night  to  thy  lady's  bower: 

Ask  no  bold  baron's  leave. 
"  '  He  lifts  his  spear  with  the  bold  Buccleuch; 

His  lady  is  all  alone; 
The  door  she'll  undo  to  her  knight  so  true. 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John.' 

"  '  I  cannot  come;  I  must  not  come, 

1  dare  not  come  to  thee; 
On  the  eve  of  St.  John  I  must  wander  alone; 

In  thy  bower  I  may  not  be.' 

"  '  Now,  out  on  thee,  faint-hearted  knight! 

Thou  shouldst  not  say  me  nay; 
For  the  eve  is  sweet,  and  when' lovers  meet 

Is  worth  the  whole  summer's  day. 

"  '  And  I'll  chain  the  blood-hound,  and  the  warder 
shall  not  soimd. 

And  rushes  shall  be  strewed  on  the  stair, 
So,  by  the  black  rood-stone,*  and  by  holy  St.  John 

1  conjure  thee,  my  love,  to  be  there!'  ' 

"  '  Though  the  blood-hound  be  mute,  and  the  rush 
I  beneath  my  foot, 

;      And  the  warder  his  bugle  should  not  blow, 
;  Yet  there  sleepeth  a  priest  in  the  chamber  to  the 

east, 
I      And  my  footstep  he  would  know.' 

j  "  '  O  fear  not  the  priest,  who  sleepeth  to  the  east! 
For  to  Dryburght  the  way  he  has  ta'en; 


\     *  The  black  rood  of  Melrose  was  a  crucifix  of  black  mar- 

, .         . }  ble,  and  of  superior  sanctity. 

«  rhe  plate-jnck  is  coat-armour;  the  yautit-irace,  or       t  Dryburgh  abbey  is  beauiitullv  situated  on  the  bank,  of 
warabrace,  armour  for  the  body;  the  spa  f  he,  a  battle-axe.  j  the  Tweed.    After  its  dissolution,  it  became  the  property 


404 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  thi*re  to  say  niHss,  till  three  days  do  pass, 
For  the  soul  of  ii  knight  tliat  is  slayne.' 

♦'  He  turnud  him  round,  and  grimly  he  frowned; 

Then  he  laughed  right  scornfully; 
*  He  who  says  the  imiss-rite  for  the  soul  of  that 
knight, 

May  as  well  say  mass  for  me. 
"  '  At  the  lone  midnight  hour,  when  bad  spirits 
have  power. 

In  thy  ehanil)cr  will  I  be.' 
"With  that  he  was  gone,  and  my  lady  left  alone, 

And  no  more  did  1  see." 

Then  ehangcd,  I  trow,  was  that  bold  baron's  brow, 
From  the  dark  to  the  blood-red  high; 

♦'  Now,  tell  me  the  mien  of  the  knight  thou  hast 
seen. 
For,  by  Mary,  he  shall  die!" 

"  His  arms  shone  full  bright  in  the  beacon's  red 
light, 

His  plume  it  was  scarlet  and  blue; 
On  ills  shield  was  a  hound,  in  a  silver  leash  bound, 

And  his  crest  was  a  branch  of  the  yew." 

"  Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  thou  little  foot-p.-Jge, 

Loud  dost  thou  lie  to  me! 
For  that  knight  is  cold,  and  low  laid  in  the  mould. 

All  under  the  Eildon  tree."* 
*'  Vet  hear  but  my  word,  my  noble  lord! 

For  1  lieard  her  name  his  name; 
And  liiat  lady  liright,  slie  called  the  knight. 

Sir  Uichard  of  Coldinghame." 
The  bold  baron's  brow  liien  changed,  I  trow, 

From  high  blood-red  to  pale! 
♦'  The  grave  is  deep  and  dark,  and  the  corpse  is 
stiff  and  stark, 

So  I  may  not  trust  thy  tale. 
"  Where  fair  Tweed  flows  round  holy  Melrose, 

And  Eildon  slopes  to  the  plain, 
P'ull  three  nights  ago,  by  some  secret  foe, 

That  gay  gallant  was  slain. 
*'  The  varying  light  deceived  thy  sight, 

And  the' wild  winds  drowned  the  name; 
For  the  Dryburgh  bells  ring,  and  the  white  monks 
do  sing, 

For  sir  Richard  of  Coldingh.ame!" 
He  passed  the  court  gate,  and  he  op'd  the  tower 
grate. 

And  he  mounted  the  narrow  stair. 
To  the  bartizan  seat,  where,  with  maids  that  on 
her  wait. 

He  found  his  lady  fair. 

That  lady  sat  in  mnnrnful  mood; 

Looked  over  hill  and  dale; 
Over  Tweed's  fair  flood,  and  ^Mertoun'st  wood, 

And  all  down  Teviotdale. 

"  Now  hail,  now  hail,  tliou  lady  bright!" 

"  Now  hail,  thou  baron  true! 
Wh-it  news,  what  news,  from  .\ncram  fight? 

What  news  from  the  bold  Buccleuchi'" 


of  the  Haliburtons  of  Newmains,  and  is  now  the  seat  of 
tlie  right  honourable  the  earl  of  Buchan.  It  belong-ed  to 
the  order  of  Prenionstralenses. 

*  Eildon  is  a  high  hill,  terminating  in  three  conical 
summits,  immediately  above  the  town  of  Melrose,  where 
are  the  admired  ruins  of  a  magnificent  monastery.  Eildon 
tree  is  said  to  be  the  spot  where  Thomas  the  Rhymer  ut- 
tered his  prophecies. 

tMertoun  is  the  beautiful  seat  of  Hugh  Scott,  esq.  of 
Harden, 


"  The  Ancrara  Moor  Is  red  with  gore, 

For  many  a  southron  fell; 
And  liuccleuch  has  charged  us,  evermore, 

To  watch  our  beacons  well." 

The  lady  blushed  red,  but  nothing  she  said; 

Nor  added  the  baron  a  word: 
Then  she  stepp'd  down  the  stair  to  her  chamber 
fair. 

And  so  did  her  moody  lord. 

In  sleep  tlie  l.idv  mourned,  and  the  baron  tossed 
and  turned, 
And  oft  to  himself  he  said, 
"  The  worms  around  him  creep,  and  his  bloody 
grave  is  deep — 
It  cannot  give  up  the  dead!" 

It  was  near  the  ringing  of  matin  bell, 

The  night  was  well  nigh  done, 
When  a  heavy  sleep  on  that  baron  fell, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John. 

The  lady  looked  through  the  chamber  fair, 

By  the  light  of  a  dying  flame; 
And  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  stood  there, 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame! 
"Alas!  away,  away!"  she  cried, 

"For  the  holy  N'irgin's  sake!" 
"  Lady,  I  know  who  sleeps  by  thy  side; 

But,  lady,  he  will  not  awake. 

"  By  Eildon  tree,  for  long  nights  three, 

In  bloody  grave  have  I  lain; 
The  mass  and  the  death  prayer  are  said  for  me, 

But,  lady,  they  are  said  in  vain. 

"  By  the  baron's  brand,  near  Tweed's  fair  strand, 

Alost  foully  slain  I  fell; 
And  my  restless  sprite  on  the  beacon's  height. 

For  a  space  is  doomed  to  dwell. 

"  At  our  trysting-place,*  for  a  certain  space, 

I  must  wander  to  and  fro; 
But  I  had  not  had  power  to  come  to  thy  bower, 

Hadst  thou  not  conjured  me  so." 

Love  mastered  fear;  her  brow  she  crossed; 

"  How,  Richard,  hast  thou  sped? 
And  art  thou  saved,  or  art  thou  lost!"' 

The  Vision  shook  his  head! 

"  Who  spilleth  life  shall  forfeit  life; 

So  bid  thy  lord  believe: 
That  lawless  love  is  guilt  above, 

This  awful  sign  receive." 

He  laid  his  left  palm  on  an  oakei»  beam; 

His  rigiit  upon  her  hand: 
The  lady  shrunk,  and,  fainting,  sunk. 

For  it  scorched  like  a  tiery  brand. 

The  sable  score  of  fingers  four. 

Remains  on  that  board  impressed; 
And  for  evermore  tliat  lady  wore 

A  covering  on  her  wrist. 
There  is  a  nun  in  Dryburgh  bower,2 

Ne'er  looks  upon  the  sun: 
There  is  a  monk  in  Melrose  tower. 

He  speaketh  word  to  none. 

That  nun,  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day, 

That  monk,  who  speaks  to  none, 
That  nun  was  Smaylho'me's  lady  gay, 

That  monk  the  bold  baron. 

•  Tnjst/ng-place,  a  place  of  rendezrous. 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


405 


NOTES. 
I.   BATTLE  OF  AXCRA3I  MOOR. P.  403. 

Lord  Evers,  and  sir  Brian  Latoun,  during  the 
year  1544,  committed  the  most  dreadful  ravages 
upon  the  Scottish  frontiers,  compelling  most  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  especially  the  men  of  Liddesdale, 
to  take  assurance  under  the  king  of  England.  Upon 
the  l~th  of  JJovember,  in  that  year,  the  sum  total 
of  their  depredations  stood  thus,  in  the  bloody 
leger  of  lord  Evers. 

Towns,  towers,  bamekynes,  pa- 
ryshe  churches,  bastill  houses, 

burned  and  destroyed 192 

Scots  slain 403 

Prisoners  taken 816 

Nolt  (cattle) 10,386 

Shepe 12,492 

Nags  and  geldings 1,296 

Gayt 200 

Bolls  of  corn 850 

Insight  gear,  &:c.  (furniture)  an  incalcula- 
ble quantity. 

^Iiiriliri's  State  Papers,  vol.  i,  p.  51. 
The  king  of  England  had  promised  to  these  two 
barons  a  feudal  grant  of  the  country,  which  they 
had  thus  reduced  to  a  desert;  upon  hearing  which, 
Archibald  Douglas,  the  seventh  earl  of  Angus,  is 
said  to  have  sworn  to  write  the  deed  of  investiture 
upon  their  skins,  with  sharp  pens  and  bloody  ink, 
in  resentment  for  their  having  defaced  the  tombs 
of  his  ancestors,  at  Melrose. — Godscroft.  In  1545, 
lord  Evers  and   Latoun  again  entered  Scotland 
with  an  army,   consisting  of  3000  mercenaries, 
1500  English  borderers,  and  "00  assured  Scottish- 
men,   chiefly  Armstrongs,   TurnbuUs,  and  other 
broken  clans.    In  this  second  incursion,  the  En- 
glish generals  even  exceeded  their  former  crueltj-. 
Evers  burned  the  tower  of  Broomhouse,  witli  its 
lady  (a  noble  and  aged  woman,  says  Lesley,)  and 
her  whole  family.    The  English  peneti'ated  as  far 
as  Melrose,  which  they  had  destroyed  last  year, 
and  which  they  now  again  pillaged.    As  they  re- 
turned towards  Jedburg,  they  were  followed  by 
Angus,  at  the  head  of  1000  horse,  who  was  shortly 
after  joined  by  the  famous  Norman  Leslej',  with 
a  bodj-  of  Fife-men.  The  English,  being  probably 
unwilling  to  cross  the  Teviot  while  the  Scots  hung 
upon  their  rear,  halted  upon  Ancram  moor,  above 
the  village  of  that  name;  and  the  Scottish  general 
was  deliberating  whether  to  advance  or  retire, 
when  sir  Walter  Scott*  of  Buccleuch  came  up,  at 
full  speed,  with  a  small  but  chosen  body  of  his 
retainers,  the  rest  of  whom  were  near  at  hand. 
By  tlie   advice  of  this   experienced  warrior  (to 
■whose  conduct   Pitscottie  and  Buchanan   ascribe 
the  success  of  the  engagement,)  Angus  withih'ew 
from  the  height  which   he  occupied,  and  drew  up 
his  forces  behind  it,  upon  a  piece  of  low  flat  ground, 
called  Panier-heugh,  or  Peniel-heugh.  The  spare 
horses,  being  sent  to  an  eminence  in  their  rear. 


•  The  editor  has  found  no  instance  upon  record  oJ  this 
family  having  taken  assurance  with  England.  Hence 
they  usually  suffered  dreadfully  from  the  English  forays. 
In  August,  1544  (the  year  preceding  the  battle,}  the  whole 
lands  bcloiig^ng  to  Buccleuch,  in  West  Teviotdale,  were 
harried  by  E  vei-s ;  the  out-works,  or  barnkiu,  of  the  tow  er 
of  Braiixliolm,  burned;  eight  Scots  slain,  thirty  made 
prisoners,  and  an  immense  prey  of  horses,  cattle,  and 
sheep,  carried  off.  The  lands  upon  Kale  Water,  belong- 
ing to  the  same  chieftain,  were  also  plundered,  and  mucli 
spoil  obtained;  thirty  Scots  slain,  and  the  Moss  Tower  (a 
fortress  near  Eckford)  smoked  very  sore.  Thus  Buccleuch 
had  a  long  account  to  settle  at  Ancram  Moor.— J/i/rrf;«V 
State  Papers,  pp.  45,  46. 


appeared  to  the  English  to  be  the  main  body  of 
the  Scots,  in  the  act  of  flight.    Under  this  persua- 
sion, Evers  and  Latoun  hurried  precipitately  for- 
ward, and,  having  ascended  the  hill,  which' their 
foes  had  abandoned,  were  no  less  dismayed  than 
astonished,  to  find  the  phalanx  of  Scottish  spear- 
men drawn  up,  in  firm  array,  upon  the  flat  ground 
below.    The  Scots  in  their  turn  became  the  as- 
sailants. A  heron,  roused  from  the  marslies  by  the 
tumult,  soared  away  betwixt  the  encountering  ar- 
mies: "O!"  exclaimed  Angus,  "  that  I  had  here 
my  white  goss  hawk,  tliat  we  might  all  yoke  at 
once!" — Godscroft.    The  English,  breathless  and 
fatigued,  having  the  setting  sun  and  wind  full  in 
their  faces,  were  unable  to  withstand  tiie  resolute 
and  desperate  charge  of  the  Scottish  lances.     No 
sooner  had  they  begun  to  waver,  than  their  own 
allies,  the  assured  borderers,  who  had  been  wait- 
ing the  event,  threw  aside  their  red  crosses,  and, 
joining  their  countrymen,  made  a  most  merciless 
slaughter  among  the  English  fugitives,  tiie  pur- 
suers  calling    upon   each    other   to    "remember 
Broomhouse!" — Lesley,  p.  478.    In  the  battle  fell 
lord  Evers,  and  his   son,  together  with   sir  Brian 
Latoun,  and  800  Englishmen,  many  of  w  hom  were 
persons  of  rank.  A  thousand  prisoners  were  taken. 
Among  these  was  a  patriotic  alderman  of  London, 
Read  by  name,  who,   having  contumaciously  re- 
fused to  pay  his  portion  of  a  benevolence,  demand- 
ed from  the  city  by  Henry  VlII,  was  sent  by  roval 
authority  to  serve  against  the  Scots.     Tiiese,"  at 
settling  his  ransom,  he  found  still  more  exorbitant 
in  their  exactions  than  the  monarch. — Hecipath's 
Border  History,  p.  553.    Evers  was  much  regret- 
ted by  king  Henry,  who  swore  to  avenge  his  death 
upon  Angus;  against  whom  he  conceived   himself 
to  have  particular  grounds  of  resentment,  on  ac- 
count of  favours  received  by  the  earl  at  his  hands. 
The  answer  of  Angus  was  worthy  of  a  Douglas. 
"  Is  our  brother-in-law  offended,''*  said  he,  "  that 
I,  as  a  good  Scotsman,  have  avenged  my  ravaged 
country,  and  the  defaced  tombs  of  my  ancestors, 
upon  Kalph  Eversi"    They  were  better  men  than 
he,  and  I  was  bound   to  do  no  less — and  will  he 
take  my  life  for  that:*     Little  knows  king  Henry 
the  skirts  of  Kirnetable:t  I  can  keep  myself  there 
against  all  his  English  host." — Godscroft. 

Such  was  the  noted  battle  of  Ancram  Moor. 
The  spot  on  which  it  was  fought  is  called  Lyliard's 
Edge,  from  an  Amazonian  Scottish  woman  of  that 
name,  who  is  reported,  by  tradition,  to  ha\e  dis- 
tinguished herself  in  the  same  manner  as  squire 
Witherington.  The  old  people  point  out  her  mo- 
nument, now  broken  and  defaced.  The  inscription 
is  said  to  have  been  legible  within  this  century, 
and  to  have  run  thus: 


Fair  maiden  Lylliard  lies  under  this  stane. 
Little  was  her  stature,  but  great  was  her  fame; 
Upon  the  English  louns  she  laid  mony  thumps. 
And  when  her  legs  were  cutted  off,  she  fought  upon  her 
stumps. 

Vide  Jccouuf  of  the  Parish  of  Melrose. 
It  appears,  from  a  passage  in  Stowe,  that  an  an- 
cestor of  lord  Evers  held  also  a  grant  of  Scottish 
lands  from  an  English  monarch.  "  1  have  seen  " 
says  the  historian,  "under  the  broad  seale  of  the 
said  king  Edward  1,  a  manor  called  Kelnes,  iii 
the  countie  of  Ferfare,  in  Scotland,  and  neere  the 
furthest  part  of  the  same  nation  northward,  given 


•  Angus  had  married  tlie  widow  of  James  IV,  sister  to 
king  Henrv'  VIII. 

t  Kimetable,  now  called  Caimtable,  is  a  mountaJnoiM 
tract  at  the  head  of  Dougiasdale. 


406 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


to  Jolm  F;.nri'  and  liis  luirs,  ancestor  to  tlie  lord 
Eure  that  new  is,  and  loi-  liis  service  done  in  these  | 
partes,  with  market,  &<c.  (hitcd  at  Liinercost,  tiie 
'i(Uh  dav  of  Octiiher,  anno  rrijis,  ;U." — .S'/owe's 
.limiih,' [i.  '210.  This  y^v.iut,  like  that  of  Henry, 
must  have  been  dans!;er(>u3  to  the  receiver. 

2.  Tliere  is  a  nun  in  l)i yl)mq;li  bower.— P.  404. 

Theoircumstance  of  the  mm,  "who  never  saw 
the  daj,"  is  not  entirely  iniat;inary.  About  fifty 
Aears  "xs;n,  an  uid\)rlun;ite  fi-ninle  wanderer  took 
ii|i  her  resi-.lence  in  a  dark  vault,  among  the  ruins 
of  l)r\  l>urgh-al)l)ey,  which,  during  the  day,  she 
never  iiuilled.  \\  Jien  night  fell,  she  issued  from 
tiiis  i;iiser:ible  habitation,  and  went  to  the  house 
of  Mr.  lialiburton,  of  Newmaius,  the  editor's 
greal-j;raiulfather,  or  to  that  of  Mr.  Erskine,  of 
Sbiellk-ld,  two  gentlemen  of  the  neighbourhood. 
From  Uu'ir  charity  she  obtained  sucli  necessaries 
as  she  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  accept.  At 
twelve,  each  night,  she  lighle<l  her  candle,  and 
Teturnwl  to  her  vault;  assuring  her  friendly  neigh- 
^boiu's  that,  during  her  absence,  her  habitation  was 
arranged  by  a  spirit,  to  whom  she  gave  the  <m- 
.couth  name  of  Fatlips;  describing  him  as  a  little 
man,  wearing  lieavy  iron  shoes,  with  which  he 
trampled  the  clay  floor  of  the  vault,  to  dispel  the 
damps.  This  circumstance  caused  her  to  be  re- 
garile(L,  by  the  well-inl'ormed,  witli  compassion,  as 
derangetl  in  lier  understanding;  and  by  the  vulgar, 
■with  some  degree  of  terror.  The  cause  of  her 
adopting  this  extraordinary  mode  of  life  siie  would 
never  explain.  It  was,  however,  believed  to  have 
been  occasioned  by  a  vow,  that,  during  the  absence 
of  a  man,  to  whom  she  was  attached,  she  would 
never  look  upon  the  sun.  Her  lover  never  re- 
turned. He  fell  during  the  civil  war  of  1745-6, 
and  she  never  more  would  behold  the  light  of  da)'. 

The  vault,  or  rather  dungeon,  in  which  this  un- 
fortunate woman  lived  and  died,  passes  still  by 
the  name  of  the  supernatural  being,  with  which 
its  gloom  was  tenanted  by  her  disturbed  imagina- 
tion, and  few  of  the  neighbouring  peasants  dare 
enter  it  by  night. 

CADYOW  CASTLE. 
ahduksskd  to  the 

RIGHT  HOX.  LADY  ANNE  HAMILTON. 
Thk  ruins  of  Cadyow,  or  Cadzow  castle,  the  an- 
cient baronial  residence  of  the  family  of  Hamilton, 
are  situated  upon  the  precipitous  banks  of  the  ri- 
ver Evan,  al)aut  two  miles  above  its  junction  with 
the  Clyde.  It  was  dismantled  in  the  conclusion  of 
the  civil  wars,  during  the  reign  of  the  unfortunate 
Mary,  to  whose  cause  the  house  of  Hamilton  de- 
voted themselves  with  a  generous  zeal,  which  oc- 
casioned their  tem])orary  obscurity,  and,  very 
nearly,  their  total  ruin.  The  situation  of  the  ruins, 
embosomed  in  woo<i,  darkened  by  ivy  and  creep- 
ing shrubs,  and  overhanging  tlie  brawling  torrent, 
i«  romantic  in  the  highest  degree.  In  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  of  Cadyow  is  a  grove  of  immense 
oaks,  the  remains  of  the  Caledonian  forest,  which 
anciently  extended  through  the  south  of  Scotland, 
from  the  Eastern  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Some  of 
these  trees  measure  twenty-five  feet,  and  upwards, 
in  circumference,  and  the  state  of  decay,  in  which 
they  now  appear,  shows,  that  they  may  have  wit- 
nessed the  rites  of  the  druids.  The  whole  scenery 
is  included  in  the  magjiificent  and  extensive  park 
of  the  duke  of  Hamilton.  There  was  long  preserv- 
«-'<l  in  this  forest  the  breed  of  the  Scottish  wild  cat- 


tle, until  their  ferocity  occasioned  their  being  ex- 
tirpated, about  forty  years  ago.  Their  appearance 
was  beautiful,  being  milk  white,  with  black  muz- 
zles, hoi'ns,  and  hoofs.  The  bulls  are  described 
by  ancient  authors,  as  having  white  manes:  but 
those  of  latter  days  had  lost  that  peculiarity,  per- 
haps by  intermixture  with  tlie  tame  breed.* 

in  detailing  the  death  of  the  regent  Muri-av, 
which  is  made  the  sid)ject  of  the  following  ballad, 
it  would  be  injustice  to  my  reader  to  use  otiier 
words  than  those  of  Dr.  Itobertson,  whose  account 
of  that  memorable  event  forms  a  beautiful  piece  of 
historical  ]>aiiiting. 

"  Hamilton  of  Holhwellhaugh  was  the  person 
who  committed  this  l)arbarous  action.  He  had 
been  condemned  to  death  sooii  after  the  battle  of 
Langside,  as  we  have  already  related,  and  owed 
his  life  to  the  regent's  clemency.  Hut  part  of  his 
estate  had  been  bestowed  upon  one  of  the  regent's 
favourites, t  wJio  siezed  his  liouse,  and  turned  out 
his  wife,  naked,  in  a  cold  night,  into  the  open 
fields,  where,  before  next  morning,  she  became 
furiously  mad.  This  injury  made  a  deeper  im- 
pression on  him  than  the  benefit  he  had  received, 
and  from  tliat  moment  he  vowed  to  be  revenged  of 
the  regent.  Party  rage  strengthened  and  inflamed 
his  private  resentment.  His  kinsmen,  the  Hamil- 
tons,  applauded  the  enterprise.  The  maxims  of 
that  age  justified  the  most  desperate  course  he 
could  take  to  obtain  vengeance.  He  followed  the 
regent  for  some  time,  and  watched  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  strike  the  blow.  He  resolved,  at  last,  to 
wait  till  his  enemy  should  arrive  at  Linlithgow, 
through  which  he  was  to  pass,  in  his  way  from 
Stirling  to  Edinburgh.  He  took  his  stand  in  a 
wooden  gallery, :f  which  had  a  window  towards  the 
street;  spread  a  feather-bed  on  tlie  floor,  to  hinder 
the  noise  of  his  feet  from  being  heard;  hung  up  a 
black  cloth  behind  him,  that  his  shadow  might  not 
be  observed  from  without;  and,  after  all  this  pre- 
paration, calmly  expected  the  regent's  approach, 
who  had  lodged,  during  the  night,  in  a  house  not 
far  distant.  Some  indistinct  information  of  the 
danger  which  threatened  him  had  been  conveyed 
to  the  regent,  and  he  paid  so  much  regard  to  it, 
that  he  resolved  to  return  by  the  same  gate  through 
which  he  had  entered,  and  to  fetch  a  compass  round 
the  town.  But,  as  the  crowd  about  the  gate  was 
great,  and  he  himself  unacquainted  with  fear,  he 
proceeded  directly  along  the  street;  and  the  throng 
of  people  obliging  him  to  move  very  slowly,  gave 
the  assassin  time  to  take  so  true  an  aim,  that  he 
shot  him,  with  a  single  bullet,  through  the  lower 
part  of  his  belly,  and  killed  the  horse  of  a  gentle- 
man, who  rode  on  his  other  side.  His  followers 
instantly  endeavoured  to  break  into  the  house 
whence  the  blow  had  come;  but  they  found  the 
door  strongly  barricaded,  and,  before  it  could  be 
forced  open,  Hamilton  had  mounted  a  fleet  horse,§ 
which  stood  ready  for  him  at  a  back-passage,  and 


*  TIk y  wei-e  formerly  kej)t  in  the  park  at  Drumlanrig', 
and  are  still  to  be  seen  at  Cliillinijliam  uastlein  Northuni- 
btrl.Tnd.    For  their  nature  anil  ferocity,  see  Notes. 

+  This  was  sir  Jaiiies  Hallenilen,  lord-justiee-clerk, 
whose  shameful  and  inhuman  rapacity  occasioned  tlie 
catastrophe  in  the  text. — Sjiutlh-iVuoilr. 

X  I'liis  projVctinK  s,'allery  is  still  sliowii.  The  house  to 
which  it  w;i>  :itt;iched  was  the  property  of  the  archbishop 
of  St.  Andrews,  :i  natural  brother  of  the  duke  of  Chatel- 
lierault,  and  uncle  to  Kothwellliaiig:h.  This,  anion?  many 
other  circumstance  s,  seems  to  evince  the  aitl  which  Kotli- 
wellhaii^fh  receiveil  from  his  clan  in  ertVclinshis  purjiose. 

§  The  gift  of  lord  John  Haiuillon,  commeiidator  of  Ar- 
broath. 


BALLADS   AND  LVKICAL  PIECES. 


407 


was  got  tar  beyond  (heir  reacli.  The  regent  (lied 
the  same  night  ot"  his  wound." — Histovy  of  Scot- 
land, book  V. 

Bothwellhaugh  rode  straight  to  Hamilton,  where 
he  was  received  in  triumph;  for  the  ashes  of  the 
houses  in  Clydesdale,  which  had  been  burned  by 
Murray's  army,  were  yet  smoking;  and  party  pre- 
judice," the  habits  of  the  age,  and  the  enormity  of 
the  provocation,  seemed  to  his  kinsmen  to  justifj' 
his  deed.  After  a  short  abode  at  Hamilton,  this 
fierce  and  determined  man  left  Scotland,  and  serv- 
ed in  France,  under  the  patronage  of  the  family 
of  Guise,  to  whom  he  was  doubtless  recommended 
by  having  avenged  the  cause  of  their  niece,  queen 
Mary,  upon  her  ungrateful  brother.  De  Thou  has 
recorded,  that  an  attempt  was  made  to  engage  him 
to  assassinate  Gaspar  de  Coligni,  the  famous  ad- 
mii'al  of  France,  and  the  buckler  of  the  Huguenot 
cause.  But  the  character  of  Bothwellhaugh  was 
mistaken.  He  was  no  mercenary  trader  in  blood, 
and  rejected  the  offer  with  contempt  and  indigna- 
tion. He  had  no  authority,  he  said,  from  Scotland, 
to  commit  murders  in  France;  he  had  avenged  his 
own  just  quarrel,  but  he  would  neither,  for  price 
nor  prayer,  avenge  that  of  another  man. — Thuatius, 
cap.  46. 

The  regent's  death  happened  2.jd  January,  1569. 
It  is  applauded,  or  stigmatized,  by  contemporary 
historians,  according  to  their  religious  or  party 
prejudices.  The  triumph  of  Blackwood  is  un- 
bounded. He  not  only  extols  the  pious  feat  of 
Bothwellhaugh,  "  who,"  he  observes,  "  satisfied, 
with  a  single  ounce  of  lead,  him,  whose  sacrile- 
gious avarice  had  stripped  the  metropolitan  church 
of  St.  Andrews  of  its  covering;"  but  he  ascribes  it 
to  immediate  Divine  inspiration,  and  the  escape 
of  Hamilton  to  little  less  than  the  miraculous  in- 
terference of  the  Deity. — Jebb,  vol.  ii,  p.  263.  With 
equal  injustice  it  was,  by  others,  made  the  ground 
of  a  general  national  reflectinn;  for,  when  Mather 
urged  Berney  to  assassinate  Burleigh,  and  quoted 
the  examples  of  Pol  trot  and  Bothwellhaugh,  the 
other  conspirators  answered,  "  ttiat  neither  Pol- 
trot  nor  Hambleton  did  attempt  their  enterpryse, 
without  some  reason  or  consideration  to  lead  them 
to  it:  as  the  one,  by  hyre,  and  promise  of  prefer- 
ment or  rewarde;  the  other,  upon  desperate  mind 
of  revenge,  for  a  lytle  wrong  done  unto  him,  as 
the  report  goethe,  accordinge  to  the  vyle  trayterous 
disposysyon  oftlie  hoole  natyon  of  the  Scottes." — 
JMitrdhi's  State  Papers,  vol.  i,  p.  19r. 

Whev  princely  Hamilton's  abode 

Ennobled  Cadyow's  Gothic  towers, 
The  song  went  round,  the  goblet  flow'd, 

And  revel  sped  the  laughing  hours. 
Then,  thrilling  to  the  harp's  gay  sound, 

So  sweetly  rung  each  vaulted  wall. 
And  echoed  liglit  tl)e  dancer's  bound. 

As  mirth  and  music  cheered  the  hall. 
But  Cadyow's  towers,  in  ruins  laid. 

And  vaults,  by  ivy  mantled  o'er, 
Tiirill  to  the  music  of  the  shade, 

Or  echo  Evan's  hoarser  roar. 

Vet  still,  of  Cadyow's  faded  fame. 

You  bid  me  tell  a  minstrel  tale, 
And  lune  my  iiarp,  of  bolder  frame, 

On  tlie  wild  banks  of  Evandale. 

Fur  liiou,  from  scenes  of  courtly  pride. 
From  pleasure's  lirhter  scenes,  canst  turn, 

"  28 


To  draw  oblivion's  pall  aside. 

And  mark  the  long  forgotten  urn. 
Then,  noble  maid!  at  thy  command, 

Again  the  crumbled  halls  shall  rise; 
Lol  as  on  Evan's  banks  we  stand. 

The  past  returns,  the  present  flies. 
Wiiere  with  the  rock's  wood-covered  side 

U'ere  blended  late  the  ruins  green, 
Rise  turrets  in  fantastic  pride. 

And  feudal  banners  ilaunt  between. 
Where  the  rude  torrent's  brawling  course 

Was  shagged  with  thorn  and  tangling  sloe, 
The  ashler  buttress  braves  its  force. 

And  ramparts  frown  in  battled  row. 
'Tis  night:  the  shade  of  keep  and  spire 

Obscurely  dance  on  Evan's  stream. 
And  on  the  wave  the  warder's  fire 

Is  chequering  the  moonlight  beam. 
Fades  slow  their  light;  the  east  is  gray; 

The  weary  warder  leaves  his  tower; 
Steeds  snort;  uncoupled  stag-hounds  bay, 

And  meiry  hunters  (piit  the  bower. 
The  (h-awbridge  falls,  they  hurry  out; 

Clatlei-s  each  plank  and  swinging  chain, 
As,  dashing  o'er,  tiie  jovial  rout 

Urge  the  shy  steed,  and  slack  the  rein. 
Fii-st  of  his  troop,  the  chief  rode  on;' 

His  sliouting  merrj-men  throng  behind; 
The  steed  of  princely  Hamilion 

Was  fleeter  than  the  mountain  wind. 
From  the  thick  copse  the  roebucks  bound, 

The  startling  red  deer  scuds  the  plain; 
For  the  hoarse  bugle's  warrior  sound 
Has  roused  their  mountain  haunts  again. 

Through  the  huge  oaks  of  Evandale, 

Whose  limbs  a  thousand  years  have  worn, 

What  sullen  roar  comes  down  the  gale. 
And  drowns  the  hunter's  pealing  horn? 

Miglitiest  of  all  the  beasts  of  chase, 

That  roam  in  woody  Caledon, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race. 

The  mountain  bull  comes  thundering  on. 2 

Fierce,  on  the  hunters'  quivered  band, 
He  rolls  his  eye  of  swarthy  glow, 

Spurns,  with  black  hoof  and  horn,  the  sand, 
And  tosses  high  his  mane  of  snow. 

Aimed  well,  the  chieftain's  lance  has  flown; 

Struggling  in  blood  the  savage  lies; 
His  roar  is  sunk  in  hollow  groan! 

Sound,  merry  liuntsmen  !  sound  the  pryse!* 
'Tis  noon:  against  the  knotted  oak 

The  hunters  rest  the  idle  spear; 
Curls  through  the  trees  the  slender  smoke, 

Where  yeomen  dight  the  woodland  cheer. 
Proudly  the  chieftain  marked  his  clan, 

On  greenwood  lap  all  careless  tlirown, 
Yet  missed  his  eye  the  boldest  man. 

That  bore  the  name  of  Hamilton. 
'•  Why  fills  not  Bothwellhaugh  his  place, 

Still  wont  our  weal  and  wo  to  sh.ire? 
Why  comes  he  not  our  sport  to  grace? 

Wliy  shares  he  not  our  hunter's  fare'" 
Stern  Claud  replied,  with  darkening  face, 

(Gray  Pasley's  haughty  lord  was  ne,P 


•  Pryse—Tiie  note  blown  at  the  death  of  the  gajne. 


408 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


*'  At  merry  least,  or  buxom  chase, 

No  more  tlie  warrior  shah  thou  see. 
««  Few  suns  h:\ve  set,  since  Wooclhouselee-* 

Saw  Bothwellliaugh's  bri,^ht  goblets  team, 
When  to  his  hearths,  in  social  glee, 

The  war-worn  soldier  turned  hiin  home. 
"  Tliere,  wan  from  her  maternal  throes. 

His  Margaret,  beautitul  and  mild, 
Sate  in  lier  bower,  a  pallid  rose, 

And  peaceful  nursed  her  new-born  child. 

"  O  change  accurst!  past  are  those  days; 

False  Murray's  ruthless  spoilers  came, 
And,  for  the  hearth's  domestic  blaze, 

Ascends  destruction's  volumed  flame. 
•'  What  sheeted  phantom  wanders  wild. 

Where  mountain  Eske  thro'  woodland  flows, 
Her  arms  enfold  a  sliadowy  child ! 

Oh  is  it  she,  tiie  pallid  rose? 
"  The  wildered  traveller  sees  her  glide. 

And  hears  her  feeble  voice  with  awe; 
'  Revenge,'  she  cries,  '  on  Murray's  pride! 

And  wo  for  injured  Bothwellhaugh!'  " 

He  ceased;  and  cries  of  rage  and  grief 
Burst  mingling  from  the  kindred  band. 

And  half  arose  tiie  kindling  chief. 

And  half  unsheatheil  his  Arran  brand. 

But  who,  o'er  bush,  o'er  stream,  and  rock. 

Rides  headlong,  with  resistless  speed, 
\Vhose  bloody  ]iouiard's  frantic  stroke 

Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed  ?^ 
Whose  cheek  is  pale,  whose  eye-balls  glare. 

As  one  some  visioned  sight  that  saw. 
Whose  hands  are  bloody,  loose  his  hair' 

— 'Tis  he!  'tis  he!  'tis  Bothwellhaugh! 

From  gory  selle,*  and  reeling  steed, 

Sprung'the  fierce  horseman  with  a  bound, 
And,  reeking  from  the  recent  deed, 

He  dashed  his  carbine  on  the  ground. 
Sternly  he  spoke:  "  'Tis  sweet  to  hear, 

In  good  green-wood,  the  bugle  blown; 
But  sweeter  to  revenge's  ear, 

To  drink  a  tyrant's  dying  groan. 
««  Your  slaughtered  quarry  proudly  trod, 

At  dawning  morn,  o'er  dale  and  down, 
But  prouder  base-born  Murray  rode 

Through  old  Linlitligow's  crowded  town. 

"  From  the  wild  border's  humbled  side, 

In  haughty  triumph  marched  he, 6 
While  Knox  relaxed  his  bigot  pride, 

And  smiled,  the  traitorous  pomp  to  see. 
«'  But  can  stern  Power,  with  all  his  vaunt, 

Or  Pomp,  with  all  her  courtly  glare. 
The  settled  heart  of  Vengeance  daunt. 

Or  change  the  purpose  of  Despair? 
"With  hackbut  bent,t  my  secret  stand,' 

Dark  as  the  purposed  deed,  I  chose. 
And  marked,  where,  mingling  in  his  band, 

Trooped  Scottish  pikes  and  English  bows. 

"  Dark  Morton,  girt  with  many  a  spear,^ 
Murder's  foul  minion,  led  the  van; 

And  clashed  their  broadswords  in  the  rear, 
The  wild  Macfarlane's  plaided  clan.9 


•  ^e-Z/e— Saddle.   A  word  used  by  Spencer,  and  other 
uncitnt  authors. 
+  Hackbut  bent—Oun  cocked. 


•'  Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead  vvere  nigh, 

Obsequious  at  their  regent's  rein,'" 
And  haggard  Lindsay's  iron  eye. 

That  saw  fair  M-mj  weep  in  vain." 
"  Mid  pennoncd  spears,  a  steely  grove, 

Proud  Murray's  plumage  floated  high; 
Scarce  could  his  trampling  charger  move, 

So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh. '* 
"  From  the  raised  vizor's  shade,  his  eye, 

Dark  rolling,  glanced  the  ranks  along, 
And  his  steel  truncheon,  waved  on  high, 

Seemed  marshalling  the  iron  throng. 

'♦  But  yet  his  saddened  brow  confessed 

A  passing  shade  of  doubt  and  awe; 
Some  fiend  was  whispering  in  his  breast, 

'  Beware  of  injured  Bothwellhaugh!' 
"  The  death-shot  parts,  the  charger  springs. 

Wild  rises  tunuiit's  startling  roar! 
And  Murray's  plumy  helmet  rings, — 

Rings  on  the  grounil,  to  rise  no  more. 

"  What  joy  the  raptured  youth  can  feel, 
To  hear  her  love  the  loved  one  tell. 

Or,  he  who  broaches  on  his  steel 
The  wolf,  by  whom  liis  infant  fell! 

"  But  dearer  to  my  injured  eye, 

To  see  in  dust  proud  Murray  roll; 
And  mine  was  ten  times  trebled  joy. 

To  hear  him  groan  his  felon  soul. 
"  My  Margaret's  spectre  glided  near; 

With  pride  her  bleeding  victim  saw; 
And  shrieked  in  his  death-deafened  ear, 

'  Remember  injured  Bothwellhaugh!' 

"  Tiien  speed  thee,  noble  Ciiatelrault! 

Spread  to  the  wind  thy  bannered  tree! 
Each  warrior  bend  his  Clydesdale  bow ! 

Murray  is  fallen,  and  Scotland  free!" 

Vaults  every  warrior  to  his  steed; 

Loud  bugles  join  their  wild  acclaim, — 
*'  Murray  is  fallen  and  Scotland  freed! 

Couch,  Arran !  couch  thy  spear  of  flame ! " 

But,  seel  the  minstrel  vision  fails. 

The  glimmering  spears  are  seen  no  more; 

The  shouts  of  war  die  on  the  gales, 
Or  sink  in  Evan's  lonely  roar. 

For  the  loud  bugle,  pealing  high. 

The  blackbird  whistles  down  the  vale, 

And  sunk  in  ivied  ruins  lie 

The  bannered  towers  of  Evandale. 

For  chiefs  intent  on  bloody  deed, 

And  Vengeance  shouting  o'er  the  slain, 

Lo!  high-born  Beauty  rules  the  steed. 
Or  graceful  guides  the  silken  rein. 

And  long  may  Peace  and  Pleasure  own 
The  maids,  who  list  the  minstrel's  tale; 

Nor  e'er  a  ruder  guest  be  known 
On  the  fair  banks  of  Evandale ! 

NOTES. 
1.  First  of  his  troop,  the  chief  rode  on.— P.  407. 
The  head  of  the  family  of  Hamilton,  at  this  pe- 
riod, was  James,  earl  of  Arran,  duke  of  Chatelhe- 
vault  in  France,  and  first  peer  of  the  Scottish  realm. 
In  1569,  he  was  appointed  by  queen  Mary,  her 
lieutenant-general  in  Scotland,  under  the  singular 
title  of  her  adopted  father. 
2.  The  mountain  bull  comes  thundering  on.— P.  407. 
«'  In  Caledonia  olim  frequens  erat  sylvestris  qui- 


BALLADS   AND  LYRICAL    PIECES 


409 


dam  bos,  nunc  vero  rarior,  qui  colore  candidissi- 
mo,  jubam  densam  et  deraissam  instar  leonis  ges- 
tat,  truculentus  ac  ferus,  ab  humano  genere  abhor- 
rens,  ut  quoecunque  homines  vel  manibus  contrec- 
taverint,  vel  lialitu  perflaverint,  ab  iis  multos  post 
dies  omnino  absiinuerinl.  Ad  hoc  tanta  audacia 
huic  bovi  inditaerat,  ut  non  solum  irrilalusequites 
furenter  prosterneret,  sed  ne  tantiilum  lacessitus 
omnes  promiscue  homines  cornibus,  ac  ungulis  pe- 
tereti  ac  canum,  qui  apud  nos  ferocissimi  sunt,  im- 
petus plane  contemneret.  Ejus  carnes  cariilagino- 
SK  sed  sapuris  suavissimi.  Erat  is  olim  per  illam 
vastissimam  Caledonia  sylvam  frequens,  sed  hu- 
mana  ingluvie  jam  assumptus  tribus  tantum  locis 
est  reliquus,  Siiivilingii,  Cumbernaldise,  et  Kin- 
carnise." — Lesizui,  Scotix  Descriptio,  p.  13. 

3.  Stem  Claud  replied,  with  darkening  face 

(Gray  Pasley's  haughty  loi-d  was  he.) — P.  407. 

Lord  Claud  Hamilton,  second  son  of  the  duke 
ot  Chatelherault,  and  commendator  of  the  abbe>' 
of  Paisley,  acted  a  distinguished  part  during  the 
troubles  of  queen  Mary's  reign,  and  remained  un- 
alterably attached  to  the  cause  of  that  unfortunate 
princess.  He  led  the  van  of  her  army  at  the  fatal 
\)attle  of  Langside,  and  was  one  of  the  commanders 
at  the  Raid  of  Stirling,  which  had  so  nearly  given 
complete  success  to  the  queen's  faction.  He  was 
ancestor  to  tlie  present  marquis  of  Abercorn. 

4.  Few  suns  have  set,  since  Woodhouselee. — P.  408. 
This  barony,  stretching  along  the  banks  of  the 

Esk,  near  Auchendinny,  belonged  to  Bothwell- 
liaugh,  in  right  of  his  w  ite.  The  ruins  of  tlie  man- 
sion, from  whence  she  was  expelled  in  the  brutal 
manner  which  occasioned  her  death,  are  still  to 
be  seen  in  a  hollow  glen  beside  the  river.  Popu- 
lar report  tenants  them  with  the  restless  gliost 
of  the  lady  Bothwellhaugh;  whom,  however,  it 
confounds  with  lady  Anne  Bothwell,  whose  La- 
ment is  so  popular.  This  spectre  is  so  tenacious 
of  her  rights,  that,  a  part  of  the  stones  of  the  an- 
cient edifice  having  been  employed  in  building  or 
repairing  the  present  Woodhouselee,  she  has 
deemed  it  a  part  of  her  privilege  to  haunt  that 
house  also;  and,  even  of  vei-y  late  years,  has  ex- 
cited considerable  disturbance  and  terror  among 
the  domestics.  This  is  a  more  remarkable  vindi- 
cation of  tlie  riglUs  of  ghosts,  as  the  present  Wood- 
houselee, which  gives  Ids  title  to  the  honourable 
Alexander  Eraser  Tytler,  a  senator  of  the  college 
of  justice,  is  situated  on  the  slope  of  the  Pentland 
hills,  distant  at  least  four  miles  from  her  proper 
abode.  She  always  appears  in  white,  and  with  a 
child  in  her  arms. 

5.  Whose  bloody  poniard's  fi-antic  stroke, 

Drives  to  the  leap  lijs  jaded  steed. — P.  403. 

Birrell  informs  us,  that  Both  well  hangh,  being 
closely  pursued,  "  after  that  spur  and  wand  had 
failed  him,  he  drew  forth  his  dagger,  and  strocke 
his  horse  behind,  whilk  caused  the  horse  to  leap 
a  verey  brode  stank,  [i.  e.  ditch,)  by  whilk  means 
he  escapit,  and  gat  away  from  all  the  rest  of  the 
horses." — Birrel's  Diary,  p.  18. 

6.  From  the  wild  border's  humbled  side. 

In  haughty  iriuniph  marched  he. — P.  403. 

Murray's  death  took  place  shortly  after  an  ex- 
pedition to  the  borders;  which  is  thus  commetno- 
raled  by  the  author  of  his  elegy. 

"  So  ha^-in^  stablischt  all  thing  in  this  sort. 

To  Liddisdail!  again  he  did  resort. 

Throw  Ewisdail,  Eskdail,  and  all  the  daills  rode  he. 

And  also  lay  three  nights  in  Cannabie, 


Whair  na  prince  lay  ihir  humlrtd  yeiris  before, 
Nae  thief  durst  stir,  they  did  him  feir  so  sair; 
And,  tliat  they  suld  na  inair  ihair  ihift  alledge. 
Threescore  and  twclf  he  biotlit  of  tliame  in  pledge. 
Syne  wardit  thame,  whilk  made  the  rest  keep  orduur. 
Than  myeht  the  rasch-bus  keep  ky  on  the  bordour. 
Scottish  Foeins,  loth  ccnturj",  p.  232. 
7.  With  hackbut  bent,  my  secret  stand. — P.  408. 
The  carabine,  with  which  the  regent  was  shot, 
is  preserved  at  Hamilton  palace.  It  is  a  brass  piece, 
of  a  middling  length,  very  small  in  the  bore,  and, 
what  is  rather  extraordinary,  appears  to  have  been 
rifled  or  indented  in  the  barrel.  It  had  a  matchlock, 
for  which  a  modern  firelock  has  been  injudiciously 
substituted. 

8.  Dark  Morton,  girt  with  many  a  spear. — V.  408. 

Of  this  noted  person  it  is  enough  to  say,  that  he 
was  active  in  the  murder  of  David  Rizzio,  and  at 
least  privy  to  that  of  Darnley. 

0.  The  wild  Macfarlane's  plaided  clan. — P.  403. 

This  clan  of  Lennox  higtilanders  were  attached  to 
theregentMurray.  Holinshead, speaking  of thebat- 
tle  of  Langside,  says,  "  In  this  batayle  the  vali- 
ance  of  an  hieland  gentleman,  named  Macfarlane, 
stood  tlie  regent's  part  in  great  steede;  for,  in  the 
hottest  bi-unte  of  the  figlile,  he  came  up  with  two 
hundred  of  his  friendes  and  countrymen,  and  so 
mantuUy  gave  in  upon  the  flankes  of  the  queene's 
people,  that  he  was  a  great  cause  of  the  disorder- 
ing of  them.  This  Macfarlane  had  been  lately  be- 
fore, as  1  have  heard,  condemned  to  die,  for  some 
outrage  hy  him  committed,  and  obtayning  par- 
don through  suyt  of  the  countess  of  Murray,  he 
recompensed  that  clemencie  by  this  piece  of  ser- 
vice now  at  this  batayle."  Calderwood's  account 
is  less  favourable  to  the  Macfarlanes.  He  states, 
that  "  ^laclkrlane,  with  his  highlandmen,  fled 
from  the  wing  where  they  were  set.  The  lord 
Lindesay,  who  stood  nearest  to  them  in  the  regent's 
battle,  said,  '  let  them  go!  1  shall  fill  their  places 
better:'  and  so  stepping  forward  with  a  company 
of  fresh  men,  charged  the  enemy,  whose  spears 
were  now  spent,  with  long  weapons,  so  that  they 
were  driven  back  by  force,  being  before  almost 
overthrown  by  the  avant  guard  and  harquebusiers, 
and  so  were  turned  to  flight."  Calderwood's  JMS. 
ap7id  Keith,  page  480.  .Melville  mentions  the 
flight  of  the  vanguard,  but  states  it  to  have  been 
commanded  by  Morton,  and  composed  chiefly  of 
commoners  of  the  barony  of  Renfrew. 

10.  Glencaim  and  stout  Parkhead  were  nigh. 

Obsequious  at  their  regent's  rein. — P.  403. 

The  earl  of  Glencairn  was  a  steady  adherent  of 
the  regent.  George  Douglas,  of  Parkhead,  was  a  na- 
tural brother  of  the  earl  of  .Morton:  his  horse  was 
killed  by  the  same  bail  by  which  Murray  fell. 
U.  And  haggard  Lindsay's  iron  eye, 

that  saw  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain. — P.  403. 

Lord  Lindesay,  of  the  Byres,  was  tlie  most  fe- 
rocious and  brutal  of  the  regent's  faction;  and,  as 
such,  was  employed  to  extort  Mary's  signature  to 
the  deed  of  resign.ition,  presented  to  her  in  Loch- 
leven  castle.  He  dischaiged  his  commission  with 
the  most  savage  rigour;  and  it  is  even  said,  that 
when  the  weeping  captive,  in  the  act  of  signing, 
averted  her  eyes  from  the  fatal  deed,  he  pinched 
her  arm  with  the  grasii  of  his  iron  glove. 

12.  Scarce  could  his  trauipling  charger  move. 

So  close  the  millions  crow  ded  njgh. — P.  408. 
Richard  Baniiatyne  mentions  in  his  journal,  that 
John  Knox  repeatedly  warned  Mun-ay  to  avoid 
Linlithgow. 


410 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Not  onl)'  hn<\  tlie  regent  notice  of  the  intended 
attempt  upon  liis  life,  but  even  of  the  very  house 
from  which  it  wus  ihrcatuned. 

With  that  inraluntioii,  at  which  men  wonder  af- 
ter such  events  have  happened,  he  deemed  it  would 
be  a  sufticieiit  precaution  to  ride  briskly  past  the 
dangerous  spot.  Hut  even  tliis  was  prevented  by 
the  crowd:  so  that  Bothwellhaugh  had  time  to 
take  a  deliberate  aim. — Spottisivoocle,  p.  233.  Jiu- 
chanan. 


THE  GRAY  BROTHER. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

The  imperfect  state  of  this  ballad,  which  was 
written  sevei-al  years  ago,  is  not  a  circumstance 
affected  for  the  purpose  of  giving  it  that  peculiar 
interest,  which  is  often  found  to  arise  from  uiigra- 
tified  curiosity.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  the  au- 
thor's intention  to  have  completed  the  tale,  if  he 
had  found  himself  able  to  succeed  to  his  own  satis- 
faction. Yielding  to  the  opinion  of  persons,  whose 
judgment,  if  not  biassed  by  the  partiality  of  friend- 
ship, is  entitled  to  deference,  the  author  has  pre- 
ferred inserting  these  verses,  as  a  fragment,  to  his 
intention  of  entirely  suppressing  them. 

Tiie  tradition,  upon  which  the  tale  is  founded, 
regards  a  house,  upon  the  barony  of  Gilmerton, 
nearLasswa(le,in  Mid-Lothian.  Thisbuilding,  now 
called  Gilmerton-Grange,  was  originally  named 
Burndale,  fiom  the  following  tragic  adventure. 
The  barony  of  Gilmerton  belonged,  of  yore,  to  a 
gentleman,  named  Heron,  who  had  one  beautiful 
daughter.  This  young  lady  was  seduced  by  the 
abbot  of  Newbottle,  a  richly  endowed  abbey,  upon 
the  banks  of  the  South  Esk,  now  a  seat  of  the 
marquis  of  Lolliian.  Heron  came  to  the  knowledge 
cf  this  circumstance,  and  learned,  also,  that  the 
lovers  carried  on  their  guilty  intercourse  by  the 
connivance  of  the  lady's  nurse,  who  lived  at  this 
house,  of  Gilmerton-Grange,  or  Burndale.  He  form- 
ed a  resolution  of  bloody  vengeance,  undeterred 
by  the  supposed  sanctity  of  the  clerical  character, 
or  by  the  stronger  claims  of  natural  affection. 
Choosing,  therefore,  a  dark  and  windy  night,  when 
the  objects  of  his  vengeance  wei-e  engaged  in  a 
stolen  interview,  he  set  fire  to  a  stack  of  dried 
thorns,  and  other  combustibles,  which  he  had 
caused  to  be  piled  against  the  house,  and  reduced 
to  a  pile  of  glowing  ashes  the  dwelling,  with  all 
its  inmates.* 

The  scene,  with  which  the  ballad  opens,  was 
suggested  by  the  following  curious  passage,  ex- 
tracted from  the  life  of  Alexander  Peden,  one  of 
the  wandering  and  persecuted  teachers  of  the  sect 
of  Cameronians,  during  the  reign  of  Charles  U, 
and  his  successor,  James.  This  person  was  sup- 
posed by  his  followers,  and,  perhaps,  really  be- 
lieved himself,  to  be  possessed  of  supernatural 
gifts;  for  the  wild  scenes,  which  they  frequented, 
and  the  constant  dangers,  which  were  incurred 
through  their  proscription,  deepened  upon  their 
minds  the  gloom  of  superstition,  so  general  in  that 
age. 

"  About  the  same  time  he  (Peden)  came  to  An 
drew  Normand's  house,  in  the  parish  of  AUoway, 
in  the  shire  of  Ayr,  being  to  preach  at  night  in 


'  This  tradition  was  comnmnicated  to  me  by  John 
Clerk,  tsq.  of  Eldin,  authorof  an  Essay  upon  Nnval  Tnc- 
tict;  who  will  be  remembei-ed  by  posterity,  as  having 
taught  the  genius  of  Britain  to  eonctntiatp  her  thunders, 
end  to  lanch  them  againsi  her  foes  with  an  unerring  aim, 


his  barn.  After  he  came  in,  he  halted  a  little, 
leaning  upon  a  chair-back,  with  his  face  covered; 
when  he  lifted  up  his  head,  he  said,  'There  are 
in  this  house  that  1  have  not  one  word  of  salvation 
unto;'  he  halted  a  little  again,  saying,  '  This  is 
strange,  that  the  devil  will  not  go  out,  that  we 
may  begin  our  work!'  Then  there  was  a  woman 
went  out,  ill  looked  upon  almost  all  her  life,  and 
to  her  dying  hour,  for  a  witch,  with  many  pre- 
sumptions of  the  same.  It  escaped  me,  in  the 
former  passages,  that  John  Muirhead  (whom  I 
have  often  mentioned)  told  me,  that  when  he, 
came  from  Ireland  to  Galloway,  he  was  at  family 
worship,  and  giving  some  notes  upon  the  Scripture, 
when  a  very  ill  looking  man  came,  and  sat  down 
witiiin  the  door,  at  the  back  of  the  halhm:  (par- 
tition of  the  cottage:)  immediately  he  halted,  and 
said,  '  There  is  some  unhappy  body  just  now  come 
into  this  house.  I  charge  him  to  go  out,  and  not 
stop  my  mouth. '  The  person  went  out,  and  he 
insisted,  (went  on,)  yet  he  saw  him  neither  come 
in  nor  go  out. " — The  Life  and  Prophecies  of  Mr. 
Alexander  Peden,  late  Minister  of  the  Gospel  ai 
JVev}  Glenluce,  in  Gallo-way,  part  ii,  section  26. 

The  pope  he  was  saying  the  high,  high  mass. 

All  on  saint  Peter's  day, 
With  the  power  to  him  given,  by  the  saints  in 
heaven. 

To  wash  men's  sins  away. 

The  pope  he  was  saying  the  blessed  mass, 

And  the  people  kneeled  aroimd; 
And  from  each  man's  soul  his  sins  did  pass, 

As  he  kissed  the  holy  ground. 

And  all,  among  the  crowded  throng, 

Was  still,  both  limb  and  tongue. 
While  through  vaulted  roof,  and  aisles  aloof, 

The  holy  accents  rung. 

At  the  holiest  word  he  quivered  for  fear, 

And  faltered  in  the  sound; 
And,  when  he  would  the  chalice  rear, 

He  dropped  it  on  the  ground. 
"The  breath  of  one,  of  evil  deed. 

Pollutes  our  sacred  day; 
He  has  no  portion  in  our  creed, 

No  part  in  what  I  say. 

"A  being,  whom  no  blessed  word 

To  ghostly  peace  can  bring; 
A  wretch,  at  whose  approach  abhorred, 

Recoils  each  holy  thing. 

"  Up,  up,  unhappy!  haste,  arise! 

My  adjuration  fear! 
I  charge  thee  not  to  stop  my  voice, 

Nor  longer  tarry  here!" 

Amid  them  all  a  pilgrim  kneeled, 

In  gown  of  sackcloth  gray; 
Far  journeying  from  his  native  field, 

He  first  saw  Rome  that  day. 

for  forty  days  and  nights  so  drear, 

I  ween,  he  had  not  spoke. 
And,  save  with  bread  and  water  clear. 

His  fast  lie  ne'er  had  broke. 
Amid  the  penitential  flock, 

Seemed  none  more  bent  to  pray; 
But,  when  the  holy  father  spoke, 

He  rose,  and  went  his  way. 

Again  unto  his  native  land, 
His  weary  course  he  drew, 


BALLADS   AND  LYRICAL    PIECES. 


411 


To  Lothian's  fair  and  fertile  strand, 
And  Pentland's  mountains  blue. 

His  unblest  feet  his  native  seat, 

Mid  Eske's  fair  woods,  regain; 
Through  woods  more  fair  fi6  stream  more  sweet 

Rolls  to  the  eastern  main. 

And  lords  to  meet  the  pilgrim  came. 

And  vassals  bent  tiie  knee; 
For  all  'mid  Scotland's  chiefs  of  fame, 

Was  none  more  famed  than  he. 

And  boldly  for  his  countiy  still, 

In  battle  he  had  stood, 
A_v,  even  when,  on  the  banks  of  Till, 

Her  noblest  poured  their  blood. 

Sweet  are  the  paths,  O,  passing  sweet! 

By  Eske's  fair  streams  that  run. 
O'er  airy  steep,  through  copse-wood  deep. 

Impervious  to  the  sun. 

There  the  rapt  poet's  step  may  rove. 

And  yield  the  muse  the  day; 
There  Beauty,  led  by  timid  Love, 

May  shun  the  tell-tale  ray: 

From  that  fair  dome,  where  suit  is  paid 

By  blast  of  bugle  free,i 
To  Auchendinny's  hazel  glade,^ 

And  haunted  SV'oodhouselee.3 

Who  knows  not  Melville's  beechy  grove,* 

And  Roslin's  rocky  glen, 5 
Dalkeith,  which  all  the  virtues  love,^ 

And  classic  Hawthornden  i*7 

Yet  never  a  path,  from  day  to  day, 

The  pilgrim's  footsteps  range. 
Save  but  the  solitar}'  way 

To  Burndale's  ruined  Grange. 
A  woful  place  was  that,  I  ween. 

As  sorrow  could  desire; 
For,  nodding  to  the  tall  was  each  crumbling  wall. 

And  the  roof  was  scathed  with  fire. 
It  fell  upon  a  summer's  eve. 

While,  on  Cariiethy's  head. 
The  last  faint  gleams  of  tile  sun's  low  beams 

Had  streaked  the  gray  with  red; 
And  the  convent  bell  did  vespers  tell, 

Newbottle's  oaks  among, 
And  mingled  with  the  solemn  knell 

Our  ladve's  evenins:  son"; 


The  heavy  knell,  the  choir's  faint  swell. 

Came  slowly  down  the  wind, 
And  on  the  pilgrim's  ear  they  fell. 

As  his  wonted  path  he  did  find. 

Deep  sunk  in  thought,  I  ween,  he  was. 

Nor  ever  raised  his  eye. 
Until  he  came  to  that  dreary  place, 

Which  did  all  in  ruins  lie. 

He  gazed  on  the  wall,  so  scathed  with  fire. 

With  many  a  bitter  groan; 
And  there  was  aware  of  a  gray  friar, 

Resting  him  on  a  stone. 

"  Now,  Christ  thee  save!"  said  the  Gray  Brother- 
"  Some  pilgrim  thou  seemest  to  be." 

But  in  soi'e  amaze  did  lord  Albert  "-aze 
Nor  answer  again  made  he. 

"  O  come  ye  from  east,  or  come  ye  from  west 

Or  bring  relics  from  over  the  sea. 
Or  come  ye  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the  divine 

Or  saint  John  of  Beverley"'  ' 


"I  come  not  from  the  shrine  of  saint  James  the 
divine. 
Nor  bring  relics  from  over  the  sea; 
1  bring  but  a  curse  from  our  father,  the  pope. 

Which  for  ever  will  cling  to  me." 
"Now,  woful  pilgrim,  say  not  so! 

But  kneel  thee  down  by  me, 
And  shrive  thee  so  clean  of  ihv  deadly  sin, 

Tiiat  absolved  thou  may'st  be." 
"  And  who  art  thou,  thou  gray  brother. 

That  1  should  shrive  to  thee. 
When  he,  to  whom  are  given  the  keys  of  earth 
and  heaven. 
Has  no  power  to  pardon  me?" 

"01  am  sent  from  a  distant  clime. 

Five  thousand  miles  awav, 
And  all  to  absolve  a  foul,  foul  crime. 

Done  here  'twixt  night  and  day." 
The  pilgrim  kneeled  him  on  the  sand. 

And  thus  began  his  save — 
When  on  his  neck  an  ice-cold  hand 

Did  that  Gray  Brother  laye. 


NOTES. 

I.  From  that  fair  dome,  where  suit  is  paid 
By  blast  of  bugle  free.— P.  411. 
The  barony  of  Pennvcuik,  the  property  of  sir 
George  Clerk,  hart.,  is'l.eld  by  a  singular  tenure; 
the  proprietor  being  bound  to  sit  upon  a  large 
rocky  fragment,  called  the   Buckstane,  and  wind 
three  blasts  of  a  horn,  when  the  king  shall  come 
to  nunt  on  the  Borough   Muir,  near  Edinburgh. 
Hence,  the   family  have   adojited,   as  their  crest, 
a  demi-forester  proper,  winding  a  horn,  with  the 
motto.  Free  for  a  Blmt.    The  beautiful  mansion- 
house  of  Pennvcuik  is  much  achiiired,  both  on  ac- 
count ot  the  architecture  and  surrounding  scenery. 
2.  To  Auehendiniij"3  hazel  ghule.— P.  411. 
Auchendinny,  situated   upon   the  Eske,   below 
Pennvcuik,  the  present  residence  of  the  ingenious 
H.  Mackenzie,  esq.  aulhor  of  T/w  .Man  of  Feeling , 

3.  And  haunted  Woodhouselee. — P.  <''. 
For  the  traditions  connected  with  this  ruinous 
mansion,  see  Notes  to  the  ballad  of  Cuiluo-.a  Cas- 
tle, p.  409. 
I      4.  Who  knows  not  Melville's  beeehy  gi-ove. — P.  411. 

Melville  castle,  the  seat  of  the  honourable  Ro- 
bert Dundas,  member  for  the  county  of  Mid-Lo- 
thian, is  delightfully  situated  upon  the  Eske,  near 
Lasswade.  It  gives  the  title  of  viscount  to  his  fa- 
ther, lord  Melville. 

5.  And  Roslin's  rocky  g-len. — P.  411. 
The  ruins  of  Roslin  castle,  the  baronial  residence 
of  the  ancient  family  of  St.  Clair.  The  Gothic 
chapel,  which  is  still  in  beautiful  preservation, 
with  the  romantic  and  woody  dell,  in  which  they 
are  situated,  belong  to  the  right  honourable  the 
earl  of  Rosslyn,  the  representative  of  the  former 
lords  of  Roslin. 

6.  Dalkeith,  which  all  tlie  virtues  love. — P.  411. 
The  village  and  castle  of  Dalkeith  belonged,  of 
old,  to  the  famous  earl  of  Morton,  but  is  now  the 
residence  of  the  noble  family  of  Buccleuch.  The 
park  extends  along  tiie  Eske,' which  is  there  joined 
by  its  sister  stream  of  the  same  name. 

7.  And  classic  Hawthoniden. — P.  411. 

Hawthornden,  the  residence  of  the  poet  Drum- 


412 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


mond.  A  house  of  more  modern  date  is  eiulosed,  1 
as  it  were,  bv  tlie  ruins  of  llie  :iiicieiil  casUc,  and  j 
overhangs  a  iieincndoii'.  pivcipice,  upon  the  banks  ; 
of  tlie  liske,  perforated  bv  winding  caves,  which, 
in  former  times, formed  u'rffuge  to  tlie  oppressed 
patriots  of  Scotland.  Here  Drunimond  received 
lieu  Jonson,  who  J!iurnc>ed  from  London,  on  foot, 
in  order  to  visit  him.  lUv  beauty  of  this  striking 
scene  has  been  much  injured,  of  late  years,  by  the 
indiscriminate  use  of  the  axe.  The  traveller  now 
looks  in  vain  for  the  leafy  bovver, 

"  Wlific  Jonson  sate  in  Di-ummond's  social  shade." 
Upon  the  whole,  tracing  the  Eske  from  its 
source,  till  it  joins  the  sea,  at  Musselburgh,  no 
stream  in  Scotland  can  boast  such  a  varied  succes- 
sion of  the  most  interesting  objects,  as  well  as  of 
the  most  romantic  and  beautiful  scenery. 

THE  FIRE  KING. 

"  The  biessing;s  of  the  evil  genii,  which  are  curses,  -were 
upon  him."  Eastern  Tale. 

This  ballad  was  written  at  the  request  of  Mr, 
Lewis,  to  be  inserted  in  his  Tales  of  Wonder.  It 
is  the  third  in  a  series  of  four  ballads,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Elementary  Spirits.  The  story  is,  however, 
partly  historical;  for  it  is  recorded,  that,  during 
the  struggles  of  the  Latin  kingdom  of  Jerusalem, 
a  knight  templar,  called  saint  Alban,  deserted  to 
the  Saracens,  and  defeated  the  christians  in  many 
combats,  till  he  was  finally  routed  and  slain,  in  a 
conflict  with  king  lialdwin,  under  the  walls  of  Je- 
rusalem. 

Bold  knights  and  fair  dames,  to  my  harp  give  an  ear, 
Of  love,  and  of  war,  and  of  wonder  to  hear; 
And  you  haply  may  sigh,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
At  the  talc  of  count  Albert,  and  fair  Rosalie. 
O  see  you  that  castle,  so  strong  and  so  high  ? 
And  see  you  that  lady,  the  tear  in  her  eye' 
And  see  you  that  palmer  from  Palestine's  land, 
The  shell  on  his  hat,  and  the  staff  in  his  hand? 
"  Now  palmer,  gray  palmer,  O  tell  unto  me, 
What  newsbringyou  home  from  the  HolyCountrie  ? 
And  how  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  strand? 
And  how  fare  our  nobles,  the  flovier  of  the  land?" 
'«  O  well  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  wave. 
For  Gilead,  and  Xablous,  and  Ramah  we  have; 
And  well  fare  our  nobles  by  Mount  Lebanon, 
For  the  heathen  have  lost,  and  the  christians  have 

won." 
A  fair  chain  of  gold  mid  her  ringlets  there  hung: 
O'er  the  palmer's  gray  locks  the  fair  chain  has  she 

flung; 
"  0  palmer,  gray  palmer,  this  chain  be  thy  fee, 
For  the  news  tliou  hast  brought  from  the  Holy 

Coimtrie. 
''And  palmer,  goo<l  palmer,  by  Galilee's  wave, 
O  saw  ye  count  Albert,  the  gentle  and  brave? 
When  the  crescent  went  back,  and  the  red-cross 

rushed  on, 
O  saw  ye  him  foremost  on  Mount  Lebanon?" 

"  O  lady,  fair  lady,  the  tree  green  it  grows; 

O  lady,  fair  lady,  the  stream  \>ure  it  flows: 

Your  castle  stands  strong,  and  vour  hopes  soar  on 

high; 
But  lady,  fair  lady,  all  blossoms  to  die. 

"The  green  boughs  they  wither,  the  thunderbolt 

tails, 
|t  leaves  of  your  castle  but  levin-scorched  walls; 


The  pure  stream  runs  muddy;  the  gay  hope  is  gone; 
Count  Albert  is  prisoner  on  mount  Lebanon." 
O  she's  ta'en  a  horse,  should  be  fleet  at  her  speed; 
And  she's  ta'en  a  sword,  should  be  sharp  at  her 

need; 
And  she  has  ta'en  shipping  for  Palestine's  land. 
To  ransom  count  Albert  from  Soldanrie's  hand. 
Small  thought  had  count  Albert  on  fair  Rosalie, 
Small  thought  on  his  faith,  or  his  knighthood  bad  he; 
A  heatiienish  damsel  his  light  heart  had  won. 
The  Soldan's  fiiir  daughter  of  Mount  Lebanon. 

"  O  christian,  brave  christian,  my  love  wouldst 

thou  be. 
Three  things  must  thou  do  ere  1  hearken  to  thee; 
Our  laws  and  our  worship  on  thee  shaltthou  take; 
And  this  thou  shalt  first  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  next,  in  the  cavern,  where  burns  evermore 
The  mystical  flame  which  the  Kurdmans  adore, 
Alone,  and  in  silence, three  nights  shaltthou  wake; 
And  this  thou  shalt  next  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 
"  And,  last,  thou  shalt  aid  us  with  counsel  and 

hand. 
To  drive  the  Frank  robber  from  Palestine's  land; 
For  my  lord  and  my  love  then  count  Albert  I'll  take. 
When  all  this  is  accomplished  for  Zulema's  sake." 

He  has  thrown  by  his  helmet  and  cross-handled 

sword. 
Renouncing  his  knighthood,  denying  his  Lord; 
He  has  ta'en  the  green  caftan,  and  turban  put  on, 
For  the  love  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 
And  in  the  dread  cavern,  deep  deep  under  ground. 
Which  fifty  steel  gates  and  steel  portals  surround. 
He  has  watched  until  daybreak,  but  sight  saw  he 

none. 
Save  the  flame  burning  bright  on  its  altar  of  stone. 

Amazed  was  the  princess,  the  Soldan  amazed. 
Sore   murmured   the   priests   as  on  Albert  they 

gazed; 
They  searched  all  his  garments,  and,  under  his 

weeds. 
They  found,  and  took  from  him,  his  rosary  beads. 

Again  in  the  cavern,  deep  deep  under  ground. 
He  watched  the  lone  night,  while  the  winds  whis- 
tled round; 
Far  off  was  their  murmur,  it  came  not  more  nigh. 
The  flame  burned  unmoved,  and  nought  else  did  he 

spy. 
Loud  murmured  the  priests,  and  amazed  was  the 

king. 
While  many  dark  spells  of  their  witchcraft  they 

sing; 
They  searched  Albert's  body,  and,  lo !  on  his  breast 
Was'  the  sign  cf  the  cross,  by  his  father  impressed. 
The  priests  they  erase  it  with  care  and  with  pain, 
And  the  recreant  returned  to  the  cavern  again; 
But,  as  he  descended,  a  whisper  there  fell,^- 
It  was  his  good  angel,  who  bade  him  farewell! 
High  bristled  his  hair,  his  heart  fluttered  and  beat, 
.Ind  he  turned  him  five  steps,  half  resolved  to  re- 
treat; 
But  his  heart  it  was  hardened,  his  purpose  was 

gone. 
When  he  thought  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 
Scarce  passed  he  the  archvt'ay,  the  threshold  scarce 

trod. 
When  the  winds  from  the  fonv  points  of  heaven 
wej'e  abroall; 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


413 


They  made  each  steel  portal  to  rattle  and  ring, 
And,  borne  on  the  blast,  came  the  dread  Fire-King. 

Full  sore  rock'd  the  cavern  whene'er  he  drew  nigh, 
The  fire  on  the  altar  blazed  bickering  and  high; 
In  volcanic  explosions  the  mountains  proclaim 
The  dreadful  approach  of  the  monarch  of  flame. 

Unmeasured  in  height,  undistinguished  in  form. 
His  breath  it  was  lightning,  his  voice  it  was  storm; 
I  ween  the  stout  heart  of  count  Albert  was  tame. 
When  he  saw  in  his  terrors  the  monarch  of  flame. 

In  his  hand  a  broad  falchion  blue  glimmered  thro' 

smoke. 
And  Mount  Lebanon  shook  as  the  monarch  he 

spoke: 
"  With  this  brand  shall  thou  conquer,  thus  long, 

and  no  more, 
Till  thou  bend  to  the  cross,  and  the  virgin  adore." 
The  cloud-shrouded  arm  gives  the  weapon;  and, 

see! 
The  recreant  receives  the  charmed  gift  on  his 

knee: 
The  thunders  grow  distant,  and  faint  gleam  the 

fires, 
As,  borne  ou  his  whirlwind,  the  phantom  retires. 

Count  Albert  has  armed  him  the  paynim  among, 
Though  his  heart  it  was  false,  yet  his  arm  it  was 

strong; 
And  the  red-cross  waxed  faint,  and  the  crescent 

came  on, 
From  the  day  he  commanded  on  Mount  Lebanon. 

From  Lebanon's  forest  to  Galilee's  wave, 

'I'he  sands  of  Samaar  drank  the  blood  of  the  brave; 

Till  the  knights  of  the  temple,  and  knights  of  St. 

John, 
With  Salem's  king  Baldwin,  against  him  came  on. 
The  war-cymbals  clattered,  the  trumpets  replied. 
The  lances  were  couciied,  and  they  closed  on  each 

side; 
And  horsemen  and  horses  count  Albert  o'erthrew. 
Till  he  pieixed  the  thick  tumult  king  Baldwin 

unto. 
Against  the  charmed  blade  which  count  Albert  did 

wield. 
The  fence  had  been  vain  of  tiie  king's  red-cross 

shield; 
But  a  page  tlirust  him  forward  the  monarch  be- 
fore. 
And  cleft  the  proud  turban  tlie  renegade  wore. 
So  fell  was  the  dint,  tliat  count  Albert  stooped  low 
Before  the  crossed  shield,  to  his  steel  saddle-bow; 
And  scarce  had  he  bent  to  the  red-cross  his  head, 
"  BouTie grace,  notre  dame,"  he  imwittingly  said. 

Sore  sighed  the  charmed  sword,  for  its  virtue  was 

o'er. 
It  sprung  from  his  grasp,  and  was  never  seen  more: 
But  true  men  have  said,  that  the  lightning's  red 

wing 
Did  waft  back  the  brand  to  the  dread  Fire-King. 

He  clench 'd  his  set  teeth,  and  his  gauntletted  hand ; 

He  stretched,  with  one  bufTet,  that  page  on  the 
strand; 

As  back  from  the  stripling  the  broken  casque 
rolled. 

You  might  see  tlie  blue  eyes,  and  the  ringlets  of 
gold. 

Short  time  had  count  Albert  in  horror  to  stare 

On  those  death-swimming  eye-balls,  and  blood- 
clotted  hair; 


For  down  came  the  templars,  like  Cedron  in  flood, 
And  died  their  long  lances  in  Saracen  blood. 
The  Sai-acens,  Kurdmans,  and  Ishmaelites  \iel<l 
To  the  scallop,  the  saltier,  and  crosletted  s'hiehl; 
And  the  eagles  were  gorged  w  ith  the  infidel  dead, 
From  Bethsaida's  fountains  to  Napthali's  head. 
The  battle  is  over  on  Bethsaida's  plain. 
Oh,  who  is  yon  paynim  lies  stretched  mid  the 

slain? 
And  who  is  yon  page  lying  cold  at  his  knee? 
Oh,  who  but  count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 
The  lady  was  buried  in  Salehi's  blessed  bound, 
The  count  he  was  left  to  the  vulture  and  hound: 
Her  soul  to  high  mercy  our  lady  did  bring; 
His  went  on  the  blast  to  the  dre'ad  Fire-King. 
Yet  many  a  minstrel,  in  harping,  can  tell. 
How  the  red-cross  it  conquered, "the  crescent  it  fell; 
And  lords  and  gay  ladies  have  sighed,  mid  their 

glee. 
At  the  tale  of  count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 

FREDERICK  AND  ALICE. 

This  tale  is  imitated,  rather  than  translated, 
from  a  fragment  introduced  in  Goethe's  Claudi- 
na  von  Villa  Bella,  where  it  is  sung  by  a  member 
of  a  gang  of  banditti,  to  engage  the  attention  of  tlie 
family,  while  his  companions  break  into  the  cas- 
tle. It  owes  any  little  merit  it  may  possess  to  my 
triend  Mr.  Lewis,  to  wliom  it  was'sent  in  an  ex- 
tremely rude  state;  and  who,  after  some  material 
improvements,  published  it  in  his  Tales  of  IVon- 
der.  ■' 

FHEDEnicK  leaves  the  land  of  France, 

Homeward  hastes  his  steps  to  measure, 
Careless  casts  the  parting  glance 

On  the  scene  of  former  pleasure. 
Joying  in  his  prancing  steed. 

Keen  to  prove  his  untried  blade, 
Hope's  gay  dreams  the  soldier  lead 
Over  mountain,  moor,  and  glade. 
Helpless,  ruined,  left  forlorn, 

Lovely  Alice  wept  alone; 
Mourned  o'er  love's  fond  contract  torn, 

Hope,  and  peace,  and  honour  flown, 
Mark  her  breast's  convulsive  throbs! 

See,  the  tear  of  anguish  flows  I 
Mingling  soon  with  bursting  sobs. 

Loud  the  laugh  of  frenzy  rose. 
Wild  she  cursed,  and  wild  she  prayed; 
Seven  long  days  and  nights  are  o'er; 
Death  in  pity  brought  his  aid. 

As  the  village  bell  struck  four. 
Far  from  her,  and  far  from  France, 

Faithless  Frederick  onward  rides; 
Marking,  blith,  the  morning's  glance 
Mantling  o'er  the  mountain's  sides. 
Heard  ye  not  the  boding  sound, 

As  the  tongue  of  yonder  tower, 
Slowly,  to  tlie  hills  around. 

Told  the  fourth,  the  fated  hour? 
Starts  the  steed,  and  snuffs  the  air, 

Yet  no  cause  of  dread  appears; 
Bristles  high  the  rider's  hair. 

Struck  with  strange  mysterious  fears. 
Desperate,  as  his  terrors  rise, 
In  the  steed  the  spur  he  hides;' 


414 


SCOTT'S^^ETICAL  WORKS. 


Prom  himself  in  vain  he  flies; 
>•  Anxious,  restless,  on  he  rides. 

Seven  long  ilays,  ami  seven  lonsj  ni;;hts, 
Wild  he  w;indereil,  wo  the  wliile! 

Ceaseless  care,  and  causeless  frights, 
Urge  his  footsteps  many  a  mile. 

Dai-k  the  seventh  sad  night  descends; 

Rivers  swell,  and  rain-streams  pour! 
A\'hile  the  deaft  ning  thunder  lends 

All  the  terrors  of  its  roar. 
Weary,  wet,  and  snent  with  toil. 

Where  his  head  shall  Frederick  hide? 
M'here,  but  in  yon  ruined  aisle. 

By  the  lightning's  flash  descried. 

To  the  portal,  dank  and  low, 

P'ast  his  steed  the  wanderer  bound; 

Down  a  ruined  staircase  slow, 
Next  his  darkling  way  he  wound. 

Long  drear  vaults  before  him  lie! 

Glimmering  lights  are  seen  to  glide! 
«'  Blessed  Mary,  hear  my  ciy! 

Deign  a  sinner's  steps  to  guide!" 

Often  lost  their  quivering  beam, 
Still  the  lights  move  slow  before, 

Till  they  rest  their  ghastly  gleam 
Right  against  an  iron  door. 

Thundering  voices  from  within. 
Mixed  with  peals  of  laughter,  rose; 

As  they  fell,  a  solemn  strain 

Lent  its  wild  and  wond'rous  close! 

Midst  the  din,  he  seemed  to  hear 

Voice  of  friends,  by  death  removed; 
Well  he  knew  that  solemn  air, 

'Twas  the  lay  that  Alice  loved. 
Hark !  for  now  a  solemn  knell 

Four  times  on  the  still  night  broke; 
Four  times,  at  its  deadened  swell, 

Echoes  from  the  ruins  spoke. 

As  the  lengthened  clangours  die. 

Slowly  opes  the  iron  door! 
Straight  a  banquet  met  his  eye. 

But  a  funeral's  form  it  wore ! 
Coffins  for  the  seats  extend; 

All  with  black  the  board  was  spread; 
Girt  by  parent,  brother,  friend. 

Long  since  numbered  with  the  dead! 

Alice,  in  her  grave-clothes  bound. 

Ghastly  smiling,  points  a  seat; 
All  arose,  witli  thundering  sound; 

All  the  expected  stranger  greet. 

High  their  meagre  arms  they  wave. 
Wild  their  notes  of  welcome  swell; 

"  Welcome,  traitor,  to  the  grave! 
Peijiired,  bid  ihe  light  farewell!" 

THE  WILD  HUNTSMEN. 

This  is  a  translatioii,  or  rather  an  imitation,  of 
the  Tf'ilde  Jager  of  the  German  i)oel  Biirger.  The 
tradition  upon  which  it  is  founded  bears,  that  for- 
merly a  wildgrave,  or  keeper  of  a  royal  forest, 
named  Falketiburg,  was  so  much  addicted  to  the 
pleasures  pf  the  chase,  and  otherwise  so  extremely 
profligate  and  cruel,  that  he  not  only  followed  this 
unhallowed  amusement  on  the  Sabbath,  and  other 
days  consecrated  to  religious  duly,  but  accomjja- 
nied  it  with  tlie  most  unheard-of  oppression  upon 
the  poor  peasants  who  were   uniler  his  vassalage. 


When  this  second  Ximrod  died,  the  people  adopt- 
ed a  superstition,  founded  probably  on  the  many 
various  uncouth  sounds  Inward  in  "the  depth  of  a 
German  forest,  during  the  silence  of  the  night. 
They  conceived  they  still  heard  the  cry  of  the 
wildgrave's  hoimds;  and  the  well-known  cheer  of 
the  deceased  hunter,  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet, 
and  the  rustling  of  the  branches  before  the  game, 
the  pack,  and  the  sportsmen,  are  also  distinctly 
discriminated;  but  the  phantoms  are  rarely,  if 
ever,  visible.  Once,  as  a  benighted  c/«(sst*((r  heard 
this  infernal  chase  pass  by  him,  at  the  sound  of  the 
halloo,  with  which  the  spectre  Huntsman  cheered 
his  hounds,  he  could  not  refrain  from  crying, 
"  Ghick  zu,  Falkenbiirg!'"  (Good  sport  to  ye, 
Falkenburg!)  "  Dost  thou  wish  me  good  sport'" 
answered  a  hoarse  voice;  "  thou  shalt  share  the 
game;"  and  there  was  thrown  at  him  what  seemed 
to  be  a  huge  piece  of  foul  carrion.  The  daring 
chasseur  lost  two  of  his  best  horses  soon  after,  and 
never  perfectly  recovered  the  personal  effects  of 
this  ghostly  greeting.  This  tale,  though  told  with 
some  variation,  is  universally  believed  all  over 
Germany. 

The  French  had  a  similar  tradition  concerning 
an  aerial  hunter,  who  infested  the  forest  of  Fon- 
tainebleau.  He  was  sometimes  visible;  when  he 
appeared  as  a  huntsman,  surrounded  with  dogs,  a 
tall  grisly  figure.  Some  account  of  him  may  be 
found  in  "  Sully's  Memoirs,"  who  says  he  was 
called,  Le  Grand  Veneur.  At  one  time  he  chose 
to  hunt  so  near  the  palace,  that  the  attendants,  and, 
if  I  mistake  not.  Sully  himself,  came  out  into  the 
court,  supposing  it  was  the  sound  of  the  king  re- 
turning from  the  chase.  This  phantom  is  else- 
where called  saint  Hubert. 

The  superstition  seems  to  have  been  very  ge- 
neral, as  appears  from  the  following  fine  poetical 
description  of  this  phantom  chase,  as  it  was  heard 
in  the  wilds  of  Ross-shire. 

"  Ere  since,  of  old,  the  haughty  thanes  of  Ross, — 

So  to  the  simple  swain  tradition  tells, — 

Were  wont  with  clans,  and  ready  vassals  throng^'d, 

To  wake  the  bounding-  stag,  or  guilty  wolf. 

There  oft  is  heard,  at  midnight,  or  at  noon. 

Beginning  faint,  but  rising  still  more  loud. 

And  nearer,  voice  of  hunters,  and  of  hounds. 

And  hoiTis  hoarse-winded,  blowing  far  and  keen: — 

Forthwith  the  hubbub  multiplies;  the  gale 

Labours  with  wilder  shrieks  and  rifer  din 

Of  hot  purauit;  the  broken  cry  of  deer 

Mangled  by  throttling  dogs;  ihe  shouts  of  men, 

And  noofi  thick  beating  on  the  hollow  hill. 

Sudden  the  grazing  heifer  in  the  vale 

Starts  at  the  noise,  and  both  the  herdsman's  eara 

Tingle  with  inward  dread.    Aghast,  he  eyes 

The  mountain's  height,  and  all  the  ridges  round, 

Yet  not  one  trace  of  living  wight  discerns; 

Nor  knows,  o'erawed,  and  trembling  as  he  stands, 

To  w hat,  or  whom,  he  owes  his  idle  fear. 

To  ghost,  to  witch,  to  faii-y,  or  to  fiend; 

But  wonders,  and  no  end  of  wondering  finds.'' 

Scottish  Descriptive  Pueins,  pp.  167,  168. 
A  posthumous  miracle  of  father  Lesly,  a  Scottish 
capuchin,  related  to  his  being  buried  on  a  hill 
haunted  by  these  unearthly  cries  of  hounds  and 
huntsmen.  After  his  sainted  relics  liad  been  de- 
posited there,  the  noise  was  never  heard  more. 
The  reader  will  find  this,  and  other  miracles,  re- 
corded in  the  life  of  fiither  Bonaventura.  which  is 
written  in  the  choicest  Italian. 

The  wildgrave  winds  his  bugle  horn, 
To  horse,  to  horse!  halloo,  halloo! 

His  ficrv  courser  snuft's  the  morn. 
And  thronging  serfs  their  lord  pursue. 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


415 


The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed, 

Dash  through  the  bush,  the  brier,  the  brake; 
While  answering  hound,  and  horn,  and  steed, 

The  mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 
The  beams  of  God's  own  hallowed  day 

Had  painted  yonder  spire  with  gold, 
And,  calling  sinful  man  to  pray. 

Loud,  long,  and  deep  the  bell  had  tolled: 
But  still  the  wildgrave  onward  rides; 

Halloo,  halloo !  and  hark  again ! 
When,  spurring  from  opposing  sides. 

Two  stranger  horsemen  join  the  train. 
Who  was  each  stranger,  left  and  right. 

Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell; 
The  right  hand  steed  was  silver  white, 

The  left,  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 

The  right  hand  horseman,  young  and  fair, 
His  smile  was  like  the  morn  of  May; 

The  left,  from  eye  of  tawny  glare. 
Shot  midnight  lightning's  lurid  ray. 

He  waved  his  huntsman's  cap  on  high. 
Cried,  "  Welcome,  welcome,  noble  lord! 

What  sport  can  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky. 
To  match  the  princely  chase,  afford?" 

"  Cease  thy  loud  bugle's  clanging  knell," 
Cried  the  fair  youth,  with  silver  voice; 

"  And  for  devotion's  choral  swell. 
Exchange  the  rude  unhallowed  noise. 

"  To-day,  the  ill-omened  chase  forbear, 
Yon  bell  yet  summons  to  the  fane; 

To-day  the  warning  spirit  hear. 

To-morrow  thou  may'st  mourn  in  vain." 

"Away,  and  sweep  the  glades  along!" 

The  sable  hunter  hoarse  replies; 
"To  muttering  monks  leave  matin  song. 

And  bells,  and  books,  and  mysteries." 

The  wildgrave  spurre<l  his  ardent  steed. 
And,  lanching  forward  with  a  bound, 

"  Who,  for  thy  drowsy  priest-like  rede. 
Would  leave  the  jovial  horn  and  hound? 

"  Hence,  if  our  manly  sport  offend  ! 

With  pious  fools  go  chant  and  pray: 
Well  hast  thou  spoke,  my  dark-browed  friend; 

Halloo,  halloo!  and,  hark  away!" 

The  wildgrave  spurred  his  courser  light, 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  o'er  holt  and  hill; 

And  on  the  left,  and  on  the  right, 

Each  stranger  horseman  followed  still. 

Up  springs,  from  yonder  tangleil  thorn, 
A  stag  more  white  than  mountain  snow; 

And  louder  rung  the  wildgraive's  horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward!  holla,  ho!" 

A  heedless  wretch  has  crossed  the  way; 

He  gasps,  the  thundering  hoofs  below: 
But,  live  who  can,  or  die  who  may. 

Still,  "  Forward,  forward!"  on  they  go. 

See,  where  yon  simple  fences  meet, 

A  field  with  autumn's  blessings  crowned; 

See,  prostrate  at  the  wildgrave's  feet, 
A  husbandman,  witli  toil  embrowned: 

"  O  mercy,  mercy,  noble  lord  I 

Spare  the  poor's  i)ittance,"  was  his  cry, 

"  Earned  by  the  sweat  these  brows  have  poured, 
In  scorching  hour  of  tierce  ,luly." 

Earnest  the  right  li;ind  stranger  pleads. 
The  left  still  cheering  lo  the  prey. 


The  impetuous  earl  no  warning  heeds. 
But  furious  holds  the  onward  way. 

"  Away,  thou  hound!  so  basely  bom. 
Or  dread  the  scourge's  echoing  blow!" 

Then  loudly  rung  his  bugle  horn, 

"Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho!" 

So  said,  so  done:  a  single  bound 

Clears  the  poor  labourer's  humble  pale; 
Wild  follows  man,  and  horse,  and  hound. 

Like  dark  December's  stormy  gale. 
And  man,  and  horse,  and  hound,  and  horn, 

Destructive  sweep  the  field  along; 
While  joying  o'er  the  wasted  corn. 

Fell  Famine  marks  the  maddening  throng. 

Again  uproused,  the  timorous  prey 

Scours  moss,  and  moor,  and  holt,  and  hill; 
Hard  run,  he  feels  his  strength  decay. 

And  trusts  for  life  his  simple  skill. 
Too  dangerous  solitude  appeared; 

He  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  crowd; 
Amid  the  flock's  domestic  herd 

His  harmless  head  he  hopes  to  shroud. 

O'er  moss,  and  moor,  and  holt,  and  hill. 

His  track  the  steady  blood-hounds  trace; 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  unwearied  still. 

The  furious  earl  pursues  the  chase. 
Full  lowly  did  the  herdsman  fall; 

"  O  spare,  thou  noble  baron,  spare 
These  herds,  a  widow's  little  all; 

These  flocks,  an  orphan's  fleecy  care." 

Earnest  the  right-hand  stranger  pleads. 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey; 

The  earl  nor  prayer  nor  pity  heeds. 
But  furious  keeps  the  onward  way. 

"  Unmannered  dog!  To  stop  my  sport 
Vain  were  thy  cant  and  beggar  whine. 

Though  human  spirits,  of  thy  sort. 
Were  tenants  of  these  carrion  kine!" 

Again  he  winds  his  bugle  horn, 

"Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho!" 
And  through  the  herd,  in  ruthless  scorn, 

He  cheers  his  furious  hounds  to  go. 
In  heaps  the  throttled  victims  fall; 

Down  sinks  their  mangled  herdsman  near; 
The  murderous  cries  the  stag  appal, — 

Again  he  starts,  new  nerved  by  fear. 
With  blood  besmeared,  and  white  with  foam, 

While  big  the  tears  of  anguish  pour. 
He  seeks,  amid  the  forest's  gloom. 

The  humble  hermit's  hallowed  bower. 
But  man  and  horse,  and  horn  and  hound. 

Fast  rattling  on  his  traces  go; 
The  sacred  chapel  rung  around 

With,  "  Hark  away!  and,  holla,  lio!" 
All  mild,  amid  the  rout  profane. 

The  holy  hermit  poured  his  prayer; 
"  Forbear  with  blood  God's  house  to  stain; 

Revere  his  altar,  and  forbear! 
"  The  meanest  brute  has  rights  to  plead, 

Which,  wronged  by  cruelty,  or  pride, 
Draw  vengeance  on  the  ruthless  head: 

Be  warned  at  length,  and  turn  aside." 
Still  the  fair  horseman  anxious  pleads ; 

The  black,  wild  whooping,  points  the  prey : 
Alas!  the  earl  no  warning  heeds, 

But  frantic  keeps  ilie  forw:ird  way. 


416 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  Holy  or  not,  or  right  or  wrong, 

Thy  altar,  nnd  its  rites,  I  spurn; 
Not  sainted  martyrs'  sacrc-d  song, 

Not  God  himself,  shall  make  me  turn!" 
He  spurs  his  horse,  he  winds  his  horn, 

•'  Hark  forward,  forward,  holla,  ho!" 
But  oft",  on  whirlwind's  pinions  borne, 

The  stag,  the  hut,  tiie  hermit,  go. 
And  horse,  and  man,  and  horn,  and  hound. 

And  clamour  of  the  chase  was  gone; 
For  hoofs,  and  howls,  and  bugle  sound, 

A  deadly  silence  reigned  alone. 
Wild  gazed  the  affrighted  earl  around; 

He  strove  in  vain  to  wake  his  horn; 
In  vain  to  call;  for  not  a  sound 

Could  from  liis  anxious  lips  be  borne. 

He  listens  for  his  trusty  hounds; 

No  distant  baying  reached  his  ears: 
His  courser,  rooted  to  the  ground. 

The  quickening  spur  unmindful  bears. 

Still  dark  and  darker  frown  the  shades, 
Dark,  as  llie  darkness  of  the  grave; 

And  not  a  sound  the  still  invades, 
Save  what  a  distant  torrent  gave. 

High  o'er  the  sinner's  humbled  head 

At  length  tlie  solemn  silence  broke; 
And  from  a  cloud  of  swarthy  red, 

The  awful  voice  of  thunder  spoke. 
"  Oppressor  of  creation  fair! 

Apostate  spirit's  hardened  tool! 
Scorner  of  God!  Scourge  of  the  poor! 

The  measure  of  thy  cup  is  full. 

"  Be  chased  forever  tlu-ougli  the  wood; 

For  ever  roam  the  affrighted  wild; 
And  let  thy  fate  instruct  the  proud, 

God's  meanest  creature  is  his  child." 
'Twas  hushed:  one  flash,  of  sombre  glare, 

With  yellow  tinged  the  forests  brown; 
Up  rose  the  wildgrave's  bristling  hair, 

And  horror  chilled  each  nerve  and  bone. 

Cold  poured  the  sweat  in  freezing  rill; 

A  rising  wind  began  to  sing; 
And  louder,  louder,  louder  still. 

Brought  storm  and  tempest  on  its  wing. 

Earth  heard  the  call!  Her  entrails  rend; 

From  yawning  rifts,  with  many  a  yell. 
Mixed  with  sulphureous  flames,  ascend 

The  misbegotten  dogs  of  hell. 
What  ghastly  Huntsman  next  arose. 

Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell; 
His  eye  like  midnight  liglitning  glows. 

His  steed  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 
The  wildgrave  flies  o'er  bush  and  thorn, 

With  many  a  shriek  of  helpless  wo; 
Behind  him  hound,  and  horse,  and  horn, 

And,  "  Hark  away,  and  holla,  hoi" 

With  wild  despair's  reverted  eye, 

Close,  close  behind,  he  marks  the  throng, 
With  bloody  fangs,  and  eager  cry, 

in  frantic  fear  he  scours  along. 
Still,  still  shall  last  the  dreadful  chase. 

Till  time  itself  shall  have  an  end 
Bvday,  they  scour  earth's  caverened  space. 

At  midnight's  witcliing  hour,  ascend. 

This  is  the  horn,  and  lioimd,  and  horse, 
'I'hal  oft  the  btcd  peasant  liears; 


Appalled  iic  signs  the  frequent  cross. 
When  the  wild  din  invades  his  ears. 

The  wakeful  priest  oft  drops  a  tear 
For  human  pride,  for  human  wo. 

When,  at  his  midnight  mass,  he  hears 
The  infernal  cry  of"  Holla,  ho!" 

WILLIAM  AND  HKLEN. 

Imitated  from  the  "  Ignore"  of  Bvrger. 

The  author  had  resolved  to  omit  tiie  following 
version  of  a  well-known  poem,  in  any  collection 
whicii  he  might  make  of  his  poetical  trifles.  But 
the  publishers  having  jtlcaded  for  its  admission, 
the  author  has  consented,  tliough  not  unaware  of 
the  disadvantage  at  wliich  this  jouthful  essay  (for 
it  was  written  in  1795)  must  appear  with  those 
which  have  been  executed  by  much  more  able 
hands,  in  particular  that  of  Mr.  Taylor  of  Nor- 
wich, and  that  of  Mr.  Spencer. 

The  following  translation  was  written  long  be- 
fore the  author  saw  any  other,  and  originated  in  the 
following  circumstances.  A  lady  of  liigh  rank  in 
the  literary  world  read  this  romantic  tale,  as  trans- 
lated by  Mr.  Taylor,  in  the  house  of  tiie  celebrat- 
ed professor  Dugald  Stuart  of  Edinburgh.  The  au- 
thor was  not  present,  nor  indeed  in  Edinburgh  at 
the  lime;  but  a  gentleman  who  had  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  the  ballad,  afterwards  told  him  the 
story,  and  repeated  the  remarkable  chorus, — 

"  Tramp!  trampl  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splashl  splasli!  along  the  sea; 
Hunah!  hurrah!  the  dead  can  ride! 
Dost  ftar  to  ride  with  me?" 
In  attempting  a  translation,  then  intended  only 
to  circulate  among  friends,  the  present  author  did 
not  hesitate  to  make  use  of  this  impressive  stanza; 
for  which  freedom  he  has  since  obtained  tiie  for- 
giveness of  the  ingenious  gentleman  to  whom  it 
properly  belongs.  

From  heavy  dreams  fair  Helen  rose, 

And  ey'd  the  dawning  red: 
"  Alas,  my  love,  thou  tarriest  long! 

O  art  thou  false  or  dead?" 

With  gallant  Frederick's  princely  power 

He  sought  the  bold  crusade; 
liut  not  a  word  from  Judah's  wars 

Told  Helen  how  he  sped. 

With  Paynim  and  with  Saracen 

At  length  a  truce  was  made. 
And  every  knight  returned  to  dry 

The  tears  iiis  love  had  shed. 

Our  gallant  host  was  homeward  bound 

With  many  a  song  of  joy; 
Green  wav'd  the  laurel  in  each  plume, 

The  badge  of  viclorj'. 

And  old  and  young,  and  sire  and  son, 

To  meet  them  crowd  the  way. 
With  shouts,  and  mirth,  and  melody. 

The  debt  of  love  to  pay. 

Full  many  a  maid  her  true  love  met, 

.\nd  sobb'd  in  his  embrace, 
And  flutt'ring  jo)'  in  tears  and  smiles, 

Array 'd  full  many  a  face. 

Nor  joy  nor  smile  for  Helen  sad; 

She  sought  the  host  in  vain; 
For  none  could  tell  her  William's  fate, 

If  faithless,  or  if  slain. 

The  martial  band  is  past  and  gone; 
She  rends  her  raven  hair, 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


417 


And  in  distraction's  bitter  mood 

She  weeps  with  wild  despair. 
♦'  O  rise,  my  child,"  her  mother  said, 

"  Nor  sorrow  thus  in  vain; 
A  perjured  lover's  fleeting  heart 

No  tears  recal  again." 
"  O  mother,  what  is  gone  is  gone; 

What's  lost  for  ever  lorn: 
Death,  death  alone  can  comfort  me; 

O  had  I  ne'er  been  born! 

"  O  break,  my  heart,  O  break  at  once! 

Drink  ray  life-blood,  despair! 
No  joy  remains  on  earth  for  me, 

For  me  in  heaven  no  share." 
•*0  enter  not  in  judgment.  Lord!" 

The  pious  mother  prays; 
"Impute  not  guilt  to  thy  frail  child, 

She  knows  not  what  she  says. 
"  O  say  thy  pater-noster,  child ! 

O  turn  to  God  and  grace ! 
His  will,  that  turn'd  tny  bliss  to  bale. 

Can  change  thy  bale  to  bliss." 

"  O  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss? 

O  mother,  what  is  bale.' 
My  William's  love  was  heaven  on  earth. 

Without  it  earth  is  hell. 

"Why  should  1  pray  to  ruthless  heav'n, 
Since  my  lov'd  William's  slain.' 

I  only  pray'd  for  William's  sake, 
And  all  my  prayers  were  vain." 

"O  take  the  sacrament,  my  child, 
And  check  these  tears  that  flow; 

By  resignation's  humble  prayer, 
O  hallowed  be  thy  wo ! " 

"  No  sacrament  can  quench  this  fire, 

Or  slake  this  scorching  pain; 
No  sacrament  can  bid  the  dead 

Arise  and  live  again. 

"  O  break,  my  heart,  O  break  at  once! 

Be  thou  my  god,  despair! 
Heaven's  heaviest  blow  has  fall'n  on  me. 

And  vain  each  fruitless  prayer." 

"O  enter  not  in  judgment.  Lord, 

With  thy  frail  child  of  clay! 
She  knows  not  wliat  her  tongue  has  spoke; 

Impute  it  not,  I  pray ! 

«•  Forbear,  my  child,  this  desp'rate  wo. 

And  turn  to  God  and  grace; 
Well  can  devotion's  heavenly  glow 

Convert  thy  bale  to  bliss." 

"  O  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss? 

O  mother,  what  is  bale? 
Without  my  William  what  were  heaven, 

Or  with  him  what  were  hell?" 

Wild  she  arraigns  the  eternal  doom. 

Upbraids  eacli  sacred  power. 
Till  spent,  slje  sought  her  silent  room. 

All  in  the  lonely  tower. 

She  beat  lier  breast,  she  wrung  her  hands. 

Till  sun  and  day  were  o'er. 
And  through  the  glimm'ring  lattice  shone 

The  twinkling  of  the  star.  • 

Then  crash!  the  heavy  draw-bridge  fell. 

That  o'er  the  moat  was  hung; 
And  clatter!  clatter!  on  its  boards 

The  hoof  of  courser  rung. 


The  clank  of  echoing  steel  was  heard. 

As  oflTthe  rider  bounded, 
And  slowly  on  the  winding-stair 

A  heavy  footstep  sounded. 

And  hark!  and  hark!  a  knock — Tap!  tap! 

A  rustling  stifled  noise; — 
Door-latch  and  tinkling  staples  ring; — 

At  length  a  whisp'ring  voice. 

"  Awake,  awake,  arise,  my  love! 

How,  Helen,  dost  thou  fare' 
Wak'stthou  or  sleep'st? laugh'st  thou  or  weep'st? 

Hast  thought  on  me,  my  fair?" 
"  My  love!  my  love! — so  late  by  night!— 

I  wak'd,  I  wept  for  thee: 
Much  have  I  borne  since  dawn  of  morn; 

Where,  William,  could'st  thou  be?" 

"  We  saddled  late — From  Hungary 

I  rode  since  darkness  fell; 
And  to  its  bourne  we  both  return 

Before  the  matin  bell." 

"O  rest  this  night  within  my  arms, 

And  warm  thee  in  their  fold! 
Chill  howls  through  hawlliorn  bush  the  wind; 

My  love  is  deadly  cold." 

♦'Let  the  wind  howl  through  hawthern  bush! 

This  night  we  must  away; 
The  steed  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright; 

I  cannot  stay  till  day. 

"  Busk,  busk,  and  boune !  Thou  mount'st  behind 

Upon  my  black  barb  steed: 
O'er  stock  and  stile  a  hundred  miles. 

We  haste  to  bridal  bed." 

"To-night — to-night  a  hundred  miles! — 

O  dearest  William,  stay ! 
The  bell  strikes  twelve — dark  dismal  hour, 

O  wait,  my  love,  till  day  ! " 

"  Look  here,  look  here — the  moon  shines  clear. 

Full  fast,  1  ween,  we  ride; 
Mount  and  away !  for  ere  the  day 

We  reach  our  bridal  bed. 
"  The  black  barb  snorts,  the  bridal  rings; 

Haste,  busk,  and  boune,  and  seat  thee! 
The  feast  is  made,  the  chamber  spread, 

The  bridal  guests  await  thee." 

Strong  love  prevail'd:  she  busks,  she  bounes 
She  mounts  the  barb  behind,  ' 

And  round  her  darling  William's  waist 
Her  lily  arms  she  twined. 

And  hurry !  hurry !  off  they  rode, 

As  fast  as  fast  might  be; 
Spurn'd  from  the  courser's  thundering  heels, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

And  on  the  right  and  on  the  left, 

Ere  they  could  snatcli  a  view. 
Fast,  fast  each  mountain,  mead,  and  plain. 

And  cot  and  castle  flew. 

"  Sit  fast — dost  fear? — The  moon  shines  clear, 

Fleet  goes  my  barb — keep  hold ! 
Fear'st  thou?"—"  O  no!"  she  faintly  said; 

"But  wiiy  so  stern  and  cold? 

"  What  yonder  rings?  what  yonder  sings? 

Why  shrieks  the  owlet  gray?" 
"  'Tis  death-bell's  clang,  'tis  funeral  song, 

The  body  to  the  clay. 

"  With  song  and  clang,  at  morrow's  dawn 
Ye  may  inter  the  dead:  ' 


418 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To-night  I  ride,  with  my  )  outig  bride, 

To  deck  our  bridal  bed. 
«  Come  with  thy  choir,  thou  coffin'd  guest, 

To  swell  our  nuptial  song! 
Come,  priest,  to  bless  our  marriage  feast! 

Come  all,  come  all  along!" 
Ceas'd  clang  and  song;  down  sunk  the  bier; 

The  shrouded  corpse  arose: 
And  hurry !  hurry !  all  the  train 

The  thundering  steed  pursues. 

And  forward !  forward !  on  they  go; 

High  snorts  the  straining  steed; 
Thick  pants  the  rider's  labouring  breath. 

As  headlong  on  they  speed. 

•'  O  William,  why  this  savage  haste? 

And  where  thy  bridal  bed?" 
*'  'Tis  distant  far,  low,  damp,  and  chill, 

And  narrow,  trustless  maid." 

*'  No  room  for  me?" — "  Enough  for  both; — 
Speed,  speed,  my  barb,  thy  course!" 

O'er  thund'ring  bridge,  through  boiling  surge, 
He  drove  the  furious  horse. 

Tramp!  tramp!  along  the  land  they  rode. 

Splash!  splash!  along  the  sea; 
The  scourge  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright. 

The  flasliing  pebbles  flee. 

Fled  past  on  right  and  left  how  fast 

Each  forest,  grove,  and  bower; 
On  right  and  left  fled  past  how  fast 

Each  city,  town,  and  tower. 

"Dost  fear?  dost  fear?  The  moon  shines  clear; 

Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me? — 
Hurrah!  hurrah!  The  dead  can  ride!" 

"  O  William,  let  them  be!— 

"See  there,  see  there!  What  yonder  swings 

And  creaks  'mid  whistling  rain?" 
"  Gibbet  and  steel,  th'  accursed  wheel; 

A  murd'rer  in  his  chain. — 
"  Hollo!  thou  felon,  follow  here: 

To  bridal  bed  we  ride; 
And  thou  shalt  prance  a  fetter  dance 

Before  me  and  my  bi-ide." 

And  hurry!  hurry!  clash,  clash,  clash! 

The  wasted  form  descends; 
And,  fleet  as  wind  through  hazel  bush. 

The  wild  career  attends. 

Tramp!  tramp!  along  the  land  they  rode. 

Splash!  splash!  along  the  sea; 
The  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood. 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 
How  fled  what  moonshine  faintly  show'd! 

How  fled  what  darkness  hid ! 
How  fled  the  earth  beneath  their  feet. 

The  heav'n  above  their  head ! 

"  Dost  fear?  dost  fear?  The  moon  shines  clear, 

A.nd  well  tlie  dead  can  ride; 
Does  faithful  Helen  fear  for  them?" 

"  O  leave  in  peace  the  dead!" 
"  Barb!  barb!  melbinks  I  hear  tiie  cock; 

The  sand  will  soon  be  run: 
Barb!  barb  I  I  smell  the  morning  air; 

The  race  is  well  nigh  done." 
Tramp!  tramp!  along  the  land  they  rode. 

Splash  I  splash  !  alon;;  the  sea; 
The  scoin-ge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 


«•  Hurrah!  hurrah!  well  ride  the  dead; 

The  bride,  the  bride  is  come! 
And  soon  we  reach  the  bridal  bed. 

For,  Helen,  here's  my  home."^ 

Reluctant  on  its  rusty  hinge 

Revolv'd  an  iron  door. 
And  by  the  pale  moon's  setting  beam 

Were  seen  a  church  and  tow'r. 

With  many  a  shriek  and  ci-y  whiz  round 

The  birds  of  midnight  scared; 
And  rustling  like  autumnal  leaves, 

Unhallow'd  ghosts  were  heard. 

O'er  many  a  tomb  and  tomb-stone  pale 

He  spurr'd  tiie  tiery  horse. 
Till  sudden  at  an  open  grave 

He  check'd  the  wond'rous  course. 

The  falling  gauntlet  quits  the  rein, 

Down  drops  the  casque  of  steel. 
The  cuirass  leaves  his  slirinking  side, 

The  spur  his  gory  heel. 

The  eyes  desert  the  naked  skull. 

The  mould'ring  flesh  the  bone. 
Till  Helen's  lily  arms  entwine 

A  ghastly  skeleton. 

The  furious  barb  snorts  fire  and  foam. 

And,  with  a  fearful  bound. 
Dissolves  at  once  in  empty  air. 

And  leaves  her  on  the  ground. 

Half  seen  by  fits,  bj-  fits  half  heard. 

Pale  spectres  fleet  along. 
Wheel  round  the  maid  in  dismal  dance, 

And  howl  the  funeral  song. 
*'  E'en  when  the  heart's  with  anguish  cleft. 

Revere  the  doom  of  heav'n. 
Her  soul  is  from  her  body  reft; 

Her  spirit  be  forgiven!" 

THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH. 

These  verses  are  a  literal  translation  of  aii  an- 
cient Swiss  ballad  upon  the  battle  of  Sempacii, 
fought  9th  July,  1386,  being  the  victory  by  which 
the  Swiss  cantons  established  their  independence. 
The  author  is  Albert  Tchudi,  denominated  the 
Souter,  from  his  profession  of  a  shoemaker.  He 
was  a  citizen  of  Lucerne,  esteemed  highly  among 
his  countrymen,  both  for  his  powers  as  a  Meister- 
ftinger  or  minstrel,  and  his  courage  as  a  soldier; 
so  that  he  might  share  the  praise  conferred  by 
Collins  on  Escliylus,  that — 

Not  alone  he  nursed  the  poet's  flamej 

But  reached  from  Virtue's  hand  thfe  patnot  steel. 

Tiie  circumstance  of  their  being  written  by  a 
poet  returning  from  the  well-fought  field  he  de- 
scribes, and  in  whicli  his  country's  fortune  was  se- 
cured, ma}'  confer  on  Tchudi's  verses  an  interest 
which  they  are  not  entitled  to  claim  from  their 
poetical  merit.  Hut  ballad  poetry,  the  more  lite- 
rally it  is  translated,  the  more  it  loses  its  simpli- 
city, without  acquiring  either  grace  or  strength; 
and  therefore  some  of  the  favdtsof  tlie  verses  must 
be  imputed  to  the  translator's  feeling  it  a  duty  to 
keep  as  closely  as  possible  to  his  original.  I'he 
various  puns,  rude  attempts  at  pleasantrj',  and  tlis- 
proportioned  episdoes,  must  be  set  down  to  Tchu- 
di's account,  or  to  the  taste  of  his  age. 

The  military  antiquary  will  derive  some  amuse- 
ment from  the  minute  particulars  which  the  mar- 
tial poet  has  recorded.    The  mode  in  which  the 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES, 


419 


Austrian  men-at-arms  received  the  charge  of  the 
Swiss  was  by  forming  a  phalanic,  which  they  de- 
fended with  their  long  lances.  The  gallant  Wink- 
elried,  who  sacrificed  his  own  life  by  rushing 
among  the  spears,  clasping  in  his  arms  as  many  as 
he  could  grasp,  and  thus  opening  a  gap  in  these 
iron  battalions,  is  celebrated  in  Swiss  history. 
When  fairly  mingled  together,  the  unwieldy  length 
of  their  weapons,  and  cumbrous  weight  of  their  de- 
fensive armour,  rendered  the  Austrian  men-at-arms 
a  very  unequal  match  for  the  light-armed  moun- 
taineers. The  victories  obtained  by  the  Swiss  over 
the  German  chivalry,  hitherto  deemed  as  formi- 
dable on  foot  as  on  horse-back,  led  to  important 
changes  in  the  art  of  war.  The  poet  describes  the 
Austrian  knights  and  squires  as  cutting  the  peaks 
from  their  boots  ere  they  could  act  upon  foot,  in 
allusion  to  an  inconvenient  piece  of  foppery,  often 
mentioned  in  the  middle  ages.  Leopold  III,  archduke 
of  Austria,  called  "  The  handsome  man-at-arms," 
was  slain  in  the  battle  of  Sempach,  with  the  flower 
of  his  chivalrv. 


'Twas  when  among  our  linden  trees 
The  bees  had  housed  in  swarms, 

(And  gray-hair'd  peasants  say  that  these 
Betoken  foreign  arms, ) 

Then  look'd  we  down  to  Willisow, 

The  land  was  all  in  flame; 
We  knew  the  archduke  Leopold 

With  all  his  army  came. 
The  Austrian  nobles  made  their  vow. 

So  hot  their  heart  and  bold, 
"  On  Switzer  carles  we'll  trample  now, 

And  slay  both  young  and  old. " 
With  clarion  loud,  and  banner  proud. 

From  Zurich  on  the  lake. 
In  martial  pomp  and  fair  array, 

Their  onward  march  they  make. 

"  Now  list,  ye  lowland  nobles  all, 

Ye  seek  the  mountain  strand. 
Nor  wot  ye  «  hat  shall  be  your  lot 

In  such  a  dangerous  land. 
"  1  rede  ye,  shrive  you  of  your  sins, 

Before  you  further  go; 
A  skirmish  in  Helvetian  hills 

May  send  your  souls  to  wo." 
"  But  where  now  shall  we  find  a  priest. 

Or  shrift  that  he  may  hear'" 
"  The  Switzer  priest*  has  ta'en  the  field, 

He  deals  a  penance  drear. 
"  Right  heavily  upon  your  head 

He'll  lay  his  hand  of  steel; 
And  with  his  trusty  partizan 

Your  absolution  deal." 
'Twas  on  a  Monday  morning  then, 

The  corn  was  steep'd  in  dew. 
And  meny  maids  had  sickles  ta'en. 

When  tlie  host  to  Sempach  drew. 

The  stalwart  men  of  fair  Lucerne 

Together  have  they  join'd; 
The  pith  and  core  of  manhood  stern, 

Was  none  cast  looks  behind. 
It  was  the  lonl  of  Hai-e  castle. 

And  to  the  duke  he  said, 
"  Von  little  band  of  brethren  time 

A\'ill  meet  us  undismav'd." 


•  AllthiSwiss  clergy  who  wfieable  to  beararms  fought 
in  this  patriotic  war.  W- 


"  O  Hare-castle,*  thou  heart  of  hare!" 

Fierce  Oxenstem  replied; 
"  Shalt  see  then  how  the  game  will  fare." 

The  taunting  knight  replied. 

There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright. 

And  closing  ranks  amam; 
The  peaks  they  hew'd  from  their  boot-points 

Might  well  nigh  load  a  wain.f 

And  thus,  they  to  each  other  said, 

"  Yon  handful  down  to  hew 
Will  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell, 

The  peasants  are  so  few. " 

The  gallant  Swiss  confederates  there. 

They  pray'd  to  God  aloud. 
And  he  display'd  his  rainbow  fair 

Against  a  swarthy  cloud. 

Then  heart  and  pulse  throb'd  more  and  mote 

With  courage  firm  and  high. 
And  down  the  good  confed'rates  bore 

On  the  Austrian  chivalrj-. 

The  Austrian  lion|:  'gan  to  growl. 

And  toss  his  main  and  tail; 
And  ball,  and  shaft,  and  cross-bow  bolt 

Went  whistling  forth  like  hail. 

Lance,  pike,  and  halberd,  mingled  there, 

The  game  was  nothing  sweet; 
The  boughs  of  man}'  a  stately  tree 

Lay  shiver'd  at  their  feet. 

The  Austrian  men-at-arms  stood  fast. 

So  close  their  spears  they  laid: 
It  chafed  the  gallant  Winkelried, 

Who  to  his  comrades  said— 

"  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  home, 

A  wife  and  infant  son; 
I  leave  them  to  my  countr}-'s  care, — 

This  field  shall  soon  be  won. 

"  These  nobles  lay  their  spears  right  thick, 

And  keep  full  firm  array. 
Yet  shall  my  charge  their  order  break. 

And  make  my  brethren  way. " 

He  rushed  against  the  Austrian  band. 

In  desperate  career. 
And  with  his  body,  breast,  and  hand, 

Bore  down  each  hostile  spear. 

Four  lances  splintered  on  his  crest. 

Six  shivered  in  his  side; 
Still  on  the  serried  files  he  press'd — 

He  broke  their  ranks,  and  died. 
This  patriot's  self-devoted  deed. 

First  tamed  the  lion's  mood, 
And  the  four  forest  cantons  freed 

From  thraldom  by  his  blood. 
Right  where  his  charge  had  made  a  lane. 

His  valiant  comrades  burst. 
With  sword,  and  axe,  and  partizan, 

And  hack,  and  stab,  and  thrust. 
The  daunted  lion  'gan  to  whine. 

And  granted  ground  amain. 


•  In  the  original,  Haasenstein,  or  Hare-stone. 

+This  seems  to  allude  to  tlie  preposterous  fashion,  du 
ring  the  middle  ages,  of  wearing  boots  with  the  points  or 
peakes  turned  upwards,  and  so  long  that,  in  some  cases, 
they  were  fastened  to  the  knees  of  the  wearer  with  small 
chains.  When  they  alighted  to  fight  upon  foot,  it  would 
seem  that  the  Austrian  gentlemen  found  it  necessary  to 
cut  off  these  peaks,  that  tney_might  move  with  the  neces- 
sary activity. 

\  A  pun  on  the  archduke's  name,  Leopold. 


4S0 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  mountain  bull,*  he  bent  his  brows, 
And  gored  his  sides  again. 

Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield. 

At  Sempach  in  the  flight, 
The  cloister  vaults  at  Konigsfield 

Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight. 

It  was  the  archduke  Leopold, 

So  lordly  would  he  ride. 
But  he  came  against  the  Switzer  churls. 

And  they  slew  him  in  his  pride. 

The  heifer  said  unto  the  bull, 

•«  And  shall  I  not  complain? 
There  came  a  foreign  nobleman 

To  milk  me  on  the  plain. 

"  One  thrust  of  thine  outrageous  horn 
Has  gall'd  the  knight  so  sore. 

That  to  the  churchyard  he  is  borne. 
To  range  our  glens  no  more." — 

An  Austrian  noble  left  the  stour, 

And  fast  the  flight  'gan  take; 
And  he  arrived  in  luckless  hour 

At  Sempach  on  the  lake. 

He  and  his  squire  a  fisher  call'd, 
(His  name  was  Hans  Von  Rot) 

"  For  love,  or  meed,  or  charity. 
Receive  us  in  thy  boat." 

Their  anxious  call  the  fisher  heard. 

And,  glad  the  meed  to  win. 
His  shallop  to  the  shore  he  steer'd, 

And  took  the  flyers  in. 

And  while  against  the  tide  and  wind 

Hans  stoutly  row'd  his  way. 
The  noble  to  his  follower  sign'd 

He  should  the  boatman  slay. 

The  fisher's  back  was  to  them  turn'd, 

The  squire  his  dagger  drew, 
Hans  saw  his  shadow  in  the  lake. 

The  boat  he  overthrew. 

He  whelm'd  the  boat,  and  as  they  strove. 
He  stunn'd  them  with  his  oar; 

•'  Now,  drink  ye  deep,  my  gentle  sirs. 
You'll  ne'er  stab  boatman  more. 

«*  Two  gilded  fishes  in  the  lake 

This  morning  have  1  caught. 
Their  silver  scales  may  much  avail. 

Their  carrion  flesh  is  naught." 

It  was  a  messenger  of  wo 

Has  sought  the  Austrian  land; 
«•  Ah!  gracious  lady,  evil  news! 

My  lord  lies  on  the  strand. 
"  At  Sempach,  on  the  battle-field. 

His  bloody  corpse  lies  there." 
"  Ah,  gracious  God!"  tlie  lady  cried, 

"  What  tidings  of  despair!" 

Now,  would  you  know  the  minstrel  wight. 

Who  sings  of  strife  so  stern, 
Albert  the  "Souler  is  he  hight, 

A  burgher  of  Lucerne. 

A  merry  man  was  he,  1  wot. 

The  night  he  made  the  lay, 
Itelurniug  from  the  bloody  spot, 

Wliere  God  liad  judged  the  day. 


•  A  pun  oil  the  Urui,  or  wild  bull,  which  gives  name  to 
the  canton  of  Uri. 


THE  NOBLE  MOHINGER: 

AN  ANCIENT  BALLAIl, 

Translated  from  the  German, 
The  original  of  these  verses  occurs  in  a  collec- 
tion of  German  popular  songs,  entitled  Sammlung 
Dentschen  Volkslieder,  Bevlin,  1807,  published  by 
Messrs.  Busching  and  Von  der  Hagen,  both,  anrf 
more  especially  the  last,  distinguished  for  their 
acquaintance  with  the  ancient  popular  poetry  and 
legendary  history  of  Germany. 

In  the  German  editor's  notice  of  the  ballad,  it 
is  slated  to  have  been  extracted  from  a  manuscript 
Chronicle  of  Nicolaus  Thomann,  chaplain  to  St. 
Leonard  in  Weisenhorn,  which  bears  the  date 
1533;  and  the  song  is  stated  by  the  author  to  have 
been  generally  sung  in  the  neighbourhood  at  that 
early  period.  Thomann,  as  quoted  bj"  the  German 
editor,  seems  faithfuUj'  to  have  believed  the  event 
he  narrates.  He  quotes  tomb-stones  and  obituaries 
to  prove  the  existence  of  the  personages  of  the 
ballad,  and  discovers  that  there  actually  died  on 
the  llth  May,  1349,  a  lady  Von  Neuffen,  countess 
of  Marstetten,  who  was  by  birth  of  the  house  of 
Moringer.  This  lady  he  supposes  to  have  been 
Moringer's  daughter  mentioned  in  the  ballad.  He 
quotes  the  same  authority  for  the  death  of  Berck- 
hold  Von  NeufFen  in  the  same  year.  The  editors, 
on  the  whole,  seem  to  embrace  the  opinion  of  pro- 
fessor Smith,  of  Ulm,  who,  from  the  language  of 
the  ballad,  ascribes  its  date  to  the  15th  century. 

The  legend  itself  turns  on  an  incident  not  pecu- 
liar to  Germany,  and  which  perhaps  was  not  un- 
likely to  happen  in  more  instances  than  one,  when 
crusaders  abode  long  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  their 
disconsolate  dames  received  no  tidings  of  their 
fate.  A  story  very  similar  in  circumstances,  but 
without  the  miraculous  machinei^  of  saint  Tho- 
mas, is  told  of  one  of  the  ancient  lords  of  Haigh- 
hall,  in  Lancashire,  the  patrimonial  inheritance  of 
the  late  countess  of  Balcarras;  and  the  particulars 
are  represented  on  stained  glass  upon  a  window 
in  that  ancient  manor-house. 


L 

O,  will  you  hear  a  knightly  tale 

Of  old  Bohemian  day, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer 

In  wedlock  bed  he  lay; 
He  halsed  and  kissed  his  dearest  dame. 

That  was  as  sweet  as  May, 
And  said,  "Now,  lady  of  my  heart, 

Attend  the  words  1  say. 

IL 

"  'Tis  I  have  vow'd  a  pilgrimage 

Unto  a  distant  shrine. 
And  I  must  seek  saint  Thomas-land, 

And  leave  the  land  that's  mine; 
Here  shalt  thou  dwell  the  while  in  state. 

So  thou  wilt  pledge  thy  fay. 
That  thou  for  my  return  wilt  wait 

Seven  twelvemonths  and  a  day." 

til. 

Then  out  and  spoke  that  lady  bright, 

Sore  troubled  in  her  cheer, 
"Now,  tell  me  true,  thou  noble  knight. 

What  order  takest  thou  here; 
And  who  shall  lead  thy  vassal  band. 

And  hold  thy  lordly  sway. 
And  be  thy  lady's  guardian  true 

When  thou  art  %  away.i"' 


BALLADS  AND  LYRICAL  PIECES. 


421 


IV. 

Out  spoke  the  noble  Moringer, 

"  Of  that  have  thou  no  care. 
There's  many  a  valiant  gentleman 

Of  me  holds  living  fair; 
The  trustiest  shall  rule  my  land, 

My  vassals  and  my  state, 
And  be  a  guardian  tried  and  true 

To  thee,  my  lovely  mate. 

V. 

"  As  christian-man,  I  needs  must  keep 

The  vow  which  1  have  plight; 
When  I  am  far  in  foreign  land. 

Remember  thy  true  knight; 
And  cease,  my  dearest  dame,  to  grieve. 

For  vain  were  sorrow  now. 
But  grant  thy  Moringer  his  leave. 

Since  God  hath  heard  his  vow." 
VI. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer 

From  bed  he  made  him  bowne. 
And  met  him  there  his  chamberlain, 

With  ewer  and  with  gown: 
He  tlung  the  mantle  on  his  back, 

'Twas  furr'd  with  miniver. 
He  dipp'd  his  hand  in  water  cold, 

And  bathed  his  forehead  fair. 
VII. 
«'  Now  hear,"  he  said,  "  sir  Chamberlain, 

True  vassal  art  thou  mine. 
And  such  the  trust  that  I  repose 

In  that  proved  worth  of  thine. 
For  seven  years  shalt  thou  rule  my  towers, 

And  lead  my  vassal  train. 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  lady's  faith 

Till  I  return  again." 
VIII. 
The  chamberlain  was  blunt  and  true. 

And  sturdily  said  he, 
"  Abide,  my  lord,  and  rule  your  own. 

And  take  this  rede  from  me; 
That  woman's  faith's  a  brittle  trust — 

Seven  twelvemonths  didst  thou  say? 
I'll  pledge  me  for  no  lady's  truth 

Beyond  the  seventh  fair  day." 
IX. 
The  noble  baron  turn'd  him  round, 

His  heart  was  full  of  care. 
His  gallant  esquire  stood  him  nigh,    • 

He  was  Marstetten's  heir. 
To  whom  he  spoke  right  anxiously, 

"  Thou  trusty  squire  to  me, 
Wilt  thou  receive  this  weighty  trust 

When  1  am  o'er  the  sea? 
X. 
•'  To  watch  and  ward  my  castle  strong. 

And  to  protect  my  land. 
And  to  the  hunting  or  the  host 

To  lead  mj'  vassal  band; 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  lady's  faith. 

Till  seven  long  years  are  gone. 
And  guard  her  as  our  lady  dear 

Was  guarded  by  saint  John." 
XI. 
Marstetten's  heir  was  kind  and  true. 

But  fiery,  hot,  and  young. 
And  readily  he  answer  iii;;de. 

With  too  i)rcsum;>tuous  tongue, 
"  My  noble  lord,  cast  care  away, 

And  on  )  our  journey  wend, 


And  trust  this  charge  to  me  until 
Your  pilgrimage  have  end. 
XII. 
"  Rely  upon  my  plighted  faith. 

Which  shall  be  truly  tried, 
To  guard  your  lands,  and  ward  your  toven, 

And  with  your  vassals  ride; 
And  for  your  lovely  lady's  faith. 

So  virtuous  and  so  dear, 
I'll  gage  my  head  it  knows  no  change, 
Be  absent  thirty  year. " 
XIII. 
The  noble  Moringer  took  cheer 

When  thus  he  heard  him  speak, 
And  doubt  forsook  his  troubled  brow, 

And  sorrow  left  his  cheek; 
A  long  adieu  he  bids  to  all — 

Hoists  top-sails  and  away, 
And  wanders  in  saint  Thomas-land 
Seven  twelvemonths  and  a  day. 
XIV. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer 
Within  an  orchard  slept. 
When  on  the  baron's  slumbering  sense 

A  boding  vision  crept; 
And  whisper'd  in  his  ear  a  voice, 

"  'Tis  time,  sir  knight,  to  wake, 
Thy  lady  and  thine  heritage 
Another  master  take. 
XV. 
"  Thy  tower  another  banner  knows. 

Thy  steeds  another  rein. 
And  stoop  them  to  another's  will 

Thy  gallant  vassal  train; 
And  she,  the  lady  of  thy  love. 

So  faithful  once  and  fair. 
This  night,  within  thy  father's  hall. 
She  weds  Marstetten's  heir." 
XVI. 
It  is  the  noble  Moringer 

Starts  up  and  tears  his  beard, 
••  Oh  would  that  I  had  ne'er  been  bom! 

What  tidings  have  I  heard! 
To  lose  my  lordship  and  my  lands 

The  less  would  be  my  care. 
But,  God !  that  e'er  a  squire  untrue 
Should  wed  my  lady  fair ! 
XVII. 
"  O  good  saint  Thomas,  hear,"  he  pray'd, 

"  My  patron  saint  art  thou, 

A  traitor  robs  me  of  my  land 

Even  while  I  pay  my  vow ! 

My  wife  he  brings  to  infamy 

That  was  so  pure  of  name. 

And  I  am  far  in  foreign  land. 

And  must  endure  the  shame. " 

XVIII. 
It  was  the  good  saint  Thomas,  then, 

Who  heard  his  pilgrim's  prayer. 
And  sent  a  sleep  so  deep  and  dead 

That  it  o'erpower'd  his  care; 
He  waked  in  fair  Bohemian  land, 

Outstretch'd  beside  a  rill. 
High  on  the  right  a  castle  stood, 

Low  on  the  left  a  mill. 
XIX. 
The  Moringer  he  started  up 

As  one  from  spell  unbound,  j 

And,  dizzy  with  surprise  and  joy, 

Gazed  wildly  all  around;  i 


/ 


422 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


"  I  know  my  father's  ancient  towers, 

The  mill,  the  stream  I  know, 
Now  blessed  be  my  patron  saint 

Who  cheer'd  his  pilgrim's  wo!" 
XX. 
He  leant  upon  his  pilgrim  staff, 

And  to  the  mill  he  drew, 
So  alter'd  was  his  goodly  form. 

That  none  their  master  knew; 
The  baron  to  the  miller  said, 

«'  Good  friend,  for  charily. 
Tell  a  poor  palmer  in  your  land 

What  tidings  may  there  be?" 
XXI. 
The  miller  answer'd  him  again, 

"  He  knew  of  little  news, 
Save  that  the  lady  of  the  land 

Did  a  new  bridegroom  choose; 
Her  husband  died  in  distant  land. 

Such  is  the  constant  word. 
His  death  sits  heavy  on  our  souls. 

He  was  a  worthy  lord. 
XXll. 
«  Of  him  I  held  the  little  mill 

Which  wins  me  living  free, 
God  rest  the  baron  in  his  grave. 

He  still  was  kind  to  me; 
And  when  saint  Martin's  tide  comes  round, 

And  millers  take  their  toll, 
The  priest  that  prays  foy  Moringer 

Shall  have  both  cope  and  stole." 
XXlll. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer 

To  climb  the  hill  began. 
And  stood  before  the  bolted  gate 

A  wo  and  weary  man; 
««  Now  help  me,  every  saint  in  heaven, 

That  can  compassion  take, 
To  gain  the  entrance  of  my  hall 

This  woful  match  to  break." 
XXIV. 
His  very  knock  it  sounded  sad. 

His  call  was  sad  and  slow, 
For  heart  and  head,  and  voice  and  hand. 

Were  heavy  all  with  wo; 
And  to  the  warder  thus  he  spoke: 

«'  Friend,  to  thy  lady  say, 
A  pilgrim  from  saint  Thomas-land 

Craves  harbour  for  a  day. 
XXV. 
«« I've  wander'd  many  a  w  eary  step. 

My  strength  is  well  nigh  done, 
And  if  she  turn  me  from  her  gate 

I'll  see  no  morrow's  sun; 
1  pray,  for  sweet  saint  Thomas'  sake, 

A  pilgrim's  bed  and  dole, 
And  for" the  sake  of  Moringer's, 

Her  once  loved  husband's  soul." 
XXVI. 
It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then 

He  came  bis  dame  before, 
"A  pilgrim  worn  and  travel-toil'd 

Stands  at  the  castle  door; 
And  prays,  for  sweet  saint  Thomas'  sake, 

For  harbour  and  for  dole. 
And  for  tlie  sake  of  Moringer, 

Thv  noble  liusband's  soul." 
^  XXVll. 

The  lady's  gentle  heart  was  moved, 
"  Do  up  tlic  gale,"  she  said, 


♦'  And  bid  the  wanderer  welcome  be 

To  banquet  and  to  bed: 
And  since  he  names  my  husband's  name. 

So  that  he  lists  to  stay. 
These  towers  shall  be  his  harbourage 

A  twelve-month  and  a  day." 

XXVlll. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then 

Undid  the  portal  broad, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer 

That  o'er  the  threshold  strode; 
"And  have  thou  thanks,  kind  heaven,"  he  said, 

Though  from  a  man  of  sin, 
That  the  true  lord  stands  here  once  more 

His  castle  gate  within." 
XXIX. 
Then  up  the  hall  paced  Moringer, 

His  step  was  sad  and  slow. 
It  sat  full  heaAy  on  his  heart, 

None  seem'd  their  lord  to  know; 
He  sat  him  on  a  lowly  bench, 

Oppress'd  with  wo  and  wrong. 
Short  space  he  sat,  but  ne'er  to  him 

Seem'd  little  space  so  long. 

XXX. 

Now  spent  was  day,  and  feasting  o'er. 

And  come  was  evening  hour. 
The  time  was  nigh  when  new-made  brides 

Retire  to  nuptial  bower; 
"  Our  castle's  wont,"  a  brides-man  said, 

"  Hath  been  both  firm  and  long, 
No  guest  to  harbour  in  our  halls 

Till  he  shall  chant  a  song." 
XXXI. 
Then  spoke  the  youthful  bridegroom  there. 

As  he  sat  by  the  bride, 
•'  My  merry  minstrel  folks,"  quoth  he, 

"Lay  shalm  and  harp  aside; 
Our  pilgrim  guest  must  sing  a  lay. 

The  castle's  rule  to  hold; 
And  well  his  guerdon  will  I  pay 

With  garment  and  with  gold." 

xxxn. 

*'  Chill  flows  the  lay  of  frozen  age," 

' Twas  thus  the  pilgrim  sung, 
"  Nor  golden  meed,  nor  garment  gay. 

Unlocks  her  heavy  tongue; 
Once  did  I  sit,  thou  bridegroom  gay. 

At  board  as  rich  as  thine. 
And  by  my  side  as  fair  a  bride. 

With  all  her  charms,  was  mine. 

XXXHI. 

"  But  time  traced  furrows  on  my  face. 

And  I  grew  silver-hair'd, 
For  locks  of  brown,  and  cheeks  of  youth. 

She  left  this  brow  and  beard; 
Once  rich,  but  now  a  palmer  poor, 

1  tread  life's  latest  stage. 
And  mingle  with  your  bridal  mirth 

The  lay  of  frozen  age. " 
XXXIV. 
It  was  the  noble  lady  there 

This  woful  lay  that  hears. 
And  for  the  aged  pilgrim^s  grief 

Her  eye  was  dimm'd  with  tears 
She  bade  her  gallant  cup-bearer 

A  golden  beaker  talci., 
And  bear  it  to  the  palmer  poor 

To  quaft'it.  for  li!r  sake. 


BALLADS  AND   LYRICAL  PIECES. 


423 


XXXV. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer 

That  drppp'il,  amid  the  wine, 
A  bridal-ring  of  burning  gold, 

So  costly  and  so  fine; 
Now  listen,  gentles,  to  my  song. 

It  tells  you  but  the  sooth, 
'Twas  with  that  very  ring  of  gold 

He  pledged  his  bridal  truth. 
XXXVl. 
Then  to  the  cup-bearer  he  said, 

"  Do  me  one  kindly  deed. 
And  should  my  better  days  return, 

Full  rich  shall  be  tliy  meed; 
Bear  back  the  golden  cup  again 

To  yonder  bride  so  gay, 
And  crave  her,  of  her  courtesy, 

To  pledge  the  palmer  gray." 

xxxvn. 

The  cup-bearer  was  courtly  bred, 

Nor  was  tlie  boon  denied. 
The  golden  cup  he  took  again, 

And  bore  it  to  the  bride; 
"  Lady,"  he  said,  "your  reverend  guest 

Sends  this,  and  bids  me  pray. 
That,  in  thy  noble  courtesy. 

Thou  pledge  the  palmer  gray." 
XXXVIII. 
Tiie  ring  hath  caught  the  lady's  eye. 

She  views  it  close  and  near, 
Then  might  you  hear  her  shriek  aloud, 

"The  Moringer  is  here!" 
Then  might  you  see  her  start  from  seat, 

While  tears  in  torrents  fell. 
But  whether  'twas  for  joy  or  wo, 

The  ladies  best  can  tell. 
XXXIX. 
But  loud  she  utter'd  thanks  to  heaven. 

And  every  saintly  power. 
That  had  return'd  the  Moringer 

Before  the  midnight  hour; 


And  loud  she  utte<-'d  vow  on  vow, 

That  never  was  there  bride 
That  had  like  her  preserved  her  troth, 

Or  been  so  sorely  tried. 

XL. 
"  Yes,  here  I  claim  the  praise,"  she  said, 

"  To  constant  matrons  due. 
Who  keep  the  troth  that  they  have  plight 

So  steadfastly  and  true; 
For  count  the  term  how'er  you  will, 

So  that  you  count  aright, 
Seven  twelvemonths  and  a  day  are  ovit 

When  bells  toll  twelve  to-night. 
XLl. 
It  was  Marstetten  then  rose  up, 

His  falchion  there  he  drew. 
He  kneel'd  before  the  Moringer, 

And  down  his  weapon  threw; 
"  My  oatii  and  knightly  faith  are  broke," 

These  were  the  words  he  said, 
"Then  take,  my  liege,  thy  vassal's  SMord, 

And  take  thy  vassal's  head." 

XLII. 

The  noble  Moringer  he  smiled. 

And  then  aloud  did  say, 
"  He  gathers  wisdom  that  hath  roam'd 

Seven  twelvemonths  and  a  day. 
My  daughter  now  hath  fifteen  years. 

Fame  speaks  her  sweet  and  fair, 
1  give  her  for  the  bride  you  lose, 

And  name  her  for  my  heir. 
XLllI. 
«  The  young  bridegroom  hath  youthful  bride, 

The  old  bridegroom  the  old, 
Whose  faith  was"  kept  till  term  and  tide 

So  punctually  were  told; 
But  blessings  on  the  warder  kind 

That  oped  ray  castle  gate, 
For  had  I  come  at  morrow  tide, 

I  came  a  day  too  late." 


iUi&ttUnnm. 


WAR-SONG 


OF  THE  HOTAI,  EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DKAGOOXS. 

Nennius.  Is  not  peace  the  end  of  arras? 

Caratach.  Not  wuere  the  cause  implies  a  general  con- 
quest. 
Had  we  a  difference  with  some  petty  isle, 
Or  with  our  neighbours,  Britons,  for  our  landmarks. 
The  taking  in  of  some  rebellious  lord. 
Or  making  head  against  a  slight  commotion. 
After  a  day  of  blood,  peace  might  be  argued: 
But  where  we  grapple  for  the  land  we  live  on, 
Tlie  liberty  we  Irold  more  dear  than  life. 
The  gods  \ve  worship,  and,  next  these,  our  honours. 
And,  with  those,  swords,  that  know  no  end  of  battle — 
Those  men,  beside  themselves,  allow  no  neighbour, 
Those  minds,  that,  where  the  day  is,  claim  inheritance, 
Ai;d,  where  the  sun  makes  ripe  the  fruit,  their  harvest. 
And.  where  they  march,  but  measure  out  more  ground 
To  add  to  Rome 

It  must  not  be. — N'ol  as  they  are  our  foes. 
Let's  use  the  peace  of  honour — that's  fair  dealing; 
But  in  our  hands  our  swords.    The  hardy  Roman, 
That  thinks  to  graft  himself  into  my  stock. 
Must  first  begin  his  kindred  under  ground. 
And  be  allied  in  ashes.^^  Bonduca. 

The  following  War-song  was  written  during  the 
apprehension  of  an  invasion.  The  corps  of  volun- 
teers, to  wiiich  it  was  addressed,  was  raised   in 

29 


1797,  consisting  of  gentlemen,  mounted  and  armed 
at  their  own  expense.  It  still  subsists,  as  the  Right 
Troop  of  the  Royal  Mid-Lothian  Light  CavalW, 
commanded  by  the  honourable  lieutenant-colonel 
Dundas.  The  noble  and  constitutional  measure,  of 
arming  freemen  in  defence  of  their  own  rights,  was 
nowhere  more  successful  than  in  Edinburgh,  which 
furnished  a  force  of  3000  armed  and  disciplined 
volunteers,  including  a  regiment  of  cavalry,  from 
the  city  and  county,  and  two  corps  of  artiller}', 
each  capable  of  serving  twelve  guns.  To  such  a 
force,  above  all  others,  might,  in  similar  circum- 
stances, be  applied  the  exhortation  of  our  ancient 
Galgacus:  "  Proinde  itvri  in  adein,  et  majores 
vestros  et  posteros  cogitate. " 


To  horse!  to  horse!  the  standard  flies, 

The  bugles  sound  the  call; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas. 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze, 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  all ! 

From  high  Dunedin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 


424 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


With  Scotland's  hardy  thistle  crowned; 

We  boast  tlie  red  and  blue.* 
Though  tamely  crouch  to  Gallia's  frown 

Dull  Holland's  tardy  train; 
Their  ravished  toys  tliough  Unmans  mourn, 
Though  gallant  Switzcrs  vainly  spurn, 

And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain; 
O!  had  they  marked  the  avenging  calif 

Their  bretlu-en's  murder  gave, 
Disunion  ne'er  their  ranks  had  mown, 
Nor  patriot  valour,  desperate  grown. 

Sought  freedom  in  the  grave! 
Shall  we,  too,  bend  the  stubborn  head, 

In  Freedom's  temple  born. 
Dress  our  pale  cheeks  in  timid  smile, 
To  hail  a  master  in  our  isle. 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn? 

No!  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pouring  as  a  flood. 
The  sun,  that  sees  our  falling  day. 
Shall  mark  our  sabres'  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

For  gold  let  Gallia's  legions  fight. 

Or  plunder's  bloody  gain; 
Unbribed,  unbought,  our  swords  we  draw, 
To  guard  our  king,  to  fence  our  law, 

Nor  shall  their  edge  be  vain. 

If  ever  breath  of  British  gale 

Shall  fan  the  tricolour. 
Or  footstep  of  invader  rude, 
With  rapine  foul,  and  red  with  blood. 

Pollute  our  happy  shore, — 
Then  farewell  home !  and  farewell  friends ! 

Adieu  each  tender  tie! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide. 
Where  cliargiiig  squadrons  furious  ride. 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

To  horse!  to  horse!  the  sabres  gleam; 

High  sounds  our  bugle  call; 
Combined  by  honour's  sacred  tie. 
Our  word  is,  Laws  and  Liberty! 

March  forward,  one  and  all! 

THE  NORMAN  HORSE-SHOE. 

Air— TAe  War-soug  of  the  Men  of  Glamorgan. 
The  Welsh,  inhabiting  a  mountainous  country, 
and  possessing  only  an  inferior  breed  of  horses, 
were  usually  unable  to  encounter  the  siiock  of  the 
Anglo  Norman  cavalry.  Occasionally,  however, 
tliey  were  successful  in  repelling  the  invaders;  and 
tlie  following  verses  are  supposed  to  celebrate  a 
defeat  of  Clare,  earl  of  Striguil  and  Pembroke, 
and  of  Neville,  baron  of  Chepstow,  lords-marchers 
of  Monmouthshire.  Rymny  is  a  stream  wiiich  di- 
vides the  counties  of  Monmouth  and  Glamorgan: 
Caerphili,  the  scene  of  the  supposed  battle,  is  a 
vale  up^  its  banks,  dignified  by  the  ruins  of  a  very 
ancient  castle. 


*  The  loyal  colours. 

+  The  allusion  is  to  the  massacre  of  the  Swiss  guards,  on 
the  fatal  10th  of  Aiiijiist,  1792.  It  is  painful,  but  not  use- 
less, to  remark,  tliat  the  passive  temper  with  which  the 
Swiss  repardeil  the  death  of  their  bravest  countrymen, 
mercilessly  sluugluerctl  in  discharge  of  their  duty,  en- 
couraged and  authorized  the  progressive  injustice  by 
which  the  Alps,  once  the  seat  of  the  most  virtuous  and 
free  people  upon  the  continent,  have,  at  length,  been  con- 
vertc  d  into  the  citadel  of  a  foreign  and  mnitai-y  despot. 
A  state  degrilded  is  half  enslaved. 


Red  glows  the  forge  in  Striguil's  bounds, 
And  hammers  din  and  anvil  sounds, 
And  armourers,  with  iron  toil. 
Barb  many  a  steed  for  battle's  bVoil. 
Foul  fall  the  hand  which  bends  the  steel 
Around  the  coursers'  thundering  heel. 
That  e'er  shall  dint  a  sable  wound 
On  fair  Glamorgan's  velvet  ground ! 

From  Chepstow's  towers,  ere  dawn  of  morn, 

Was  heard  afar  the  bugle  horn; 

And  forth,  in  banded  ])omp  and  pride, 

Stout  Clare  and  fiery  Neville  ride. 

They  swore  their  banners  broat!  should  gleam. 

In  crimson  light,  on  Ryrany's  stream; 

They  vowed,  Caerphili's  sod  should  feel 

The  Norman  charger's  spurning  heel. 

And  sooth  they  swore, — the  sun  arose. 
And  Rymny's  wave  with  criimson  glows> 
For  Clare's  red  banner,  floating  wide. 
Rolled  down  the  stream  to  Severn's  tide! 
And  sooth  they  vowed — the  trampled  green 
Showed  where  hot  Neville's  charge  had  been: 
In  every  sable  hoof  tramp  stood 
A  Norman  horseman's  curdling  blood! 

Old  Chepstow's  brides  may  curse  the  toil 
That  armed  stout  Clare  for  Cambrian  broil; 
Their  orphans  long  the  art  may  rue. 
For  Neville's  war-horse  forged  the  slioe. 
No  more  the  stamp  of  armed  steed 
Shall  dint  Glamorgan's  velvet  mead; 
Nor  trace  be  there,  in  early  spring. 
Save  of  the  fairies'  emerald  ring. 

THE  LAST  WORDS  OF  CADWALLON. 

A\i>~Dafij(lcl  y  Garre^-iven,"* 
There  is  a  tradition  thatDafydd  y  Garreg-wen, 
a  famous  Welsh  b.'trd,  being  on  his  death-bed, 
called  for  his  harp,  and  composed  the  sweet  me- 
lancholy air  to  whicii  these  verses  are  united,  re- 
questing that  it  might  be  performed  at  his  funeral, 

DiNAS  Emunn,  lament,  for  the  moment  is  nigh. 
When  mute  in  the  woodlands  thine  echoes  siiall  die; 
No  more  by  sweet  Teivi  Cadwallon  shall  rave, 
And  mix  his  wild  notes  with  the  wild  dashing  wave. 

In  spring  and  in  autumn,  thy  glories  of  shade 
Unhonour'd  shall  flourish,  unhonour'd  shall  fade; 
For  soon  shall  be  lifeless  the  eye  and  the  tongue, 
That  view'd  them  with  rapture,  with  rapture  that 
sung. 

Thy  sons,  DinasEmlinn,may  march  in  their  pride, 
And  chase  the  proud  Saxon  from  Prestatyn's  side; 
Hut  where  is  the  harp  shall  give  life  to  their  name? 
And  where  is  the  bard  shall  give  heroes  their  fame? 

And  oh,  Dinas  Emlinn !  thy  daughters  so  fair. 
Who  heave  tlie  white  bosom,  and  wave  the  dark 

hair; 
What  tuneful  enthusiast  shall  worship  tiieir  eye. 
When  half  of  their  charms  with  Cadwallon  shall 

die? 

Then  adieu,  silver  Teivi !  I  quit  thy  loved  ^cene, 
To  join  the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  who  have  been; 
With  Lewarch,  and  Meilor,  and  Merlin  the  Old, 
And  sage  Taliessin,  high  harping  to  hold. 

And  adieu,  Dinas  Emlinn !  still  green  be  thy  shades, 
Unconquer'd    thy    warriors,    and    matchless   tl>" 

maids!  >"    ^3    l-v . 

•  David  of  the  white  RocljL.  ■    -I'-if^*;/! 

V       a.      y.      ftf 


MISCELLANIES. 


425 


And  thou,  whose  faint  warblings  my  weakness  can 

tell, 
Farewell,  my  lov'd  harp !  my  last  treasure,  farewell .' 

THE  MAID  OF  TORO. 

O,  LO"w  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 
And  weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the  dark 
wood. 
All  as  a  iair  maiden,  bewildered  in  sorrow. 
Sorely  sigli'd  to  the  breezes,  and  wept  to  the 
flood. 
"  O,  saints !  from  the  mansions  of  bliss  lowly  bend- 
ing; 
Sweet  Virgin!  who  hearest  the  suppliant's  cry; 
Now  grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 
My  Henry  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die! 

All  distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle. 
With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes 
they  fail. 
Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's 
dread  rattle, 
And  the  chase's  wild  clamour,  came  loading  the 
gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  on  the  woodlands  so  dreary; 

Slowly  approaching  a  warrior  was  seen; 
Life's  ebbing  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary, 
Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  wo  was  his  mien. 

"  O,  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying ! 

O,  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low ! 
Deadly  cold  on  you  heath  thy  brave  Henry  is  lying; 

And  fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the 
foe. " — 
Scarce  could  he  falter  the  tidings  of  sorrow, 

And  scarce  could  she  hear  them,  benumb'd  with 
despair: 
And  when  the  sun  sunk  on  the  sweet  lake  of  Toro, 

For  ever  he  set  to  the  brave  and  the  fair. 

HELLYELLYX. 

In  the  spring  of  1805,  a  young  gentleman  of 
talents,  and  of  a  most  amiable  disposition,  perish- 
ed by  losing  his  way  on  the  mountain  Hellvellyn. 
His  remains  were  not  discovered  till  three  months 
afterwards,  when  they  were  found  guarded  by  a 
faithful  terrier  bitch,  his  constant  atlendant  during 
frequent  solitary  rambles  through  the  wilds  of 
Cumberland  and  Westmoreland. 

1  CLiMBEn  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hellvellyn, 
Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleamed  mis- 
ty and  wide; 
All  was  still,  save   by  fits  when   the   eagle  was 
yelling, 
And  starting  around  me  the  echoes  replied. 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Red- tarn  was 

bending. 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending. 
One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending. 
When  I  marked  tlie  sad  spot  where  the  wanderer 
had  died. 

Dark  green  was  the  spot  mid  the  brown  moun- 
tain-heather, 
Wliere  the  pilgrim  of  nature  la}'  stretched  in 
decay. 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandoned  to  weather. 
Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless 
clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended. 
For,  "faithful  in  ilcath,  his  mute  favourite  attended, 


The  much  loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 
And  chased  the  hill  fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was 
slumber? 
VVlien  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft 
didst  thou  start? 
How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou 
number, 
Ere  he  faded  before  thee,  the  friend  of  thy  heart? 
And,  O!  was  it  meet,  that,  no  requium  read  o'er 

him, 
Xo  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him, 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  stretched  before 
him, 
Unhonoured  the  pilgrim  from  life  should  depart? 

When  a  prince  to  the  fate  of  the  peasant  has 
yielded, 
The  tapestrv  waves  dai-k  round  the  dim-lighted 
hall; 
^Yith  scutcheons  of  silver  the  cofiin  is  shielded, 

And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall: 
Through  the  courts,  at  deep  midnight,  the  torches 

are  gleaming; 
In  the   proudly  arched   chapel   the   banners  are 

beaming; 
Faradown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming. 

Lamenting  a  chief  of  the  people  siiould  fall. 
But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature. 
To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain 
lamb; 
When,  wildered,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  iu 
stature, 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake 

lying. 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying. 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying. 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 

JOCK  OF  HAZELDEAN. 

Air — Ji  Border  Melody. 
The  first  stanza  of  this  ballad  is  ancient.     The 
others  were  written  for  Mr.  Campbell's  Albyii's 
Anthology. 

"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide? 
I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son. 

And  ye  sail  be  tiis  bride: 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen" — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  Now  let  this  wilful  grief  be  done. 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha'. 

His  sword  in  battle  keen" — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

"  A  chain  o'  gold  ye  sail  not  lack. 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair; 
Nor  mettled  liound,  nor  managed  hawk. 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair; 
And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a'. 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen" — 
But  aje  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 


426 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  kirk  was  (leck'd  at  morning-tiile, 

The  tapers  glimmer'tl  fair; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 
They  sought  her  both  by  bower  and  ha', 

The  hidie  was  not  seen ! 
She's  o'er  the  border,  and  awa' 

\Vi' Jockof  Hazeldean. 

LULLABY  OF  AN  INFANT  CHIEF. 

Air — Gadilgu  lo.' 
O  HUSH  tliee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight; 
Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovely  and  bright; 
The  woods  and  the  glens,  from  the  towers  which 

we  see, 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  baby,  to  thee. 
O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  cadil  gu  lo, 
O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 
O  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows. 
It  calls  but  the  warders  that  guard  thy  repose; 
Their  bows  would  be  bended,  their  blades  would 

be  red, 
Ere  the  step  of  a  foeman  draws  near  to  thy  bed. 

O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 
O  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  soon  will  come. 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet  and 

drum; 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while  you 

may. 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,  and  waking  with 
day. 

O  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

PIBROCH  OF  DONALD  DHU. 

Written  for  jUbyn's  ^inthology. 
A\r—Piobair  of  DlionuH  Duidh.f 

This  is  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belonging  to  the 
clan  Mac-Donald,  and  supposed  to  refer  to  the 
expedition  of  Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  1431,  lanch- 
ed  from  the  Isles  with  a  considerable  force,  invaded 
Lochaber,  and  at  Inverlochy  defeated  and  put  to 
flight  the  earls  of  Marr  and  Caithness,  though  at 
the  head  of  an  army  superior  to  his  own.  The 
words  of  the  set  theme,  or  melody,  to  which  the 
pipe  variations  are  applied,  run  thus  in  Gaelic: 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil,  piobaireaehd  Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Diiiilh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Duiilh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil; 
Piob  agus  bratach  air  iaiche  Inverlochi. 

The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  war-pipe  and  the  pennon  are  on  the  gathering-place 
at  Inverlochy. 

Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan-Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away. 

Hark  to  the  summons! 
Come  in  your  war  array. 

Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky, 
The  war-])ipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlochy: 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  we.irs  one, 


•  "  Sleep  on  till  d:iy."  These  words,  adapted  to  a  melc- 
dy  somewhat  ditfereni  from  the  original,  are  sung  in  iny 
iricnd  Mr.  Terry's  drama  of  Guy  Mannering. 

t  The  pibroch  of  Donald  the  Black. 


Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 
Leave  untended  the  herd. 

The  flock  without  shelter; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

The  bride  at  the  altar; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer. 

Leave  nets  and  barges; 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear. 

Broad  swords  and  targes. 
Come  as  the  wifids  come,  when 

Forests  are  rended; 
Come  as  the  waves  come,  when 

Navies  are  stranded; 
Faster  come,  faster  come. 

Faster  and  faster. 
Chief,  vassal,  page,  and  groom. 

Tenant  and  master. 
Fast  they  come,  fast  they  coraej 

See  how  they  gather! 
Wide  waves  tlie  eagle  plume, 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

Forward  eacli  man  set! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Knell  for  the  onset! 

NORA'S  VOW. 
Written  for  Albyii's  ^inthology. 
Air— Cha  teld  mis  a  chaoidh.' 
In  the  original  Gaelic,  the  lady  makes  protesta- 
tions that  she  will  not  go  with  the  Red  earl's  son 
until  the  swan  should  build  in  the  clifi^,  and  the 
eagle  in  the  lake — until  one  mountain  should  change 
places  with  another,  and  so  forth.  It  is  l)ut  fair  to 
add,  that  there  is  no  authority  for  supposing  that 
she  altered  her  mind — except  the  vehemence  of 
her  protestation. 

Hear  what  highland  Nora  said, 

"  The  earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed, 

Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die, 

And  none  be  left  but  he  and  I. 

For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear, 

And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near. 

That  ever  valour  lost  or  won, 

I  would  not  wed  the  earlie's  son." 

"  A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Cidlum  spoke, 

"  Are  lightly  made,  and  lightly  broke; 

The  heather  an  the  mountain's  height 

Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light; 

The  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 

That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae; 

Yet  Nora,  ere  its  l)loom  be  gone, 

M.iy  blithly  wed  the  earlie's  son." 

"  The  swan,"  she  said,  "  the  lake's  clear  breast 

May  barter  for  tlie  eagle's  nest; 

The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  ttim, 

Ben-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilchurn, 

Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high. 

Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly; 

But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done. 

Would  never  wed  the  earlie's  son." 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild  swan  made, 

Ben-Crviaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever. 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  river; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel. 

No  highland  broguB  has  turned  the  heel; 


' "  I  will  never  go  with  him." 


MISCELLANIES. 


427 


But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won, 
— She's  wedded  to  the  earlie's  son ! 

MAC-GREGOR'S  GATHERING. 

Written  for  AlbyiVs  AiUhology. 
Air — TItain'  a  Grigalach.' 
These  verses  are  adapted  to  a  very  wild,  yet 
lively  gathering-tune,  used  by  the  Mac-Gregors. 
The  severe  treatment  of  this  clan,  their  outlawry, 
and  the  proscription  of  their  very  name,  are  allud- 
ed to  in  the  hallad. 

The  moon's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist's  on  the 

brae. 
And  the  clan  has  a  name  that  is  nameless  by  day ! 

Then  gather,  gather,   gather,   Gregalach! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 

Our  signal  for  fight,  that  from  raonarchs  we  drew. 
Must  be  heard  but  by  night  in  our  vengeful  haloo! 

Then  haloo,  Gregalach !  haloo,  Gregalach ! 

Haloo,  haloo,  haloo,  Gregalach,  &c. 

Glen  Orchy's  proud  mountains,  Coalchuirn  and 

her  towers, 
Glenstrae  and  Glenlyon  no  longer  are  ours: 

We're  landless,  landless,  landless,  Gregalach ! 

Landless,  landless,  landless,  &c. 

But  doom'd  and  devoted  by  vassal  and  lord, 
Macgregor  has  still  both  his  heart  and  his  sword! 

Then  courage,  courage,  courage,  Gregalach ! 

Courage,  courage,  courage,  Sic. 

If  they  rob  us  of  name,  and  pursue  us  with  bea- 
gles. 
Give  their  roofs  to  the  flame,  and  their  flesh  to  the 
eagles ! 
Then  vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  Gre- 
galach ! 
Vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  &c. 

While  there's  leaves  in  the  forest,  and  foam  on 

the  river, 
Mac-Gregor,  despite  them,  shall  flourish  for  ever! 

Come  then,  Gregalach,  come  then,  Gregalach. 

Come  then,  come  tlien,  come  then,  &c. 

Through  the  depths  of  Loch  Katrine  the  steed 

shall  career, 
O'er  tlie    peak  of  Ben  Lomond  the  galley  shall 

steer. 
And  the  rocks  of  Craig  Royston  like  icicles  melt. 
Ere  our  wrongs  be  forgot,  or  our  vengeance  unfelt! 
Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Gregalach! 
Gather,  gather,  gather,  kc. 

DONALD  CAIRO'S  COME    AGAIN. 

Air— Malcohn  Caird's  come  ngaiit.f 
CHORUS. 

DoxALD  Caird's  come  again! 
Do7ialil  Caird's  come  again.' 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again.' 

Donald  Caird  can  lilt  and  sing, 
Blithly  dance  the  hieland  fling, 
Drink  till  the  gudenian  be  blind, 
Fleech  till  the  gudewife  be  kind; 
Hoop  a  leglen,  clout  a  pan. 
Or  crack  a  pow  wi'  ony  man; 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  asrain. 


*  "  The  Mac-Greg;oris  come."' 
t  Caird  signifies  linker. 


Donald  Caird's  come  again.' 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Tell  the  7iews  in  brngh  and  glen, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 
Donald  Caird  can  wire  a  maukin. 
Kens  the  wiles  o'  dun  deer  staukin; 
Leisters  kipper,  makes  a  shift 
To  shoot  a  muir-fowl  in  the  drift; 
M'ater-bailifFs,  rangers,  keepers, 
He  can  wauk  wljen  they  are  sleepers; 
>>ot  for  bountith  or  reward 
Dare  ye  mell  wi'  Donald  Caird. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Gar  the  bagpipes  hum  cwiaiti, 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 
Donald  Caird  can  drink  a  gill 
Fast  as  hosller-wife  can  fill; 
Ilka  ane  that  sells  good  liquor 
Kens  how  Donald  bends  a  bicker. 
When  he's  fou  he's  stout  and  saucy, 
Keeps  the  cantle  of  the  cawsey; 
Highland  chief  and  lowland  laird. 
Maun  gi'e  room  to  Donald  Caird! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Tell  the  news  in  biiigh  and  glen, 

Donald  Caird's  come  agaiii! 
Steek  the  amrie,  lock  the  kist. 
Else  some  gear  may  weel  be  mist; 
Donald  Caird  finds  orra  things 
Wliere  Allan  Gregor  fund  the  tings; 
Dunts  of  kebbeck,  tails  of  woo. 
Whiles  a  heu  and  wliiles  a  sow. 
Webs  or  duds  frae  hedge  or  yard — 
'Ware  the  wuddie,  Donald  Caird! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 
Donald  Caird's  come  acnin! 
Dinna  let  tlie  shirra  ken 
Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

On  Donald  Caird  the  doom  was  stern, 
Craig  to  tether,  legs  to  airn; 
But  Donald  Caird,  wi'  mickle  study, 
Caught  the  gift  to  cheat  the  wuddie; 
Rings  of  airn,  and  bolts  of  steel, 
Fell  like  ice  frae  Iiand  and  heel! 
Watch  the  sheep  in  fauld  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

Doncdd  Caird's  come  again! 

Dinna  lei  the  justice  ken 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 

MACKRIMMON'S  LAMENT. 

Air— Cha  till  mi  tiiitle."* 
MACKnixMOV,  hereditary  ])i[)er  to  tlie  laird  of 
Macleod,  is  said  to  have  composed  this  lament 
when  the  clan  was  about  to  depart  upon  a  distant 
and  dangerous  expedition.  Tlie  minstrel  was  im- 
pressed with  a  belief,  wiiich  the  event  verified 
that  he  was  to  be  slain  in  the  approaching  feud; 
and  hence  the  Gaelic  words,  "  Cha  till  mi  tuille; 
ged  thillis  JMaclcod,  cha  till  JMacrimmon,"  "1 
shall  never  return;  althougli  Macleod  returns,  vet 
Mackiimmon  sliall  never  return!"  The  piece'  is 
but  too  well  known,  from  its  being  the  strain  with 


•  We  retiuu  no  more.' 


428 


which  the  emigrants  from  the  west  highlands  and 
isles  usually  lake  leave  of  their  native  shore. 

Maclf-od's  wizard  flap;  from  the  pray  castle  sallies, 
The  rowers  are  seated,  iinnioor'd  are  the  galleys; 
Gleam  war-axe  and  broad  sword,  clang  target  and 

quiver, 
As  Mackrimmon  sings,  "  Farewell  to  Dunvegan 

for  evei- 1 
Farewell  to  each  cliff;  on  which  breakers  are  foam- 

Farcwelf  each  dark  glen,  in  which  red  deer  are 

roaming; 
Farewell  lonely  Skte,  to  lake,   mountain,    and 

river, 
Macleod  may  return  hut  Mackrimmon,  shall  never ! 

«  Farewell  the  bright  clouds  that  on  Quillan  are 
sleeping; 

Farewell  the-bright  eyes  in  the  Dun  that  are 
weeping; 

To  each  minstrel  delusion,  farewell!— and  tor 
ever — 

Mackrimmon  departs,  to  return  to  you  never  ! 

The  banshee's  wild  voice  sings  the  death-dirge  be- 
fore me, 

The  pall  of  the  dead  for  a  mantle  hangs  o'er  me; 

But  my  heart  shall  not  flag,  and  my  nerves  shall 
not  shiver. 

Though  devoted  I  go— to  return  again  never ! 

"  Too  oft  shall  the  notes  of  Mackrimmon's  be- 
wailing 

Be  heard  when  the  Gael  on  their  exile  are  sailmg; 

Dear  land!  to  the  shores,  whence  unwilling  we 
sever. 
Return— return— return— shall  we  never! 
Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille! 
Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 
Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 
Ged  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Macrimmon!" 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


ON     ETTRICK 


MOUNTAINS 


On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun, 
'Tisblith  to  hear  the  sportsman's  gun. 
And  seek  the  lieath-fre<iuenting  brood 
Far  through  the  noon-day  solitude; 
By  many  a  cairn  and  trenched  mound, 
Where  chiefs  of  yore  sleep  lone  and  sound. 
And  springs,  where  gray-haired  shepherds  tell, 
That  still  the  fairies  love  to  dwelL 

Along  the  silver  streams  of  Tweed, 
'Tis  blith  the  mimic  fly  to  lead. 
When  to  the  hook  the  salmon  springs, 
And  the  line  wiiistles  through  the  rings: 
The  boiling  eddy  see  him  try. 
Then  dashing  from  the  current  high. 
Till  watchful  eye  and  cautious  hand 
Have  led  his  wasted  strength  to  land. 

'Tis  blith  along  the  miihiight  tide. 
With  stalwart  arm  the  boat  to  guide; 
On  high  the  dazzling  blaze  to  rear, 
And  heedful  plunge  the  barbed  spear; 
Rock,  wood,  and  scaur,  emerging  bright, 
Fling  on  the  stream  their  ruddy  light. 
And  from  the  bank  our  b;md  appears 
Like  genii,  armed  with  fiery  spears. 

•  Written  after  a  week's  sliootin?  and  fishing,  in  which 
the  poet  had  bfen  engaged  with  some  friends. 


'Tis  blith  at  eve  to  tell  the  tale. 
How  we  succeed,  and  how  we  fail, 
Wiiether  at  Alwyn's*  lordly  meal. 
Or  lowlier  hoard  of  Asbestiel;t 
While  the  gay  tapta-s  cheerly  shine. 
Bickers  the  fire,  and  flows  tlie  wine — 
Days  free  from  thought,  and  nights  from  care, 
My  blessing  on  the  forest  fair! 

THE  SUN  UPON  THE  VVIERDLAW-HILL. 

Air— liimhin  aluin  ^stu  mo  ynn. 
The  air,  composed  by  the  editor  of  Albyn''s  An- 
thology.    The  words  written  for  Mr.  George 
Thomson's  Scottish  JMelodies. 

The  snn  upon  the  Wierdlaw-hill, 

In  Ettrick's  vale,  is  sinking  sweet. 
The  westland  wind  is  hush  and  still. 

The  lake  lies  sleeping  at  my  feet. 
Yet  not  the  landscape  to  mine  eye 

Bears  those  bright  hues  that  once  it  bore; 
Though  evening,  with  her  richest  dye. 

Flames  o'er  the  hills  of  Ettrick's  shore. 

With  listless  look  along  the  plain, 

I  see  Tweed's  silver  current  glide. 
And  coldly  mark  the  holy  fane 

Of  Melrose  rise  in  ruined  pride. 
The  quiet  lake,  the  balmy  air. 

The  hill,  the  stream,  the  tower,  the  tree, — 
Are  they  still  such  as  once  they  were, 

Or  is  the  dreary  change  in  me? 

Alas,  the  warp'd  and  broken  board. 

How  can  it  bear  the  painter's  dye! 
The  harp  of  strain'd  and  tuneless  chord. 

How  to  the  minstrel's  skill  reply! 
To  aching  eyes  each  landscape  lowers. 

To  feverish  pulse  each  gale  blows  chill; 
And  Araby's  or  Eden's  bowers 

Were  barren  as  this  moorland  hill. 

THE  MAID  OF  ISLA. 

Air— T/if  Maid  of  Isla. 
Written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Scottish  Me* 
todies. 
O  MAID  of  Isla,  from  the  clift'. 

That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky. 
Dost  thou  not  see  yon  little  skift' 

Contend  with  ocean  gallantly? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge, 

And  steep'd  her  leeward  deck  in  foam. 
Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge? — 

O  Isla's  maid,  she  seeks  her  home. 
O  Isla's  maid,  yon  sea-bird  mark. 

Her  white  wing  gleams  through  mist  and  spray, 
Against  the  storm-clad,  louring  dark. 

As  to  the  rock  she  wheels  away; — 
Where  clouds  are  dark  and  billows  rave. 

Why  to  the  shelter  should  slie  come 
Of  cliff,  exposed  to  wind  and  wave? 

O  maid  of  Isla,  'tis  her  home. 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff, 
Thou'rt  adverse  to  the  suit  I  bring. 

And  cold  as  is  yon  wintery  cliff, 

Where  sea-birds  close  their  wearied  wing. 


*  Jlhrijri,  the  seat  of  the  lord  Soriierville,  now,  aUisl  unte- 
nanted, by  the  lamented  death  of  that  kind  and  hospitable 
nobleman,  the  author's  nearest  neighbour  and  intiitiate 
friend. 

fAshcsticI,  the  poet's  residence  at  that  time. 


MISCELLANIES. 


429 


Yet  cold  as  rock,  unkind  as  wave, 
Still,  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come; 

For  in  thy  love,  or  in  his  gvave, 
Must  Allan  Vourich  find  his  home. 

THE  FORAY. 

Set  to  music  by  John  Whitefield,  Mus.  Doc.  Cam. 

The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  spread, 

And  the  last  flask  of  wine  in  our  goblets  is  red; 

Up !  up,  my  brave  kinsmen !  belt  swords  and  be- 
gone! 

There  are  dangers  to  dare,  and  there's  spoil  to  be 
won. 

The  eyes,  that  so  lately  mix'd  glances  with  ours. 
For  a  space  must  be  dim,  as  they  gaze  from  the 

towers. 
And  strive  to  distinguish,  through  tempest  and 

gloom, 
The  prance  of  the  steed,  and  the  toss  of  the  plume. 

The  rain  is  descending;  the  wind  rises  loud; 

And  the  moon  her  red  beacon  has  veil'd  with  a 
cloud; 

'Tis  the  better,  my  mates,  for  the  warder's  dulj  eye 

Shall  in  confidence  slumber,  nor  dream  we  are  nigh. 

Our  steeds  are  impatient!  I  hear  my  blith  gray! 

There  is  life  in  his  hoof-clang,  and  hope  in  his 
iieigh; 

Like  the  flash  of  a  meteor,  the  glance  of  his  mane 

Shall  marshal  your  march  through  the  darkness 
and  rain. 

The  drawbridge  has  dropp'd,  the  bugle  has  blo\vn; 

One  pledge  is  to  quaff  yet — then  mount  and  be- 
gone!— 

To  their  honour  and  peace,  that  shall  rest  with  the 
slain; 

To  their  health,  and  their  glee,  that  see  Teviot 
again ! 

THE  MONKS  OF  BANGOR'S  MARCH. 

Air— Tmdaith  Mionge. 
Written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Welch  Melo- 
dies. 
Etheltiid,  or  Olfrid,  king  of  Northumberland, 
having  besieged  Chester  in  613,  and  l>rockmael,  a 
British  prince,  advancing  to  relieve  it,  the  reli- 
gious of  the  neighbouring  monastery  of  Bangor 
marched  in  procession,  to  pray  for  the  success  of 
their  countrymen.  But  the  British  being  totally 
defeated,  the  heathen  victor  put  the  monks  to  the 
sword,  and  destroyeil  their  monastery.  The  tune 
to  which  these  verses  are  adapted,  is  called  the 
Monks'  March,  and  is  supposed  to  ha-ve  been 
played  at  their  ill-omened  procession. 

When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang 
Round  belcaguer'd  Chester  rang. 
Veiled  nun  and  friar  gray 
INIarch'd  from  Bangor's  fair  abbaye; 
High  their  holy  anthem  sounds, 
Cestria's  vale  t!ie  h^mn  rebounds. 
Floating  down  the  sylvan  Dee, 

O  miserere,  Domine! 
On  the  long  procession  goes, 
Glory  round  tlieir  crosses  glows. 
And  the  Virgin-mother  mild 
In  their  peaceful  banner  smiled; 
Who  could  think  such  s;<intly  band 
Doom'd  to  feel  unhallow'd  liand ! 
Such  was  tlie  divine  decree, 

O  miserere,  Domine! 


Bands  that  masses  only  sung, 
Hands  that  censers  only  swun^, 
Met  the  northern  bow  and  bill. 
Heard  the  war-cry  wild  and  shrill; 
Wo  to  Brochmael's  feeble  hand, 
Wo  to  Olfrid's  bloody  brand, 
Wo  to  Saxon  cruelty, 

O  miserere,  DomiTie! 
Weltering  amid  warriors  slain, 
Spurn'd  by  steeds  with  bloody  mane, 
Slaughtered  down  by  heathen  blade, 
Bangor's  peaceful  monks  are  laid: 
Word  of  parting  rest  unspoke, 
Mass  unsung,  and  bread  unbroke; 
For  their  souls  for  charity, 

Sing  0  miserere,  Domine.' 

Bangor!  o'er  the  murder  wail, 
Long  thy  ruins  told  the  tale, 
Shatter'd  towers  and  broken  arch 
Long  recall'd  the  woful  march;* 
On  thy  shrine  no  tapers  burn, 
Never  shall  thy  priests  return: 
The  pilgrim  sighs  and  sings  for  thee, 
O  miserere,  Domine! 

THE  SEARCH  AFTER  HAPPINESS; 

OR 
THE  Q.UEST  OF  SULTAUX  SOLIMAtTN'. 

Written  in  1817. 
O,  FOH  a  glance  of  that  gay  muse's  eye, 

That  lighten'd  on  Bandello's  laugliing  tale, 
And  twinkled  with  a  lustre  shrewd  and  sly. 

When  Giam  Battista  bade  her  vision  haillf 
Yet  fear  not,  ladies,  the  naive  detail 

Given  by  the  natives  of  that  land  canorous; 
Italian  license  loves  to  leap  the  pale. 

We  Britons  have  the  fear  of  shame  before  us. 
And,  if  not  wise  in  rairtli,  at  least  must  be  decorous. 

In  the  far  eastern  clime,  no  great  while  since. 
Lived  sultaun  Solimaun,  a  mightj'  prince, 
Whose  eyes,  as  oft  as  they  performed  their  round. 
Beheld  all  others  fix'd  upon  the  ground; 
Whose  ears  receiv'd  the  same  unvaried  phrase, 
"Sultan!  thy  vassal  hears,  and  he  obevs!" 
All  have  their  tastes — this  may  tiie  fancy  strike 
Of  such  grave  folks  as  pomp  and  grandeur  like; 
For  me,  1  love  the  honest  heart  and  warm 
Of  monarch  who  can  amble  round  his  farm. 
Or,  when  the  toil  of  slate  no  more  annoys. 
In  chimney-corner  seek  domestic  joys— 
1  love  a  prince  will  bid  the  bottle  pass, 
Exchanging  with  his  subjects  glance  and  glass; 
In  fitting  time,  can,  gayest  of  the  gay. 
Keep  up  the  jest  and  mingle  in  the  lay — 
Sucii  raonarchs  best  our  free-born  humours  suit, 
But  despots  must  be  stately,  stern,  and  mute. 

Tliis  Solimaun,  Serendib  had  in  sway — 

And  Where's  Serendib'  may  some  critic  say. — 

Good  lack,  mine  honest  friend,  consult  the  chart, 

Scare  not  my  Pegasus  before  1  start! 

If  Rennell  has  it  not,  you'll  find,  mayhap, 

The  isle  laid  down  in  captain  Sinbad's  map, — 

Famed  mariner!  whose  merciless  narrations 

Drove  every  friend  and  kinsmaiiout  of  patience. 


'  William  of  Malmesbury  says,  that  in  his  time  the  ex- 
tent of  the  ruins  uf  the  monaster)-  boi-e  ample  witness  to 
the  desolation  occasioned  by  the  massacre; — "  tot  semiruti 
paiietes  ecclesiarum,  tot  aiifraetus  porticura,  tanta  turba 
rudenira  quantum  vix  alibi  cevnas," 

"t"The  hint  of  the  following  tale  is  taken  from  La  Cu' 
miscia  Magira,  a  novel  of  Giara  Battista  Casti. 


430 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Till,  fain  to  find  a  guest  who  thought  them  shorter, 
He  lieignM  to  tell  them  over  to  u  porter — 
Tiie  last  edition  see,  by  Long  and  Co., 
Rees,  Hurst,  and  Orrae,  our  latiiers  in  the  row. 

Serendib  found,  deem  not  my  tale  a  fiction — 
This  sultaun,  whether  lacking  contradiction — 
(A  sort  of  stimulant  which  hath  its  uses, 
To  raise  the  spirits  and  reform  the  juices. 
Sovereign  specific  for  all  sort  of  cures 
In  my  wife's  practice,  and  perhaps  in  yours,) 
The  sultaun  Licking  this  same  wholesome  bitter, 
Or  cordial  smooth,  for  prince's  palate  fitter — 
Or  if  some  MoUah  had  hag-rid  his  dreams 
With  Degial,  Ginnistan,  and  such  wild  themes 
Belonging  to  the  MoUah's  subtle  craft, 
1  wot  not — but  the  sultaun  never  laugh'd. 
Scarce  ale  or  drank,  and  took  a  melancholy 
That  scorn'd  all  remedy,  profane  or  holy; 
In  his  long  list  of  melancholies,  mad, 
Or  mazed,  or  dumb,  hath  Burton  none  so  bad. 

Physicians  soon  arrived,  sage,  ware,  and  tried. 
As  e'er  scrawl'd  jargon  in  a  darken'd  room; 
With  heedful  glance  the  sultaun's  tongue  they 

eyed, 
Peep'd  in  his  bath,  and  God  knows  where  beside. 
And  then  in  solemn  accents  spoke  their  doom: 
"  His  majesty  is  very  far  from  well." 
Then  each  to  work  with  his  specific  fell: 
The  Hakim  Ibrahim  instanter  brought 
His  unguent  mahazzim  ai  zerdukkaut,* 
While  Roompot,  a  practitioner  more  wily. 
Relied  on  his  munaskif  al  fillfily. 
More  and  yet  more  in  deep  array  appear, 
And  some  the  front  assail,  and  some  the  rear; 
Their  remedies  to  reinforce  and  vary, 
Came  surgeon  eke,  and  eke  apothecary; 
Till  the  tired  monarch,  though  of  words  grown 

chary, 
Yet  dropt,  to  recompense  their  fruitless  labour, 
Some  hint  about  a  bow-string  or  a  sabre. 
There  lack'd,  I  promise  you,  no  longer  speeches, 
To  rid  the  palace  of  those  learned  leeches. 

Then  was  the  council  called — by  their  advice, 
(They  deem'd  the  matter  ticklish  all,  and  nice, 

And  sought  to  shift  it  off  from  their  own  shoul- 
ders,) 
Tatars  and  couriers  in  all  speed  were  sent, 
To  call  a  sort  of  eastern  parliament 

Of  feudatory  chieftains  and  freeholders — 
Such  have  the  Persians  at  this  very  day, 
My  gallant  Malcolm  calls  them  couroultai;\ 
I'm  not  prepared  to  show  in  this  slight  song 
That  to  Serendib  the  same  forms  belong, — 
E'en  let  the  learn'd  go  search,  and  tell  me  if  I'm 
wrong. 

The  Omrahs,!  each  with  hand  on  scimitar, 

Gave,  like  Sempronius,  still  their  voice  for  war — 

•'  The  sabre  of  the  sultaun  in  its  sheath 

Too  long  has  slept,  nor  owned  the  work  of  death; 

Let  the  Tambourgi  bid  his  signal  rattle. 

Bang  the  loud  gong,  and  raise  the  shout  of  battle! 

This  dreary  cloud  that  dims  our  sovereign's  day 

Shall  from  his  kindled  bosom  flit  away. 

When  the  bold  Loolie  wheels  his  courser  round. 

And  the  arm'd  elephant  sliall   shake  tiie  ground. 


•  For  these  haril  woi-ds  see  d'Herbelot,  or  the  learned 
editor  of  the  Itecipn  of  Avicennii. 
+  See  sir  John  Malcolm's  admirable  History  of  Persia, 
t  Nobihty. 


Each  noble  pants  to  own  the  glorious  summons — 
.\nd  for  the  charges — Lo !  your  faithful  commons ! " 
The  riots  who  .-attended  in  their  places 

(Serendib  language  calls  a  farmer  Riot) 
Look'd  ruefully  in  one  another's  faces, 
'  Prom  this  oration  auguring  much  disquiet, 
Double  assessment,  forage,  and  free  quarters; 
And  fearing  these  as  China-men  tlie  Tartars, 
Or  as  tlie  whisker'd  vermin  fear  the  mousers. 
Each  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers. 

And  next  came  forth  the  reverend  Convocation, 

Bald  heads,  white  beards,  and  many  a  turbaii 
green, 
Imaum  and  Mollah  there  of  eveiy  station, 

Santon,  Fakir,  and  Calendar  were  seen. 
Their  votes  were  various — some  advised  a  mosque 

With  fitting  revenues  should  be  erected. 
With  seemly  gardens  and  with  gay  kiosque, 

To  recreate  a  band  of  priests  selected: 
Others  opined  that  through  the  realms  a  dole 

Be  made  to  holy  men,  whose  prayers  might  profit 
The  sultaun's  weal  in  body  and  in  soul; 

But  their  long-headed  chief,  the  sheik  Ul-Sofit, 
More  closely  touch'd  the  point; — "  Thy  studious 

mood," 
Quoth  he,  "  O  prince!   hath  thickened   all  thy 

blood. 
And  duU'd  thy  brain  with  labour  beyond  measure; 
Wherefore  relax  a  space  and  take  thy  pleasure, 
And  toy  with  beauty,  or  tell  o'er  thy  treasure; 
From  all  the  cares  of  state,  my  liege,  enlarge  thee, 
And  leave  the  burthen  to  thy  faithful  clergy," 

These  counsels  sage  availed  not  a  whit. 

And  so  the  patient  (as  is  not  uncommon 
Where  grave  physicians  lost  their  time  and  wit) 

Resolved  to  take  advice  of  an  old  woman: 
His  mother  she,  a  dame  who  once  was  beauteous, 
And  still  was  call'd  so  by  each  subject  duteous. 
Now,  whether  Fatima  was  witch  in  earnest, 

Or  only  made  believe,  I  cannot  say — 
But  she  professed  to  cure  disease  the  sternest. 

By  dint  of  magic  amulet  or  lay; 
And,  when  all  other  skill  in  vain  was  shown, 
She  deem'd  it  fitting  time  to  use  her  own. 

"  Sympathia  magica  hath  M'onders  done," 
(Thus  did  old  Fatima  bespeak  her  son,) 
"  It  works  upon  the  fibres  and  the  pores. 
And  thus,  insensibly,  our  health  restores. 
And  it  must  help  us  here. — Thou  must  endure 
The  ill,  my  son,  or  travel  for  the  cure. 
Search  land  and  sea,  and  get,  where'er  you  can, 
The  inmost  vesture  of  a  happy  man, 
I  mean  his  shirt,  my  son,  which,  taken  warm 
And  fresh  from  off  his  back,  shall  chase  your  harm, 
Bid  every  current  of  your  veins  rejoice. 
And  your  dull  heart  leap  light  as  shepherd-boy's." 
Such  was  the  counsel  from  his  mother  came. 
I  know  not  if  she  had  some  under-game. 
As  doctors  have,  who  bid  tlieir  patients  roam 
And  live  abroad,  when  sure  to  die  at  home; 
Or  if  she  thought,  that,  somehow  or  another. 
Queen  Regent  sounded  better  than  queen  Mother; 
Hut,  says  the  chronicle,  («ho  will  go  look  it?) 
'I'hat  sucii  was  her  advice — the  sultaun  took  it. 

All  are  on  board — the  sultaun  and  his  train. 
In  gilded  galley  prompt  to  plougli  the  main: 
The  old  rais*    was    the  first  who  questioned, 
"  Whither?" 


•  Master  of  the  vessel. 


MISCELLANIES. 


431 


They  paused — "   Arabia,"  thought  the  pensive 

prince, 
"  Was  call'd  the  happy  many  ages  since — 
For    Mokha,   rais." — And   they   came   safely 
thither. 
But  not  in  Araby  with  all  her  balm. 
Nor  where  Judxa  weeps  beneath  her  palm. 
Not  in  rich  Eg)pt,  not  in  Nubian  waste, 
Could  there  the  step  of  happiness  be  traced. 
One  copt  alone  profess'd  to  have  seen  her  smile. 
When  Bruce  his  goblet  fiU'd  at  infant  Nile: 
She  bless'd  the  dauntless  traveller  as  he  quaff'd, 
But  vanished  from  him  with  the  ended  draught. 

"  Enough  of  turbans,"  said  the  weary  king, 
"  These  dolimans  of  ours  are  not  the  thing; 
Try  we  the  Giaours,  these  men  of  coat  and  cap,  1 
Incline  to  think  some  of  them  must  be  happy; 
At  least  they  have  as  fair  a  cause  as  any  can. 
They  drink  good  wine,  and  keep  no  Ramazan. 
Then  northward,  ho!"    The  vessel  cuts  the  sea, 
And  fair  Italia  lies  upon  her  lee. — 
But  fair  Italia,  she  who  once  unfurled 
Her  eagle-banners  o'er  a  conquered  world, 
Long  from  her  throne  of  domination  tumbled, 
Lay,  by  her  quondam  vassals,  sorely  humbled; 
The  pope  himself  look'd  pensive,  pale,  and  lean. 
And  was  not  half  the  man  he  once  had  been. 
"  While   these  the  priest  and  those  the  noble 

fleeces, 
Our  poor  old  boot,"*  they  said,"  is  torn  to  pieces. 
Its  topst  the  vengeful  claws  of  Austria  feel. 
And  the  great  devil  is  rending  toe  and  heel. I 
If  happiness  you  seek,  to  tell  you  truly, 
We  think  she  dwells  with  one  Giovanni  Bulli; 
A  tramontane,  a  heretic, — the  buck, 
Poffaredio!  still  has  all  the  luck; 
By  land  or  ocean  never  strikes  his  flag— > 
And  then — a  perfect  walking  money-bag." 
OR"  set  our  prince  to  seek  John  Bull's  abode, 
But  first  took  France — it  lay  upon  the  road. 
Monsieur  Baboon,  after  much  late  commotion, 
Was  agitated  like  a  settling  ocean, 
Quite  out  of  sorts,  and  could  not  tell  what  ail'd 

him, 
Only  the  glory  of  his  house  had  fail'd  him; 
Besides,  some  tumours  on  his  noddle  biding, 
Gave  indication  of  a  recent  hiding.§ 
Our  prince,  though  sultauns  of  such  things  are 

heedless, 
Thought  it  a  thing  indelicate  and  needless 
To  ask,  if  at  that  moment  he  was  happy, 
And  Monsieur,  seeing  that  he  was  commeil  faut,  a 
Loud  voice  mustered  up,  for  "  Vive  le  Hot.'". 

Thenwhisper'd,  "Ave  you  any  news  of  Nappy  i" 
The   sultaun   answered   him  with  a  cross  ques- 
tion,— 
"  Pray,  can  you  tell  me  aught  of  one  John  Bull, 
That   dwells   somewhere   beyond   your  herring- 
pool?" 
The  query  seemed  of  difficult  digestion, 
The  party  shrugg'd,  and  grinn'd,  and  took  his  snufF, 
And  found  his  whole  good  breeding  scarce  enough. 
Twitching  his  visage  into  as  ni^ny  puckers 
As  damsels  wont  to  put  into  their  tuckers, 
(Ere  liberal  fashion  damn'd  Ijotli  lace  and  lawn, 
And  bade  the  veil  of  modesty  be  drawn,) 


Replied  the  Frenchman,  after  a  brief  pause, 
"  Jean  Bool! — 1  vas  not  know  liim— yes,  1  vas — 
I  vas  remember  dat  one  year  or  two, 
I  saw  him  at  one  place  called  Vaterloo— 
Ma  foi!  il  s'est  tres-joliment  battu, 
Dat  is  for  Englishman, — m'entendez-vous? 
But  den  he  had  wit  him  one  damn  son-gun, 
Rogue  1  no  like — dey  call  him  Vellington." 
Monsieur's  politeness  could  not  hide  his  fret, 
So  Solimaun  took  leave  and  cross'd  the  streight. 
John  Bull  was  in  his  very  worst  of  moods, 
Raving  of  sterile  farms  and  unsold  goods; 
His  sugar-loaves  and  bales  about  he  threw, 
And  on  his  counter  beat  the  devil's  tattoo. 
His  wars  were  ended,  and  the  victory  won, 
But  then  'twas  reckoning-d.-»y  with  honest  John, 
And  authors  vouch  'twas  still  this  worthy's  way, 
"  Never  to  grumble  till  he  came  to  pay; 
And  then  he  always  thinks,  his  temper's  such. 
The  work  too  little,  and  the  pay  to  much.* 
Yet,  grumbler  as  he  is,  so  kind  and  hearty. 
That  when  his  mortal  foe  was  on  the  floor. 
And  past  the  power  to  harm  his  quiet  more. 
Poor  John  had  well  nigh  wept  for  Bonaparte! 
Such  was  the  wight  whom  Solimaun  salam'd — 
"And  who  are  you,"  John  answered,   "and   be 
d— d?" 


♦  The  well-known  resemblance  of  Italy  in  the  map. 
t  Floi-ence,  Venice,  8if. 

X  The  Calabrias,  intVsted  by  bands  uf  assassins.  One  of 
the  leaders  was  tailed  Fra  Ui'avolo,  i.  e.   Brother  Devil. 
}  Or  drubbing,  so  called  in  the  Slang  Dictionary.  ; 


"  A  stranger,  come  to  see  the  h.ippiest  man, — » 
So,  seignior,  all  avouch, — in  Frangistan."t — 
"  Happy!  my  tenants  breaking  on  my  hand? 
[Jnstock'd  my  pastures,  and  untill'd  my  land; 
Sugar  and  rum  a  drug,  and  mice  and  moths 
The  sole  consumers  of  my  good  broad  cloths — 
Happy?  why,  cursed  war  and  racking  lax 
Have  left  us  scarcely  raiment  to  our  backs. " 
"  In  that  case,  seignior,  1  may  take  my  leave; 
1  came  to  ask  a  favour — but  I  grieve" 
"  Favour?"  said  John,  and  eyed  the  sultaun  hard, 
"  It's  my  belief  you  came  to  break  the  yard! — 
But,  stay,  you  look  like  some  poor  foreign  sinner,^ 
Take  that,  to  buy  yourself  a  shirt  and  dinner." — 
With  that  he  chuck'd  a  guinea  at  his  head; 
But,  with  due  dignity,  the  sultaun  said, — 
"  Permit  me,  sir,  your  bounty  to  decline; 
A  shirt  indeed  I  seek,  but  none  of  thine. 
Seignior,  I  kiss  your  hands,  so  fare  you  well." 

"  Kiss  and  be  d d,"  quoth  John,  "and  go  to 

hell!" 
Next  door  to  John  there  dwelt  his  sister  Peg, 
Once  a  wild  lass  as  ever  shook  a  leg, 
When  the  blith  bagpipe  blew — but  soberer  now, 
She  dmiceli)  span  her  flax  and  milk'd  her  cow. 
And  whereas  erst  she  was  a  needy  slattern. 
Nor  now  of  wealth  or  cleanliness  a  pattern. 
Yet  once  a  month  her  house  was  partly  swept. 
And  once  a-week  a  plenteous  board  she  kept. 
And  whereas  eke  the  vixen  used  her  claws, 

And  teeth,  of  yore,  on  slender  provocation, 
She  now  was  g^own  amenable  to  laws, 

A  quiet  soul  as  any  in  the  nation; 
The  sole  remembrance  of  her  warlike  joys 
Was  in  old  songs  she  sang  to  please  her  boys. 
John  Bull,  whom,  in  their  years  of  early  strife, 
She  wont  to  lead  a  eat-and-doggish  life. 
Now  found  the  woman,  as  he  said,  a  neighbour, 
Who  look'd  to  the  main  chance,  declined  no  la^ 

hour, 

Loved  a  long  grace,  and  spoke  a  northern  jargon, 
.\nd  was  (I         d  close  in  making  of  a  bararain. 


•  Sec  the  Truc-ac 
t  Europe, 


\\\  Englishman,  by  Daniel  de  i\_ 


432 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  sultaun  enttT'd,  and  lie  made  his  leg, 
And  with  decorum  curtsied  sister  Peg; 
(She  lov'd  a  book,  and  knew  a  tiling  or  two, 
And  guess'd  at  once  witii  whom  slie  had  to  do.) 
She  bade  him  "  sit  into  the  fire,"  and  took 
Her  dram,  her  cake,  her  kebbock  from  the  nook; 
Asked  him  ♦'  about  llie  news  from  eastern  parts; 
And  of  her  absent  bairns,  puir  highland  hearts! 
If  peace  brought  down  the  price  of  tea  and  pepper, 
And  if  the  iiitimtffs  were  grown  ony  cheaper? 
Were  there  nae  speerings  of  our  Mungo  Park — 
Ye '11  be  the  gentleman  that  wants  the  sark? 
If  ye  wad  buy  a  web  o'  auld  wife's  spinning, 
I'll  warrant  ye  it's  a  weel-wearing  linen." 

Then  up  got  Peg,  and  round  the  Iiouse  'gan  scuttle, 

In  seiirch  of  goods  her  customer  to  nail. 
Until  the  sultaun  strain'd  his  princely  throttle. 

And  liollow'd — "  Ma'am,  that  is  not  what  I  ail. 
Pra)',  are  you  happy,  ma'am,  in  this  snug  glen?" 
*'  Happy  !"  said  Peg;  "  What  for  d'ye  want  to  ken? 
Besides,  just  tiiink  upon  this  by-gane  year, 

Grain  wadna  pay  tlie  yoking  of  the  pleugh." 
*'  What  say  you  to  the  present? — "Meal's  sae  dear. 

To   mak   their  brose  my   bairns   have   scarce 
aneugh. 
"The  devil  take  the  shirt,"  said  Solimaun, 
"  1  think  my  quest  will  end  as  it  began. 
Farewell,  ma'am;  nay,  no  ceremony,  I  beg — " 
♦'  Ye'll  no  be  for  the  linen  then?"  said  Peg. 
Now,  for  the  land  of  verdant  Erin, 
The  sultaun's  royal  bark  is  steering. 
The  Emerald  Isle  where  honest  Paddy  dwells. 
The  cousin  of  John  Bull,  as  story  tells. 
For  a  long  space  had  John,  with  words  of  thunder, 
Hard  looks,  and  harder  knocks,  kept  Paddy  under, 
Till  the  poor  lad,  like  boy  that's  flogg'd  unduly, 
Had  gotten  somewhat  restive  and  unruly. 
Hard  was  his  lot  and  lodging,  you'll  allow, 
A  wigwam  that  would  hardly  serve  a  sow; 
His  landlord,  and  of  middlemen  two  brace, 
Had  screw'd  his  rent  up  to  the  starving  place; 
His  garment  was  a  top-coat,  and  an  old  one. 
His  meal  was  a  potatoe,  and  a  cold  one; 
But  still  for  fun  or  frolic,  and  all  that, 
In  the  round  world  was  not  the  match  of  Pat. 
The  sultaun  saw  him  on  a  holiday, 
Which  is  with  Paddy  still  a  jolly  day: 
When  mass  is  ended,  and  his  load  of  sins 
Confess'd,  and  mother  church  hath  from  her  binns 
Dealt  forth  a  bonus  of  imputed  merit. 
Then  is  Pat's  time  for  fancy,  whim,  and  spirit! 
To  jest,  to  sing,  to  caper  fair  and  free, 
And  dance  as  light  as  leaf  upon  the  tree. 
"By  -Mahomet,"  said  sultaun  Solimaun, 
"  That  ragged  fellow  is  our  very  man! 
Rush  in  and  seize  him — do  not  do  him  hurt, 
But,  will  lie  nill  he,  let  me  have  his  shirt." — 
Shilela  their  plan  was  well  nigh  after  baulking, 
(Much  less  provocation  will  set  it  a-walking,) 
But  the  odds  tliat  foil'd  Hercules  foil'd   Paddv 

Whack: 
They  seizefl,  and  they  fioor'd,  and  they  stripped 

him — alack ! 
Up-bubboo  I  Paddy  iiad  not — a  shirt  to  his  back ! ! ! 
Andiiiekingjdisappoinled,  with  sorrow  and  shame, 
V»'ent  back  to  Serendib  as  sad  as  ho  came. 

THE  POACHER. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

Wr.LCOMr.,  grave  stranger,  to  our  green  retreats, 
Wliere  hfallli  willi  exercise  and  freedom  meets! 


Thrice  welcome,  sage,  whose  philosophic  plan 
By  Nature's  limits  metes  the  rights  of  man; 
Generous  as  he,  who  now  for  freedom  bawls, 
Now  gives  full  value  for  true  Indian  shawls; 
O'er  court,  o'er  custom-<house,  his  shoe  who  flings, 
Now  bilks  excisemen,  and  now  bullies  kings. 
Like  his,  I  ween,  thy  comprehensive  mind 
Holds  laws  as  mouse-traps  baited  for  mankind; 
Thine  eye,  applausive,  each  sly  vermin  sees, 
That  baulks  the  snare,  yet  battens  on  the  cheese; 
Thine  ear  has  heard,  with  scorn  instead  of  awe, 
Our  buckskin'd  justices  expound  the  law, 
Wire-draw  the  acts  that  fix  for  wires  the  pain, 
And  for  the  netted  partridge  noose  the  swain; 
And  thy  vindictive  arm  would  fain  have  broke 
The  last  light  fetter  of  the  feudal  yoke. 
To  give  the  denizens  of  wood  and  wild. 
Nature's  free  race,  to  each  her  free-born  child. 
Hence  hast  thou  mark'd,  with  grief,  fair  London's 

race 
Mock'd  with  the  boon  of  one  poor  Easter  chase, 
And  long'd  to  send  them  forth  as  free  as  when 
Pour'd  o'er  Chantillj'  the  Parisian  train. 
When  musket,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  combined, 
And  scarce  the  field-pieces  were  left  behind ! 
A  squadron's  charge  each  leveret's  heart  dismayed, 
On  every  covej'  fired  a  bold  brigade; 
Iai  douce  Humaiuti  approved  the  sport. 
For  great  the  alarm  indeed,  yet  small  the  hurt; 
Shouts  patriotic  solemnized  the  day. 
And  Seine  re-echoed  Vive  la  Liberte! 
But  mad  Citoyen,  meek  JMonsieur  again. 
With  some  few  added  links  resumes  his  chain; 
Then  since  such  scenes  to  France  no  more  are 

known. 
Come,  view  with  me  a  hero  of  thine  own! 
One,  whose  free  actions  vindicate  the  cause 
Of  sylvan  liberty  o'er  feudal  laws. 

Seek  we  yon  glades,  where  the  proud  oak  o'er- 

tops 
Wide-waving  seas  of  birch  and  hazel  copse, 
Leaving  between  deserted  isles  of  land, 
Where  stunted  heath  is  patch'd  with  ruddy  sand; 
And  lonel)'  on  the  waste  the  yew  is  seen. 
Or  straggling  hollies  spread  a  brighter  green. 
Here,  little  worn,  and  winding  dark  and  steep. 
Our  scarce  mark'd  path  descends  yon  dingle  deep: 
Follow — but  heedful,  cautious  of  a  trip. 
In  earthlj'  mire  philosophy  may  slip. 
Step  slow  and  wary  o'er  that  swampy  stream, 
Till,  guided  by  the  charcoal's  smothering  steam, 
We  reach  the  frail  yet  barricaded  door 
Of  hovel  formed  for  poorest  of  the  poor; 
No  hearth  the  fire,  no  vent  the  smoke  receives, 
The  walls  are  wattles,  and  the  covering  leaves; 
For,  if  such  hut,  our  forest  statutes  say. 
Rise  in  the  progress  of  one  night  and  day, 
(Thougli  placed  where  still  the  conqueror's  bests 

o'erawe. 
And  his  son's  stirrup  shines  the  badge  of  law,) 
The  builder  claims  the  unenviable  boon. 
To  tenant  dwelling,  framed  as  slight  and  soon 
As  wigwam  wild,  that  shrouds  the  naiive  frore 
On  the  bleak  coast  of  frost-barr'd  Labrador.* 


*  Such  is  the  law  in  the  New  Forest,  Harapsliii-e,  tend- 
ing greatly  to  increase  the  various  settliments  of  thitvcs, 
smugglers,  and  deer-stealei-s,  who  infest  it.  In  tlie  foi-est 
courts  the  presiding  judge  wears  as  a  badge  of  office  an 
antique  stirrup,  said  lo  have  been  that  of  William  Rufus. 
See  Mr.  William  Rose's  spirited  poem,  entitled  "  The 
Red  King." 


mSCELLANIES. 


435 


Approach,  and  through  the  unlatticed  window 
peep — 
Nay,  shrink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep; 
Sunk  mid  yon  sordid  blankets,  till  the  sun 
Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are  done. 
Loaded  and  primed,  and  prompt  for  desperate  hand, 
Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand. 
While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 
The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade; 
For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape, 
The  crow,  the  saw,  the  bludgeon,  and  the  crape. 
His  pilfered  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards. 
And  the  filch'd  lead  the  church's  roof  affords^ 
(Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret. 
That  while  his  sermon's  drj-,  liis  walls  are  wet.) 
The  fish-spear  barb'd,  the  sweeping  net  are  there. 
Doe-hides,  and  pheasant  plumes,  and  skins  of  hare. 
Cordage  for  toils,  and  wiring  for  the  snare. 
Barter'd  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  won, 
Yon  cask  holds  moonlight,*  run  when  moon  was 

none; 
And  late  snatch 'd  spoils  lie  stow'd  in  hutch  apart, 
To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  cart. 

Look  on  his  pallet  foul,  and  mark  his  rest: 
What  scenes  perturb'd  are  acting  in  his  breast! 
His  sable  brow  is  wet  and  wrung  with  pain. 
And  his  dilated  nostril  toils  in  vain. 
For  short  and  scant  the  breath  each  effort  draws. 
And  'twixt  each  effort  Nature  claims  a  pause. 
Beyond  the  loose  and  sable  neck-cloth  stretch'd, 
His  sinewy  throat  seems  by  convulsions  twitch'd. 
While  the  tongue  falters,  as  to  utterance  loth. 
Sounds  of  dire  import — watch-word,  threat,  and 

oath. 
Though,  stupified  by  toil  and  drugg'd  with  gin, 
The  body  sleeps,  the  restless  guest  within 
Now  plies  on  wood  and  wold  his  lawless  trade. 
Now  in  the  fangs  of  justice  wakes  dismayeiL — 

"  Was  that  wild  start  of  terror  and  despair. 
Those  bursting  eye-balls,  and  that  wildered  air. 
Signs  of  compunction  for  a  murdered  hare? 
Do  the  locks  bristle  and  the  eye-brows  arch. 
For  grouse  or  partridge  massacred  in  March?" 

No,  scoffer,  no !  Attend,  and  mark  with  awe. 
There  is  no  wicket  in  the  gate  of  law  ! 
He,  that  would  e'er  so  lightly  set  ajar 
That  awful  portal  must  undo  each  bar; 
Tempting  occasion,  habit,  passion,  pride. 
Will  join  to  storm  the  breach,  and  force  the  bar- 
rier wide. 
That  ruffian,  whom  true  men  avoid  and  dread. 
Whom  bruisers,  poachers,  smugglers,  call  Black 

Ned, 
Was  Edward  Mansell  once; — the  lightest  heart. 
That  ever  played  on  holiday  his  part! 
The  leader  he  in  every  Christmas  game. 
The  harvest  feasL  gi-ew  blither  when  he  came, 
And  liveliest  on  the  chords  the  bow  did  glance. 
When  Edward  named  the  tune  and  led  the  dance. 
Kind  was  his  heart,  his  passions  quick  and  strong. 
Hearty  his  laugh,  and  jovial  was  his  song; 
And  if  he  loved  a  gun,  his  father  swore, 
"  'Twas  but  a  trick  of  youth  would  soon  be  o'er. 
Himself  had  done  the  same  some  thirty  years  be- 
fore." 

But  he,  whose  humours  spurn  law's  awful  voke. 
Must  herd  with  those  by  whom  law's  bond's  are 
broke. 

•  A  cant  name  for  smuggled  spirits. 


The  common  dread  of  justice  soon  allies 
The  clown,  who  robs  the  warren  or  e.rcise, 
With  sterner  felons  trained  to  act  more  dread. 
Even  with  the  wretch  by  m  horn  his  fellow  bled. 
Then, — as  in  plagues  tlie  foul  contagions  pass. 
Leavening  and  festering  the  corrupted  mass, — 
Guilt  leagues  with  guilt,  while  mutual  mstives 

draw, 
Their  hope  impnnity,  their  fear  the  law; 
Their  foes,  their  friends,  their  rendezvous  the  same. 
Till  the  revenue  baulk'd,  or  pilfered  game. 
Flesh  the  young  culprit,  and  example  leads 
To  darker  villany  and  direr  deeds. 

Wild  howled  the  wind  the  forest  glades  alon|p. 
And  oft  the  owl  renewed  her  dismal  song; 
Around  the  spot  where  erst  he  felt  the  woimd, 
Red  William's  spectre  walked  his  midnight  round. 
When  o'er  the  swamp  he  cast  his  blighting  look. 
From  the  green  marshes  of  the  stagnant  brook 
The  bittern's  sullen  shout  the  sedges  shook; 
The  waning-raoon,  with  storm-presaging  gleam. 
Now  gave  and  now  witliheld  her  doubtful  beam; 
The  old  oak  stooped  his  arras,  then  flung  them 

high. 
Bellowing  and  groaning  to  the  troubled  sky — 
'Twas  then,  that,  couched  amid  the  brushwood 

sere. 
In  Malwood-walk,  young  Mansell  watched  the 

.deer: 
The  fattest  buck  received  his  deadly  shot — 
The  watchful  keeper  heard,  and  sought  the  spot. 
Stout  were  their  hearts,  and  stubborn  was  their 

strife, 
O'erpowered  at  length  the  outlaw  drew  his  knife! 
Next  morn  a  corpse  was  found  upon  the  fell — 
The  rest  his  waking  agony  may  tell! 

THE  DANCE  OF  DEATH. 

Night  and  morning  were  at  meeting 

Over  Waterloo; 
Cocks  had  sung  their  earliest  greeting, 

Faint  and  low  they.crew. 
For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 
On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John; 
Tempest-clouds  prolonged  the  sway 
Of  timeless  darkness  over  day; 
Whirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower, 
Mark'd  it  a  predestined  hour. 
Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 
Flasheil  the  sheets  of  levin-light; 
Muskets,  glancing  lightnings  back, 
Show'd  the  dreary  bivouack 

Where  the  soldier  lay. 
Chill  and  stiff,  and  drench'd  with  rain, 
Wishing  dawn  of  morn  again. 

Though  death  should  come  with  day. 
'Tis  at  such  a  tide  and  hour. 
Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 
And  ghastly  forms  througli  mist  and  shower. 

Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken; 
And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 
Drinks  whispers  strange  of  tate  and  fear. 
Presaging  deatli  and  ruin  near 

Among  the  sons  of  men; — 
Apart  from  Albyn's  war-array, 
'I'was  then  grav  Allan  sleepless  lay; 
Gray  Allen,  who,  for  many  a  day. 

Had  followed  stout  and  stern, 
Where  through  battle's  rout  an<l  reel, 
Storm  of  shot  and  hedgii  of  steel, 


434 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 

Valiant  Fassiefern. 
Through  steel  and  shot  he  leads  no  more, 
Low-laid  'mid  friends'  and  foemen's  gore — 
But  long  his  native  lake's  wild  shore, 
And  Sunart  roun;li,  and  high  Ardgower, 

And  Morven  long  shall  tell, 
And  proud  Ben  Nevis  hear  with  awe,] 

How,  upon  bloody  Quatre-Bras, 
Brave  Cameron  lu-ard  the  wild  hurra 

Of  conquest  as  lie  fell. 

Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host, 

The  weary  sentinel  held  post. 

And  heard,  through  darkness  far  aloof, 

The  frequent  clang  of  courser's  hoof, 

Where  iield  the  cloaked  patrole  their  course. 

And  sijurred 'gainst  storm  the  swerving  horse; 

But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear, 

Patrole  nor  sentinel  may  hear. 

And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 

Invisible  to  them  have  passed. 

When  down  the  destined  plain 
'Twixt  Britain  and  tlie  bands  of  France, 
Wild  as  marsh-borne  meteors  glance, 
Strange  phantoms  wheeled  a  revel  dance. 

And  doomed  the  future  slain. — 
Such  forms  were  seen,  such  sounds  were  heard, 
When  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepared 

For  Flodden's  fatal  plain; 
Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword, 
As  choosers  of  the  slain,  adored 

The  yet  unchristen'd  Dane. 
An  indistinct  and  phantom  band. 
They  wheeled  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand. 

With  gesture  wild  and  dread; 
The  seer,  who  watched  them  ride  the  storm. 
Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 
The  lightnings  flash  more  red; 
And  still  their  ghastly  roundelay 
Was  of  the  coming  battle-fray. 
And  of  the  destined  dead. 

so;<fG. 
Wheel  the  wild  dance. 
While  lightnings  glance. 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Our  airy  feet. 
So  light  and  fleet. 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye. 
That  sinks  its  head  when  whirlwinds  rave. 
And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave, 

As  each  wild  gust  blows  by; 
But  still  the  corn. 
At  dawn  of  morn. 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore. 
At  eve  lies  waste, 
A  trampled  paste 

Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance. 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud. 
And  call  tiie  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance, 
Brave  sons  of  France ! 

For  you  our  ring  makes  room; 


Make  space  full  wide 
For  martial  pride. 

For  banner,  spear,  and  plume. 
Approach,  draw  near, 
Proud  cuirassier! 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel ! 
Through  crest  and  plate 
The  broad-sword's  weight. 

Both  head  and  heart  shall  feel. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance. 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud. 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Sons  of  the  spear! 

You  feel  us  near. 

In  many  a  ghastly  dream; 

With  fancy's  eye 

Our  forms  you  spy. 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 
With  clearer  sight 
Ere  falls  the  night, 

Just  when  to  weal  or  wo 
Your  disembodied  souls  take  flight 
On  trembling  wing — each  startled  sprite 

Our  choir  of  death  shall  know. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance. 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave. 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Burst,  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  showers. 
Redder  rain  shall  soon  be  ours — 

See,  the  east  grows  wan — 
Yield  we  ])lace  to  sterner  game. 
Ere  deadlier  bolts  and  drearer  flame 
Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame; 
Elemental  rage  is  tame 

To  the  wrath  of  man. 

At  morn,  gray  Allan's  mates  with  awe 
Heard  of  the  vision'd  sights  he  saw, 

The  legend  heard  him  say: 
But  the  seer's  gifted  eye  was  dim. 
Deafened  his  ear,  and  stark  his  limb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day — 
He  sleeps  far  from  his  highland  heath, — 
But  often  of  the  Dance  of  Death 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale 
On  piquet-post,  when  ebbs  the  night. 
And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright, 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  MUSE. 
Eitchanthess,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has  decoy 'd  me, 
At  the  close  of  the  evening  through  woodlands  to 
roam. 
Where  the  forester,  lated,  with  wonder  espied  me 
Explore  the  wild  scenes  he  was  quitting  for  home. 
Farewell,  and  take  with  thee  thy  numbers  wild 
speaking. 
The  language  alternate  of  rapture  and  wo: 
Oh  I  none  but  some  lover,  whose  heart-strings  are 
breaking. 
The  pang  th.it  I  feel  at  our  parting  can  know. 

Each  joy  thou   couldst  double,  and  when  there 
came  sorrow. 
Or  pale  disappointment,  to  darken  my  way, 


mSCELLANIES. 


435 


What  Toice  was  like  thine,  that  could  sing  of  to- 
morrow, 
Till  forgot  in  the  strain  was  the  grief  of  to-day ! 
But  when  friends  drop  around  us  in  life's  weary 
waning. 
The  grief,  queen  of  numbers,  thou  canst  not  as- 
suage; 
Nor  the  gradual  estrangement  of  thoseyet  remain- 
ing, 
The  languor  of  pain,  and  the  chillness  of  age. 

Twas  thou  that  once  taught  me,  in  accents  be- 
wailing, 
To  sing  how  a  warrior  lay  stretched  on  the  plain. 
And  a  maiden  hung  o'er  him  with  aid  unavailing, 

And  held  to  his  lips  the  cold  goblet  in  vain; 
As  vain  those   enchantments,    O  queen  of  wild 
numbers. 
To  a  bard  when  the  reign  of  his  fancy  is  o'er. 
And  the  quick  pulse  of  feeling  in  apathy  slumbers, 
Farewell  then — Enchantress! — 1  meet  thee  no 
more. 

EPITAPH  OX  MRS.  ERSKINE. 
Plaijt,  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind. 
Arise  the  tomb  of  her  we  have  resign'd: 
Unflaw'd  and  stainless  be  the  marble  scroll, 
Emblem  of  lovely  form,  and  candid  soul. — 
But,  oh!  what  symbol  may  avail,  to  tell 
The  kindness,  wit,  and  sense,  we  lov'd  so  well! 
What  sculpture  show  the  broken  ties  of  life. 
Here  buried  with  the  parent,  friend,  and  wife! 
Or,  on  the  tablet,  stamp  each  title  dear. 
By  which  thine  urn,  Euphemia,  claims  the  tear: 
Yet,  taught,  by  thy  meek  sufferance,  to  assume 
Patience  in  anguish,  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Resign'd,  though  sad,  this  votive  verse  shall  flow. 
And  brief,  alas!  as  thy  brief  span  below. 

MR.  KEMBLE'S  FAREWELL  ADDRESS, 

ON  TAKING  LEAVE  OF  THE  EDIJfBUHSH  STAGE. 

As  the  worn  war-horse,  at  the  trumpet's  sound. 
Erects  his  mane,  and  neighs,  and  paws  the  ground. 
Disdains  the  ease  his  generous  lord  assigns. 
And  longs  to  rush  on  the  embattled  lines. 
So  I,  your  plaudits  ringing  on  mine  ear. 
Can  scarce  sustain  to  think  our  parting  near; 
To  think  my  scenic  hour  for  ever  past. 
And  that  those  valued  plaudits  are  my  last. 
Why  should  we  part,  while  still  some  powers  re 

main. 
That  in  your  service  strive  not  yet  in  vain? 
Cannot  high  zeal  the  strength  of  youth  supply, 
And  sense  of  duty  fire  the  fading  eye.' 
And  all  the  wrongs  of  age  remain  subdued 
Beneath  the  burning  glow  of  gratitude? 
Ah  no !  the  taper,  wearing  to  its  close, 
Oft  for  a  space  in  fitful  lustre  glows; 
But  all  too  soon  the  transient  gleam  is  past, 
It  cannot  be  renew'd,  and  will  not  last; 
Even  duty,  zeal,  and  gratitude,  can  wage 
But  short-lived  conflict  with  the  frosts  of  age. 
Yes!  it  were  poor,  remembering  what  I  was. 
To  live  a  pensioner  on  your  applause, 
To  drain  the  dregs  of  your  endurance  dry, 
And  take,  as  alms,  the  praise  I  once  could  buy. 
Till  every  sneering  youth  around  inquires, 
"  Is  this  the  man  who  once  could  please  our  sires?' 
And  scorn  assumes  compassion's  doubtful  mien. 
To  warn  me  off  from  the  encumber'd  scene. 
This  must  not  be; — and  higher  duties  crave 
Some  space  between  the  theatre  and  the  grave; 


That,  like  the  Roman  in  the  capitol, 
I  may  adjust  my  mantle  ere  I  fall: 
My  life's  brief  act  in  public  service  flown. 
The  last,  the  closing  scene,  must  be  my  own. 
Here,  then,  adieu !  while  yet  some  well-graced 

parts 
May  fix  an  ancient  favourite  in  your  hearts. 
Not  quite  to  be  forgotten,  even  when 
You  look  on  belter  actors,  younger  men: 
And  if  your  bosoms  own  this  kindly  debt 
Of  old  remembrance,  how  shall  mine  forget^ 
O,  how  forget ! — how  oft  I  hither  came 
In  anxious  hope,  how  oft  return'd  with  fame! 
How  oft  around  your  circle  this  weak  hand 
Has  waved  immortal  Shakspeare's  magic  wand. 
Till  the  full  burst  of  inspiration  came. 
And  1  have  felt,  and  you  have  fann'd  the  flame! 
By  mem'ry  treasured,  while  her  reign  endures. 
Those  hours  must  live — and  all  their  charms  are 

yours. 
O  favour'd  laud !  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent  and  for  female  charms. 
Could  this  full  bosom  prompt  the  sinking  line, 
What  fervent  benedictions  now  were  thine ! 
But  my  last  part  is  play'd,  my  knell  is  rung, 
'When  e'en  your  praise  falls  faltering  from  my 

tongue; 
And  all  that  you  can  hear,  or  I  can  tell. 
Is — friends  and  patrons,  hail,  and  fare  xou  well  ! 

EPILOGUE  TO  THE  APPEAL, 

SPOKEN  BT  MRS.   H.   BIDDOXS. 

A  CAT  of  yore  (or  else  old  ^sop  lied) 
Was  changed  into  a  fair  and  blooming  bride. 
But  spied  a  mouse  upon  her  marriage  daj-, 
Foi'got  her  spouse  and  seized  upon  her  prey; 
Even  thus  my  bridegroom  lawyer,  as  you  saw, 
Threw  off  poor  me  and  pounced  upon  papa. 
His  neck  from  Hymen's  mystic  knot  made  loose. 
He  twisted  round  my  sire's  the  literal  noose. 
Such  are  the  fruits  of  our  dramatic  labour 
Since  the  new  jail  became  our  next  door  neigh- 
bour.* 

Yes,  times  are  changed,  for  in  your  fathers'  age 
The  lawyers  were  the  patrons  of  the  stage; 
However  high  advanced  by  future  fate. 
There  stands  the  bench  {^points  to  tlie pit)  that  first 

received  their  weight. 
The  future  legal  sage,  'twas  ours  to  see. 
Doom  though  unwigg'd,  and  plead  without  a  fee. 

But  now  astounding  each  poor  mimic  elf. 
Instead  of  lawyers  comes  the  law  herself; 
Tremendous  neighbour,  on  our  right  slie  dwells. 
Builds  high  her  towers  and  excavates  her  cells; 
While  on  the  left,  she  agitates  the  town 
With  the  tempestuous  question,  Up  or  down?t 
'Twixt  Scylla  and  Chary bdis  thus  stand  we. 
Law's  final  end  and  law's  uncertainty. 
But  soft!  who  lives  at  Rome  the  pope  must  flatter. 
And  jails  and  lawsuits  are  no  jesting  matter. 
Then — just  farewell !  we  wait  with  serious  awe, 
Till  your  applause  or  censure  gives  the  law. 
Trusting  our  humble  efforts  may  assure  ye. 
We  hold  you  court  and  counsel,  judge  and  jury. 


•  It  is  necessary  to  mention,  that  the  allusions  in  this 
piece  are  all  local,  and  addressed  only  to  the  Edinburgfh 
audience.  The  new  prisons  of  the  city,  on  the  Calton  Hill, 
are  not  far  from  the  theatre. 

t  At  this  time  the  public  of  Edinburgh  was  much  agi- 
tated by  a  lawsuit  betwixt  the  magistrates  and  many  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  city,  concerning  the  range  of  new 
buildings  on  the  western  side  of  the  North  Bridge;  which 
the  latter  insisted  should  be  removed  as  a  deformitv. 


436 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


SONG. 

Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air, 
That  your  spring-time  of  pleasure  is  flown. 

Nor  bid  me  to  maids  that  are  younger  repair, 
For  those  raptures  that  still  arc  thine  own. 

Tho'  April  his  temples  may  w  reathe  with  the  vine, 

Its  tendrils  in  infancy  curl'd, 
'Tis  the  ardour  of  August  matures  us  the  wine 

Whose  life-blood  enlivens  the  world. 

Tho'thy  form,  that  was  fasliion'd  as  light  as  a  fay's. 
Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round. 

And  tiiy  glance,  that  was  bright  as  a  falcon's  at  gaze. 
Looks  soberly  now  on  the  ground, — 

Enough,  after  absence  to  meet  me  again. 

Thy  steps  still  with  ecstasy  move; 
Enough,  that  those  dear  sober  glances  retain 

For  me  the  kind  language  of  love ! 

THE  PALMER. 
"  O  OPEN  the  door,  some  pity  to  show, 

Keen  blows  the  northern  wind; 
The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow. 

And  tiie  path  is  hard  to  find. 

"  No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate, 

From  chasing  the  king's  deer. 
Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state 

Might  claim  compassion  here. 

"A  weary  Palmer,  worn  and  weak, 

I  wander  for  my  sin; 
O  open,  for  our  lady's  sake, 

A  pilgrim's  blessing  win! 

"I'll  give  you  pardons  from  the  pope, 

And  relics  from  o'er  the  sea, — ■ 
Or  if  for  these  you  will  not  ope. 

Yet  open  for  charity. 

*'  The  hare  is  crouching  in  her  form, 

The  hart  beside  the  hind: 
An  aged  man,  amid  the  storm. 

No  shelter  can  1  find. 

"  You  hear  the  Ettrick's  sullen  roar, 

Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he. 
And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er. 

Unless  you  pity  me. 

"  The  iron  gate  is  bolted  hard. 

At  which  1  knock  in  vain; 
The  owner's  heart  is  closer  barred. 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 
"  Farewell,  farewell!  and  Marj'  grant. 

When  old  and  frail  you  be. 
You  never  may  the  shelter  want. 

That's  now  denied  to  me." 

The  ranger  on  his  couch  'vy  TTaim, 

And  heard  him  plead  in  vain; 
But  oft,  amid  December's  storm. 

He'll  hear  that  voice  again: 

For  lo,  when  tiirough  the  vapours  dank. 

Morn  slione  on  Ettrick  fair, 
A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank, 

The  Palmer  weltered  there. 

THE  MAID  OF  NEIDPATH. 

There  is  a  tradition  in  Tweeddale,  that  when 
Niedpath  castle,  near  Peebles,  was  inhabited  by 
the  earls  of  March,  a  mutual  passion  subsisted  be- 
tween a  daughter  of  that  noble  family,  and  a  son 
oi  the  laird  of  Tushielaw,  in  Ettrick  forebt.     As 


the  alliance  was  thought  unsuitable  by  her  parents, 
the  young  man  went  :ibroad.  During  his  absence, 
the  lady  fell  into  a  consumption,  and  at  length,  as 
the  only  means  of  saving  her  life,  her  father  con- 
sented that  her  lover  should  be  recalled.  On  the 
day  when  he  was  expected  to  pass  through  Peebles, 
on  the  road  to  Tushielaw,  the  young  lady,  though 
much  exhausted,  caused  herself  to  be  carried  to 
the  balcony  of  a  house  in  Peebles,  belonging  lo  the 
family,  that  she  might  see  him  as  he  rode  past. 
Her  anxiety  and  eagerness  gave  such  force  to  her 
organs,  that  she  is  said  to  have  distinguished  his 
horse's  footsteps  at  an  incredible  distance.  But 
Tushielaw,  unprepared  for  the  ciiange  in  her  ap- 
pearance, and  not  expecting  to  see  her  in  that 
place,  rode  on  without  recognizing  her,  or  even 
slackening  his  pace.  The  lady  was  unable  to  sup- 
port the  siiock,  and,  after  a  short  struggle,  died  in 
the  arms  of  her  attendants.  There  is  an  instance 
similar  to  this  traditional  tale  in  count  Hamilton's 
Fleur  (T  Epine. 

O  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity, 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower, 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning. 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath's  tower. 

To  watcli  lier  love's  returning. 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright. 

Her  form  decayed  by  pining. 
Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night, 

You  saw  tlie  taper  shining. 
By  fits,  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying; 
By  fits,  so  ashy  pale  she  grew. 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear 

Seemed  in  her  frame  residing; 
Before  the  watch-dog  pricked  his  ear, 

She  heard  her  lover's  riding; 
Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  lienned, 

She  knew,  and  waved  to  greet  him; 
And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend, 

As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

He  came — he  passed — an  heedless  gaze, 

As  o'er  some  stranger,  glancing; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase. 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing — 
The  castle  arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken. 
Could  hardly  catch  the  feeble  moan, 

Which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 

WANDERING  WILLIE. 

All  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  tliat  you  left  me, 
And  climbed  the  tall  vessel  to  sail  yon  wide  sea; 

O  weary  betide  it!  1  wandered  beside  it. 
And  bann'd  it  for  parting  my  Willie  and  me. 

Far  o'er  the  wave  hast  thou  followed  thy  fortune. 

Oft  fouglit  the  squadrons  of  France  and  of  Spain; 
Ae  kiss  of  welcome's  worth  twenty  at  parting. 

Now  I  hae  gotten  my  Willie  again. 
When  the  sky  it  was  mirk,  and  the  winds  they 
were  wailing, 

1  sat  on  the  beach  wi'  the  tear  in  my  e'e. 
And  thought  o'  the  bark  where  my  Willie  was 
sailing, 

And  wislied  that  the  tempest  could  a'  blaw  on  me. 


MISCELLANIES. 


437 


Now  that  thy  gallant  ship  rides  at  her  mooring, 

Now  that  my  wanderer's  in  safety  at  hame, 
Music  to  me  were  the  wildest  winds'  roaring, 

That  e'er  o'er  Inch-Keith  drove  the  dark  ocean 
faem. 
When  the  lights  they  did  blaze,  and  the  guns  they 
did  rattle. 

And  blith  was  each  heart  for  the  great  victory, 
In  secret  1  wept  for  the  dangers  of  battle. 

And  thy  glory  itself  was  scarce  comfort  to  me. 

But  now  shalt  thou  tell,  while  I  eagerly  listen. 

Of  each  bold  adventure,  and  every  brave  scar, 
And,  trust  me,  I'll  smile  though  my  e'en  they  may 
glisten; 
For  sweet  after  danger's  the  tale  of  the  war. 
And  oh,   how  we  doubt  when  there's  distance 
'tween  lovers. 
When  there's  naething  to  speak  to  the  heart 
thro'  the  e'e; 
How  often  the  kindest,  and  warmest,  prove  rovers, 
And  the  love  of  the  faithfullest  ebbs  like  the  sea. 

Till,  at  times,  could  I  help  it?  I  pined  and  I  pon- 

der'd. 

If  love  could  change  notes  like  the  bird  on  the 

tree — 

Now  I'll  ne'er  ask  if  thine  eyes  may  hae  wander'd. 

Enough,  thy  leal  heart  has  been  constant  to  me. 

Welcome,  from  sweeping  o'er  sea  and  through 
channel. 

Hardships  and  danger  despising  for  fame, 
Furnishing  story  for  glory's  bright  annal. 

Welcome,  my  wanderer,  to  Jeanie  and  hame! 

Enough,  now  thy  story  in  annals  of  glory 
Has  humbled  the  pride  of  France,  Holland,  and 
Spain; 
No  more  shalt  thou  grieve  me,  no  more  shalt  thou 
leave  me, 
I  never  v/ill  part  with  ray  Willie  again. 

HUNTING-SONG. 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day. 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here, 

With  hawk,  and  horse,  and  hunting  spear; 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling. 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 

Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  graj', 

Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming,     • 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming; 

And  foresters  have  busy  been. 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

"Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  gi'een-wood  haste  away. 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies. 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made. 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  frayed; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay. 
Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay! 
Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee. 
Run  a  course  as  well  as  we: 


Time,  stern  huntsman !  who  can  balk, 
Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk: 
Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day, 
Gentle  lords  and  ladies  gay. 

THE  VIOLET. 

The  violet  in  her  green-wood  bower. 

Where  birchen  boughs  with  hazles  mingle, 
May  boast  itself  the  fairest  flower 

In  glen,  or  copse,  or  forest  dingle. 
Though  fair  her  gems  of  azure  hue. 

Beneath  the  dew  dro])'s  weight  reclining, 
I've  seen  an  eye  of  lovelier  blue, 

More  sweet  through  wat'ry  lustre  shining. 
The  summer  sun  that  dew  shall  dry. 

Ere  yet  the  day  be  past  its  morrow; 
Nor  longer  in  my  false  love's  eye, 

Remained  the  tear  of  parting  sorrow. 

TO  A  LADY, 

WITH  FLOWERS  FMOM  A  KOMAX  WALT,. 

Take  these  flowers,  which,  purple  waving, 

Ott  the  ruined  rampart  grew, 
Wliere,  the  sons  of  freedom  braving, 

Rome's  imperial  standards  flew. 
Warriors  from  the  breach  of  danger 

Pluck  no  longer  laurels  there: 
They  but  yield  the  passing  stranger 

Wild-flower  wreaths  for  Beauty's  hair. 

THE  BARD'S  INCANTATION. 

WRITTEN  UNDER  THE  THREAT  OF  INVASION,  IN  THE 
AUTUMN  OF  1804. 

The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear. 

It  is  all  of  black  pine,  and  the  dark  oak-tree; 
And  the  midnight  wind,  to  the  mountain  deer, 

Is  whistling  the  forest  lullaby: 
The  moon  looks  througli  tbe  drifting  storm. 
But  the. troubled  lake  reflects  not  her  form. 
For  the  waves  roll  whitening  to  the  land, 
And  dash  against  the  shelvy  strand. 
There  is  a  voice  among  the  trees 

That  mingles  with  the  groaning  oak — 
That  mingles  with  the  stormy  breeze, 

And  the  lake-waves  dashing  against  the  rock; 
There  is  a  voice  within  the  wood. 
The  voice  of  the  bard  in  fitful  mood; 
His  song  was  louder  than  the  blast. 
As  the  bard  of  Glenmore  through  the  forest  past, 
"Wake  ye  from  your  sleep  of  death, 

Minstrels  and  bards  of  other  days! 
For  the  midnight  wind  is  on  the  heath. 

And  the  midnight  meteors  dimly  blaze: 
The  spectre  with  his  bloody  hand,* 
(s  wandering  through  the  wild  woodland; 
The  owl  and  the  raven  are  mute  for  dread. 
And  the  time  is  meet  to  awake  the  dead! 
"Souls  of  the  mighty,  wake  and  say. 

To  what  high  strain  your  harps  were  strung. 
When  Loclilin  ploughed  her  billowy  way, 

And  on  your  shores  her  Norsemen  flung? 
Her  Norsemen  ti'ained  to  spoil  and  blood. 
Skilled  to  prepare  the  Raven's  food. 
All,  by  your  harpings  doomed  to  die 
On  bloody  Largs  and  Loiicarty.f 
"  Mute  are  ye  all:    No  murmurs  strange 

Upon  the  midnight  breeze  sail  by; 

*  The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  haunted  by  a  spirit  called 
Lhamdearg,  or  Red-hand. 

t  Where  the  Norwegian  mvader  of  Scotland  received 
two  bloody  defeats. 


438 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  AVORKS. 


Nor  through  tlie  pines  with  whistling  change, 

Mimic  the  harp's  wild  harmony! 
Mute  are  ye  now? — Ye  ne'er  were  mute, 
When  Murder  with  his  bloody  foot, 
And  Rapine  with  his  iron  hand, 
Were  hovering  near  yon  mountain  strand. 
"O  yet  awake  the  strain  to  tell, 

By  every  deed  in  song  enrolled. 
By  every  chief  who  fought  or  fell, 

For  All)ion's  weal  in  battle  bold; — 
From  Coilgach,*  first  who  rolled  his  car. 
Through  the  deep  ranks  of  Roman  war. 
To  him,  of  veteran  memory  dear, 
Who  victor  died  on  Aboukir. 
«'  By  all  their  swords,  by  all  their  scars. 

By  all  (heir  names,  a  mighty  spell! 
By  all  their  wounds,  by  all  their  wars, 

Arise,  the  mighty  strain  to  tell! 
For  fiercer  than  fierce  Hengist's  strain. 
More  impious  than  the  heathen  Dane, 
More  grasping  tlian  all-grasping  Rome, 
Gaul's  ravening  legions  hither  come!" — 
The  wind  is  hushed,  and  still  the  lake — 

Strange  murmurs  fill  my  tingling  ears. 
Bristles  my  hair,  my  sinews  quake. 

At  the  dread  voice  of  other  years — 
"  When  targets  clashed,  and  bugles  rung. 
And  blades  round  warriors'  heads  were  flung. 
The  foremost  of  the  band  were  we, 
And  hymn'd  the  joys  of  Liberty!" 

THE  RESOLVE. 

IX  IMITATION  OF  AX  OLD  ENGLISH  POEM. 1809. 

My  wayward  fate  1  needs  must  plain. 

Though  bootless  be  the  theme; 
I  loved,  and  was  beloved  again. 

Yet  all  was  but  a  dream: 
For,  as  her  love  was  quickly  got, 

So  it  was  quickly  gone; 
No  more  I'll  bask  in  flame  so  hot. 

But  coldly  dwell  alone. 
Not  maid  more  bright  than  maid  was  e'er 

My  fancy  shall  beguile, 
By  flattering  word,  or  feigned  fear, 

By  gesture,  look,  or  smile: 
No  more  I'll  call  the  shaft  fair  shot, 

Till  it  has  fairly  flown. 
Nor  scorch  me  at  a  flame  so  hot; — 

I'll  rather  freeze  alone. 
Each  ambushed  Cupid  I'll  defy. 

In  cheek,  or  chin,  or  brow. 
And  deem  the  glance  of  woman's  eye 

As  weak  as  woman's  vow: 
I'll  lightly  hold  the  lady's  heart. 

That  is  but  lightly  won; 
I'll  steel  my  breast  to  beauty's  art. 

And  learn  to  live  alone. 
The  flaunting  torch  soon  blazes  out. 

The  diamond's  ray  abides. 
The  flame  its  glory  hurls  about. 

The  gem  its  lustre  hides; 
Such  gem  1  fondly  deemed  was  mine. 

And  glowed  a  diamond  stone. 
But,  since  each  eye  may  see  it  shine, 

I'll  darkling  dwell  alone. 
No  waking  dream  shall  tinge  my  thought 

With  dies  so  bright  and  vain, 
No  silken  net,  so  slightly  wrought, 

Shall  tangle  me  again: 

•  The  Galgacu3  of  Tacitus. 


No  more  I'll  pay  so  dear  for  wit, 

I'll  live  upon  mine  own; 
Nor  shall  wild  passion  trouble  it, — 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone. 

And  thus  I'll  hush  my  heart  to  rest,— 

"  Thy  loving  labours  lost; 
Thou  slialt  no  more  be  wildly  blest, 

To  be  so  strangely  crost; 
The  widowed  turtles  mateless  die, 

The  phoenix  is  but  one; 
They  seek  no  loves — no  more  will  1— 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone." 

EPITAPH 

DESIGNED  FOR  A  MONUMENT  IN  LICHFIELD 
CATHEDRAL, 

Al  the  Burial  Place  of  t/ie  family  of  Miss  Seward. 
Amid  these  aisles,  where  once  his  precepts  showed 
The  heavenward  path-way  which  in  life  he  trod. 
This  simple  tablet  marks  a  father's  bier. 
And  those  lie  loved  in  life,  in  death  are  near; 
For  him,  for  them,  a  daughter  bade  it  rise, 
Memorial  of  domestic  charities. 
Still  wouldst  thou  know  why,  o'er  the  marble 

spread. 
In  female  grace  the  willow  droops  her  head; 
Why  on  her  branches,  silent  and  unstrung, 
The  minstrel  harp  is  emblematic  hung; 
What  poet's  voice  is  smothered  here  in  dust, 
Till  waked  to  join  the  chorus  of  the  just, 
Lo!  one  brief  line  an  answer  sad  supplies. 
Honoured,  beloved,  and  mourned,  here  Seward 

lies! 
Her  worth,  her  warmth  of  heart,  let  friendship 

say, — 
Go  seek  her  genius  in  her  living  lay. 

THE  RETURN  TO  ULSTER. 

Once  again,  but  how  changed  since  my  wander- 
ings began — 

I  have  heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  Lagan  and  Bann. 

And  the  pines  of  Cambrassil  resound  to  the  roar. 

That  wearies  the  echoes  of  fair  Tullamore. 

Alas!  mypoorbosom,and  why  shouldst  thou  burn? 

With  the  scenes  of  my  youth  can  its  raptures  re- 
turn ? 

Can  1  live  the  dear  life  of  delusion  again, 

That  flow'd  when  these  echoes  first  mixed  with 
my  strain? 

It  was  then  that  around  me,  though  poor  and  un- 
known. 
High    spells   of   mysterious    enchantment  were 

tlu'own; 
The  streams  were  of  silver,  of  diamond  the  dew, 
The  land  was  an  Eden,  for  fancy  was  new. 
I  had  heard  of  our  bards,  and  my  soul  was  on  fire 
At  the  rush  of  their  verse  and  the  sweep  of  their 

lyre; 
To  me  'twas  not  legend,  nor  tale  to  the  ear, 
But  a  vision  of  noontide,  distinguished  and  clear. 

Ultonia's  old  heroes  awoke  at  the  call. 

And  renewed  the  wild  pomp  of  the  chase  and  the 

hall; 
And  the  standard  of  Fion  flashed  fierce  from  on 

high, 
Like  a  burst  of  the  sun  when  the  tempest  is  nigh.* 


•  In  ancient  Irish  poetiT,  the  standard  of  Fion.  orFin- 
pal,  is  called  the  Sun-burst,  an  epithet  feebly  rendered  by 
tlie  Sun-beam  of  Macphersoii. 


MISCELLANIES. 


439 


It  seemed  that  the  harp  of  green  Erin  once  more 
Coulil  renew  all  the  glories  she  boasted  of  yore. — 
Yet  why  at  remembrance,   fond  heart,   should'st 

thou  burn? 
They  were  days  of  delusion,  and  cannot  return. 
But  was  she,  too,  a  pliantom,  the  maid  who  stood 

And  listed  my  lay, while  she  turned  from  mine  eye' 
Was  she,  too,  a  vision,  just  glancing  to  view, 
Then  dispersed  in  the  sunbeam  or  melted  to  dew? 
Oh !  would  it  had  been  so  I — O !  would  that  her  eye 
Had  been  but  a  star-glauce  that  shot  through  the 

sky. 
And   her  voice,  that  was   moulded   to   melody's 

U.riU, 
Had  heen  but  a  zepliyr  that  sighed  and  was  still ! 
Oh!   would  it  had  been  so! — not  then  his  poor 

heai-t 
Had  learned  the  sad  lesson,  to  love  and  to  part; 
To  bear,  unassisted,  its  burthen  of  care, 
While  I  toiled  for  the  wealth  I  had  no  one  to  share. 
Not  then  had  1  said,  when  life's  summer  was  done. 
And  llie  hours  of  her  autumn  were  fast  speeding 

on, 
"  Take  the  fame  and  the  riches  ye  brought  in  your 

train, 
And  restore  me  the  dream  of  my  spring  tide  again ! " 

ON  THE  MASSACRE  OF  GLENCOE. 

"  O  TELL  me,  harper,  '.vherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  wo 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

^Vhere  none  may  list  their  melody  ? 
Say,  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun  deer  glancing  by, 
Or  to  the  eagle  that  from  high 

Screams  choi-us  to  thy  minstrelsy?" 

"  No,  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest, — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain-ci-est, 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  erne  her  nest. 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
But  those  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay, 
Not  wild  wood  deep,  nor  mountain  gray. 
Not  this  deep  dell  that  shrouds  from  day, 

Could  screen  from  treacherous  cruelty. 

"  Their  flag  was  furled,  and  mute  their  drum. 
The  veiy  household  dogs  were  dum, 
Unwont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 

In  guise  of  liospitality. 
His  blithest  notes  tl»e  piper  plied, 
Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 
The  dame  her  distaff"  flung  aside, 

To  tend  her  kindlv  housewifen'. 


"  The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal. 
At  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel. 
And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 

Meed  for  his  hospitality! 
The  friendly  hearth  which  warmed  that  hand, 
At  midnight  armed  it  with  the  brand. 
That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 

"  Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain. 

Nor  infancy's  unpilied  plain, 

More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

Uespite  from  ruthless  butcher)- ! 
The  winter  wind  that  v^histled  shrill. 
The  snows  that  night  that  choaked  the  hill, 
Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 

Far  more  than  southron  clement*'. 

30 


"  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone. 
Few  are  its  strings,  and  t:iiut  their  tone. 
They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 

Their  gray-haired  master's  miseiy. 
Were  each  gray  hair  a  minstrel  string. 
Each  chord  should  imprecations  flino-^ 
Till  startled  Scotland  loud  sliould  ring, 

'  Revenge  for  blood  and  treacherj!'  " 

PROLOG  UE 
TO  MISS  baillie's  plat  of  the  family  legend. 
'Tis  sweet  to  hear  expiring  summer's  sigh. 
Through  forests  tinged  with  russet,  wail  and  die; 
'Tis  sweet  and  sad  the  latest  notes  to  hear 
Of  distant  music,  dying  on  tlie  ear; 
But  far  more  sadly  sweet,  on  foreign  strand. 
We  list  tlie  legends  of  our  native  land. 
Linked  as  they  come  with  every  tender  tie. 
Memorials  dear  of  youth  and  infancy. 

Chief,  thy  wild  tales,  romantic  Caledon, 
Wake  keen  remembrance  in  each  hardv  son. 
Whetlier  on  India's  burning  coasts  he  toil. 
Or  till  Arcadia's*  winter-fettered  soil. 
He  hears  with  throbbing  heart  and  moistened  eyes, 
And  as  he  hears,  what  dear  illusions  rise! 
It  opens  on  his  soul  his  native  dell, 
The  woods  wild  waving,  and  the  water's  swell; 
Tradition's  theme,  the  tower  that  threats  the  plain. 
The  mossy  cairn  that  hides  the  hero  slain; 
The  cot  beneath  whose  simple  porch  were  told, 
By  gi'ay-haired  patriarch,  the  tales  of  old. 
The  infant  group  that  hushed  their  sports  the  while. 
And  the  dear  maid  who  listened  witli  a  smile. 
The  wanderer,  while  the  vision  warms  his  brain, 
Is  denizen  of  Scotland  once  again. 

Are  such  keen  feelings  to  the  crowd  confined, 
And  sleep  they  in  the  poet's  gifted  mind? 
Oh  no!  for  she,  within  whose  mighty  page 
Each  tyrant  passion  shows  his  wo  and  rage. 
Has  felt  the  wizard  influence  they  inspire, 
And  to  your  ow  n  traditions  tuned  her  lyre. 
Yourselves  shall  judge — whoe'er  has  raised  the  sail 
By  Mull's  dark  coast  has  heard  this  evening's  tale. 
The  plaided  boatman,  resting  on  his  oar, 
Points  to  the  fatal  rock  amid  the  roar 
I  Of  whitening  waves,  and  tells  whate'er  to-uight 
]  Our  humble  stage  shall  offer  to  your  sight; 
,  Proudly  preferred  that  first  our  efforts  give 
'  Scenes  glowing  from  lier  pen  to  breathe  and  live; 
More  proudly  yet,  should  Caledon  approve 
The  filial  token  of  a  daughter's  love ! 

FAREWTiLL  TO  MACKENZIE, 

HIGH  CHIEF  OF  KIXT.VIL. 
FROM  THE  GAELIC. 

The  original  verses  are  arranged  to  a  beautiful 
Gaelic  air,  of  which  the  chorus  is  adapted  to  the 
double  pull  upon  the  oars  of  a  galley,  and  which 
is  therefore  distinct  from  tlie  ordinary  jorams,  or 
boat-songs.  They  were  composed  b)  the  family 
bard  upon  the  departure  of  the  earl  of  Seaforth, 
who  was  obliged  to  take  refuge  in  Spain,  after  an 
unsuccessful  effort  at  insurrection  in  favour  of  the 
Stuart  family,  in  the  year  1718. 

Fauewbll  to  Mackenneth,  great  earl  of  the  North, 
The  lord  of  Lochcarron,  (ilenshiel,  and  Seaforth; 

•  Arcadia,  or  Neva  Scotia. 


440 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  llie  chieftain  tliis  morning  his  course  who  began 
Lanciiing  forth  on  the  billows  his  bark  like  a  swan, 
For  a  far  foivii^n  laud  he  has  hoisted  liis  sail, 
Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  liigii  chief  of  Kintail! 
O  swift  be  the  galley,  and  hardy  her  crew, 
May  her  captain  be  skilful,  iier  mariners  true, 
In  danger  uudauuted,  unwearied  by  toil, 
Though  the  whirlwind  siiould  rise,  and  the  ocean 

should  boil: 
On  the  bra^'e  vessel's  gunnel  I  drank  his  bonnail,* 
And  farewell  to  Mackenzie,  high  chief  of  Kintail! 

Awake  in  thy  chamber,  thou  sweet  southland  gale! 
Like  the  sighs  of  his  people,  breathe  soft  on  his 

sail; 
Be  prolonged  as  regret  that  his  vassals  must  know, 
Be  fair  as  tlieir  faith,  and  sincere  as  their  wo: 
Be  so  soft,  and  so  fair,  and  so  faithful,  sweet  gale. 
Wafting  onward  Mackenzie,  higii  chief  of  Kintail  I 

He  his  pilot  experienced,  and  trusty,  and  wise. 
To  measure  the  seas  and  to  study  the  skies: 
May  he  hoist  all  his  canvass  from  streamer  to  deck. 
But  O!  crowd  it  liigher  when  wafting  him  back^ 
Till  the  clilfs  of  Skooroora,  and  Conan's  glad  vale. 
Shall  welcome  Mackenzie,  high  chief  of  Kintail ! 

IMITATION 

OF  THE  PRECEDING  SONG. 

So  sung  the  old  bard,  in  the  grief  of  his  heart. 
When  Ire  saw  his  loved  lord  from  his  people  de- 
part. 
Now  mute  on  thy  mountains,  O  Albyn,  are  heard 
Nor  the  voice  of  the  song,  nor  the  harp  of  the  bard ; 
Or  its  strings  are  but  waked  by  the   stern  winter 

gale. 
As  they  mourn  for  Mackenzie,  last  chief  of  Kintail. 

From  the  far  southland  border  a  minstrel  came 

forth, 
And  he  waited  the  hour  that  soiue  bard  of  the  north 
His  hand  on  the  harp  of  the  ancient  should  cast, 
And  bid  its  wild  numbers  mix  high  witli  the  blast; 
But  no  bard  was  there  left  in  the  land  of  the  Gael, 
To  lament  for  Mackenzie,  last  chief  of  Kintail. 
And  shalt  thou  then  sleep,  did  the  minstrel  exclaim > 
Like  the  son  of  the  lowly,  unnoticed  by  fame  ? 
No,  son  of  Fitzgerald !  in  accents  of  wo. 
The  song  thou  hast  loved  o'er  thy  coffin  shall  flow. 
And  teach  thy  wild  mountains  to  join  in  the  wail, 
That  laments  for  Mackenzie,  last  chief  of  Kintail. 
In  vain,  the  bright  course  of  thy  talents  to  wrong. 
Fate  deadened  thine  ear  and  imprisoned  lliy  tongue; 
For  brighter  o'er  all  her  obstructions  arose 
The  glow  of  tlie  genius  they  could  not  oppose; 
And  who  in  the  l.-ind  of  the  Saxon  or  Gael, 
Might  match  with  Mackenzie,  high  chief  of  Kintail  ? 

Thy  sons  rose  around  thee  in  light  and  in  love. 
All  a  father  could  hope,  all  a  friend  could  approve; 
What  'vails  it  the  tale  of  thy  sorrows  to  tell — 
In  the  spring-time  of  youth  and  of  promise  they 

fell! 
Of  the  line  of  Fitzgerald  remains  not  a  male, 
To  bear  the  proud  name  of  the  chief  of  Kintail. 
And  thou,  gentle  dame,  who  must  bear  to  tliy  grief. 
For  thy  clan  and  thy  country,  the  cares  of  a  chief. 
Whom  brief  rolling  moons  in  six  clianges  have  left, 
Of  thy  husband,  and  father,  and  brethren  bereft, 
To  thine  ear  of  affection  how  sad  is  the  hail, 
That  salutes  thee  the  heir  of  the  line  of  Kintail! 


*  Bonair,  or  Bonallc?,,  the  old  Scottish  phrase  for  a 
feast  at  parting  with  a  fricuU. 


WAR-SONG  OF  LACHLAN, 

HIGH  CHIEF  OF  MACLEAN. 
rilOM  THE  GAELIC. 

This  song  appears  to  be  imperfect,  or  at  least, 
like  many  of  the  early  Gaelic  poems,  makes  arapid 
transition  from  one  subject  to  anotiier;  from  the 
situation,  namely,  of  one  of  the  daughters  of  the 
clan,  who  opens  the  song  by  lamenting  the  absence 
of  her  lover,  to  an  eulogium  over  the  military  glo- 
ries of  the  chieftaian.  The  translator  has  endea- 
voured to  imitate  the  abrupt  style  of  the  original. 

A  WEAHY  month  has  wandered  o'er 
Since  last  we  parted  on  the  shore; 
Heaven !  that  1  saw  tliee.  Love,  once  more, 

Safe  on  that  shore  again ! — 
'Twas  valiant  Lachlau  gave  the  word: 
Laciilan,  of  m.an)  a  galley  lord: 
He  called  his  kindred  bands  on  board, 

And  lanched  them  on  the  main. 

Clan-Gillian*  is  to  ocean  gone; 
Clan-Gillian,  fierce  in  foray  known; 
Rejoicing  in  the  glory  won 

In  many  a  bloody  broil: 
For  wide  is  heard  the  thundering  fray. 
The  rout,  tlie  ruin,  tlie  dismay. 
When  from  the  twilight  glens  away 

Clan- Gillian  drives  the  spoil. 

Wo  to  the  hills  that  shall  rebound 

Our  bannered  bagpipes'  maddening  sound; 

Clan-Gillian's  onset  echoing  round. 

Shall  shake  their  iimiost  cell. 
Wo  to  the  bark  whose  crew  shall  gaze, 

Where  Lachlan's  silken  streamer  plays; 
The  fools  might  face  the  lightning's  blaze 

As  wisely  and  as  well! 

SAINT  CLOUD. 

Soft  spread  the  southern  Summer  uight 

Her  veil  of  darkness  blue; 
Ten  thousand  stars  combined  to  light 

The  terrace  of  saint  Cloud. 

The  evening  breezes  gently  sighed, 

Like  breath  of  lover  true. 
Bewailing  the  deserted  pride 

And  wreck  of  sweet  saint  Cloud. 
Tlie  drum's  deep  roll  was  heard  afar. 

The  bugle  wildly  blew 
Good  night  to  Hulan  and  Husar, 

That  garrison  saint  Cloud. 

The  startled  Naiads  from  the  shade 

With  broken  arms  withdrew. 
And  silenced  was  that  proud  cascade, 

The  glory  of  saint  Cloud. 

We  sate  upon  its  steps  of  stone. 

Nor  could  its  silence  rue. 
When  waked,  to  music  of  our  own. 

The  echoes  of  saint  Cloud. 

Slow  Seine  might  hear  each  lovely  note 

Fall  light  as  summer-dew. 
While  through  the  moonless  air  they  float, 

Prolonged  from  fair  saint  Cloud. 

And  sure  a  melody  more  sweet 

His  waters  never  knew. 
Though  music's  self  was  wout  to  meet 

With  princes  at  saint  Cloud. 

•  i,  c.  The  clan  of  Maclean,  literally  the  race  cf  Gillian. 


MISCELLANIES. 


441 


Nor  then,  with  more  delighted  ear. 

The  circle  round  her  drew, 
Than  ours,  when  gathered  round  to  hear 

Our  songstress  at  saint  Cloud. 
Few  happy  hours  poor  mortals  pass, — 

Then  give  those  hours  their  due. 
And  rank  among  the  foremost  class 

Our  evenings  at  saint  Cloud. 

Paris,  Sept.  5,  1815. 

ROMANCE  OF  DUNOIS. 

FROM  THi;  FRENCH. 

The  original  of  this  little  Romance  makes  part 
of  a  manuscript  collection  of  French  songs,  proba- 
bly compiled  by  some  young  officer,  which  was 
found  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  so  much  stained 
with  clay  and  blood,  as  sufficiently  to  indicate 
what  had  been  the  fate  of  its  late  owner.  The 
song  is  popular  in  France,  and  is  rather  a  good 
specimen  of  the  style  of  composition  to  which  it 
belongs.  The  translation  is  strictly  literal. 

It  was  Dunois,  the  young  and  brave, 

Was  bound  for  Palestine, 
But  first  he  made  his  orisons 

Before  saint  Mai-y's  shrine: 
"  And  grant,  immortal  queen  of  heaven," 

Was  still  the  soldier's  prayer, 
'*  That  I  may  prove  the  bravest  knight, 

And  love  the  fairest  fair." 
His  oath  of  honour  on  the  shrine 

He  graved  it  with  his  sword. 
And  followed  to  the  holy  land 

The  banner  of  his  lord; 
Where,  faithful  to  his  noble  vow, 

His  war-crj-  filled  the  air, 
"  Be  honoured  aye  the  bravest  knight. 

Beloved  the  fairest  fair." 

They  owed  the  conquest  to  his  arm. 

And  then  his  liege-lord  said, 
"  The  heart  that  has  for  honour  beat. 

By  bliss  must  be  repaid, — 
My  daughter  Isabel  and  thou 

Shall  be  a  wedded  pair. 
For  thou  art  bravest  of  the  brave, 

She  fairest  of  the  fair." 

And  then  they  bound  the  holy  knot 

Before  saint  Mary's  shrine. 
That  makes  a  paradise  on  earth. 

If  hearts  and  hands  combine: 
And  every  lord  and  lady  bright 

That  were  in  chapel  there. 
Cried,  "  Honoured  be  the  bravest  knight, 

Beloved  the  fairest  fair ! " 

THE  TROUBADOUR.^-^ 

Glowing  wi'h  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

A  Troubadour  that  hated  sorrow. 
Beneath  his  lady's  window  came. 

And  thus  he  sung  his  last  good-morrow: 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right. 

My  heart  is  in  my  true  love's  bower; 
Gayly  for  love  and  fame  to  fight 

Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour. " 

And  while  he  marched  with  helm  on  head 
And  hai-p  in  hand,  the  descant  rung. 

As  faithful  to  liis  favourite  maid, 
Tiie  minstrel-l)urthen  still  he  sung: 


"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
Resolved  for  love  and  fame  to  fight, 

I  come,  a  gallant  Troubadour. " 

Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep, 

With  dauntless  heart  he  hew'd  his  way 
Mid  splintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 

And  still  was  heard  his  warrior-lay; 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

Mj'  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight. 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

Alas!  upon  the  bloody  field 

He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive, 
But  still,  reclining  on  his  shisld. 

Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave: 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right. 

My  heart  is  in  rny  lady's  bower; 
For  love  and  fame  to  fall  in  fight. 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season. 
By  Fancy  urged,  resolved  to  wed, 

But  could  not  settle  whether  Reason 
Or  Folly  should  partake  his  bed. 

What  does  he  then? — upon  my  life, 
'Twas  bad  example  for  a  deit)' — 

He  takes  me  Reason  for  his  wife, 
And  Folly  for  his  hours  of  gayety. 

Though  thus  he  dealt  in  petty  treason. 
He  loved  them  botli  in  equal  measure; 

Fidelity  was  born  of  Reason, 

And  Folly  brought  to  bed  of  Pleasure. 

SONG, 

FOR    THE     AXSIVKRSARY     MEETIXR     OF    THE     PITT 
CLUB    OF    SCOTLAND. 

O  BREAD  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the 
omen. 
When  the  brave  on  Marengo  lay  slaughtered  in 
vain. 
And,  beholding  broad  Europe  bowed  down  by  her 
foemen, 
Pitt  closed  in  his  anguish  the  map  of  her  reign ! 
Not  the  fate  of  broad  Europe  could  bend  his  brave 
spirit. 
To  take  for  his  country  the  safety  of  shame; 
O  then  in  her  triumph  remember  his  merit. 
And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Round  the  husbandman's  head,  while  he  traces  the 
furrow. 
The  mists  of  the  winter  may  mingle  with  rain, 
He  may  plough  it  with  labour,  and  sow  it  in  sorrow, 
And  sigh  while  he  fears  he  has  sowed  it  iuvain; 
He  may  die  ere  his  children  shall  reap  in  their 
gladness. 
But  the  blith  harvest-home  shall  remember  his 
claim. 
And  their  jubilee-shout  shall  be  softened  with  sad- 
ness, 
While  they  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 
Tho'  anxious  and  timeless  his  life  was  expended. 

In  toils  for  our  country  preserved  by  his  care, 
Tho'  he  died  ere  one  ray  o'er  the  nations  ascended. 
To  liglit  the  long  darkness  of  doubt  and  despair; 


442 


SCOTT'S  POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  storms  he  endured  in  our  Britain's  December, 
The  perils  tiis  wisfinm  foresaw  :ind  o'ercame, 

In  her  glory's  rich  harvest  shall  Hrilain  remember, 
And  hallow  the  goblet  tliat  flows  to  his  name. 

Nor  forget  his  gray  head,  who,  all  dark  inaffliction, 

Is  deaf  to  the  tale  of  o\ir  victories  won. 
And  to  sounds  the  most  dear  to  paternal  aftection. 

The  shout  of  his  people  applauding  his  son; 
By  his  firmness  unniove<l  in  success  or  disaster. 

By  his  long  reign  of  virtue,  remember  his  claim  I 
With  our  tribute  to   Pitt  join  the  praise  of  his 
master, 
Though  a  tear  slain  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 
Yet  again  fill  the  wine-cup,  and  change  the  sad 
measure 
The  rites  of  our  grief  and  our  gratitude  paid, 
To  our  prince,  to  our  heroes,  devote  the  bright 
treasure. 
The  wisdom  that  planned,  and  the  zeal  that 
obeyed ! 
Fill  Wellington's  cup  till  it  beam  like  his  glory. 
Forget  not   our    own    brave    Dalhousif.   and 
Gnmyiz; 
A  thousand  years  hence  hearts  shall  bound  at  their 
story. 
And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  their  fame. 

SONG, 

ox  THF.  LIFTIXG  OF  TUB  BANNER  OF  THF,  HOUSE  OF 
BrCCLEUGH, 

^9i  a  great  Foot-ball  Jllatch  on  Carterhai/gh. 
From  the  brown  crest  of  Newark  its  summons  ex- 
tending. 
Our  signal  is  waving  in  smoke  and  in  flame; 
And  each  foresterblith,from  his  mountain  descend- 
ing, 
Bounds  light  o'er  the  heather  to  join  in  the  game. 
cnoRCs. 
Then  vp  with  the  b aimer,  let  forest  ivinds  fan  her. 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more; 
Jn  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her, 
IVith  lieart  and  iixith  hand,  like  ovr  fathers  before. 
When  the  southern  invader  spread  waste  and  dis- 
order. 
At  the  glance  of  her  crescents  lie  paused   and 
withdrew, 
For  around  them  were  marshalled  the  pride  of  the 
border, 
The  flowers  of  the  forest,  the  bands  of  Huccleush. 
7Vte7i  up  with  the  banner,  &c. 

A  stripling's  weak  hand  to  our  revel  has  borne  her. 
No  mail-glove  has  grasp'd   her,  no   spearmen 
surround; 
But  ere  a  bold  foeman   should   scathe  or  should 
scorn  her, 
A  thousand  time  hearts  would   be  cold  on  the 
ground. 
Then  up  with  the  banner,  &c. 

We  forget  each  contention  of  civil  dissention. 
And  hail,  like  our  brethren,  Home,  Douolas, 
and  Car; 
And  Elliot  and  Piiinrle  in  pastime  shall  mingle. 
As  welcome  in  peace  as  their  fathers  in  war. 
Then  vp  with  the  banner,  &c. 

Then  strip,  larls,  and  to  it,  though   sharp  be  the 
weather. 
And  if,  by  mischance,  you  should  happen  to  fall,  I 


There  are  worse  things  in  life  than  a  tumble  on 
heather. 
And  life  is  itself  but  a  game  at  foot-ball. 
Theii  up  with  the  banner,  &c. 
And  when  it  is  over,  we'll  drink  a  blith  me.^sure 
To  each  laii-d  and  each  lady  \\\^  witnessed  our 
fun. 
And  to  every  blith  heart  that  took  part  in  our  plea- 
sure. 
To  the  lads  that  have  lost  and  the  lads  that  have 
won. 

Then  up  iinth  the  banner,  &(\ 
May  the  forest  still  flourish,  both   borough  and 
landward. 
From  the  hall  of  the  peer  to  the  herd's  ingle- 
nook; 
And  huzza!  my  brave  hearts,  for  Buccleugh  and 
his  standard. 
For  the  king  and  the  country,  the  clan  and  the 
duke! 
Then  up  with  the  banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her. 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  arid  more; 
In  sport  weHl  attend  her,  in  battle  ilcfaid  her, 
fVith  heart  a?id  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 

CARLE,  NOW  THE  KING'S  COME.* 

BEING  NEW  WORn.S  TO   AN  ACTLD  SPRING, 

The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  mouth, 
The  north  for  anes  has  bang'd  the  south; 
The  de'il  a  Scotsman's  die  of  drouth, 
Carle,  now  the  kiyig^s  come. 

CHORUS. 

Carle,  now  the  kiiig's  come! 
Carle,  now  the  kiiig's  come! 
Thou  shalt  dance  and  I  will  sing. 
Carle,  now  th£  king''s  come.' 

Auld  England  held  him  lang  and  fast; 
And  Ireland  had  a  joyfu'  cast; 
But  Scotland's  turn  has  come  at  last— 
Carle,  now  the  king''s  come! 

Auld  Reikie,  in  her  rokela  gray 
Thought  never  to  have  seen  the  day; 
He's  been  a  weary  lime  away — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  ici?ig''s  come! 

She's  skirling  frae  the  Castle  Hill 
The  carline's  voice  is  grown  sae  shrill 
Ye'll  hear  her  at  the  Canon  Mill, 
Carle,  now  the  king\?  come! 

"  Up,  bairns,"  she  cries,  "  baith  great  and  sma' 
And  husk  ye  for  the  weapon  shaw ! — 
Stand  by  me  and  we'll  bang  them  a'! 
Carle,  now  tlie  king''s  come! 

"Come,  from  Kewbattle'sf  ancient  spires, 
Bauld  Lottiian,  with  your  knights  and  squires, 
And  match  the  mettle  of  your  sires. 

Carle,  now  the  king's  come! 
"You're  welcome  hame,  my  Monlague!:^ 
Bring  in  your  hand  the  young  Buccleugh; — 
I'm  missing  some  that  I  may  rue, 

Carle,  now  the  king's  come! 

"  f  ;ome  Haddington,  the  kind  and  gay, 
You've  grac'd  my  causeway  mony  a  day; 
I'll  weep  the  cause  if  you  should  stay. 

Carle,  now  the  king's  come! 


'  Composed  on  the  occasion  of  the  royal  visit  to  Scot- 
md,  in  August,  1322.— .Jm.  Pub. 
t  Seat  of  the  iiian|uis  of  Lothian. 
t  LTnclf  to  the  dulve  of  Buccleugh. 


MISCELLANIES. 


443 


♦'  Come,  premier  duke,*  and  carry  doun, 
Frae  yonder  craigf  his  ancient  croun; 
It's  had  a  lang  sleep  and  a  soun' — 

But,  Carle,  noiv  the  kind's  come! 
"  Come,  Alhole,  from  the  hill  and  wood. 
Bring  down  your  clansmen  like  a  cloud;— 
Come,  Morton,  show  the  Douglass  blood, — 

Carle,  now  the  kmg''s  come.' 

"  Come,  Tweeddale,  true  as  sword  to  sheath; 
Come,  Hopetoun,  fear'd  on  fields  of  death; 
Come,  Clerk,  and  give  your  bugle  breath; 

Carle,  noiv  the  king's  come.' 
"  Come,  Wemyss,  who  modest  merit  aids; 
Come,  Roseberry,  from  Dalmeny  shades; 
Breadalbane,  bring  your  belted  plaids; 

Carle,  noiv't/ie  king''s  come.' 
"  Come,  stately  Niddrie:j:  auld  and  true 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  Minden  knew; 
We  have  ower  few  such  lairds  as  you — 

Carle,  710x0  the  king's  come.' 
"  King  Arthur's  grown  a  common  crier, 
He's  head  in  Fife  and  far  Cantire, — 
'Fie,  lads,  behold  my  crest  of  fire! '§ 

Carle,  no-w  the  king's  come! 
"  Saint  Abb  roars  out,  '  I  see  him  pass 
Between  Tantallon  and  the  Bass ! ' — 
Calton,  II  get  on  your  keeking-glass. 

Carle,  no-w  the  king's  come!''' 


*  Hamilton.  t  The  ca.«tle. 

t  Wauchope  of  Niddrie,  a  noble  looking  old  man,  and  a 
fine  specimen  of  an  ancient  baron. 
§  There  is  to  be  a  bonfire  on  the  top  of  Arthur's  seat. 
IJ  The  Castle-hill  commands  the  finest  view  of  the  Frith 


The  Carline  stopp'd;  and  sure  I  am. 
For  very  glee  had  ta'en  a  dwam. 
But  Oman  help'd  her  to  a  dram. — 
Cogie,  noiv  the  king's  come! 
Cogie,  noio  the  king's  come! 
Cogie,  no-w  the  king's  come! 
'  I'se  be  four,  and  ye' s  be  tomn, 
Co^  ie,  no-w  the  king's  come! 

IMPROMPTU. 

TO  MONSIEUR  ALEXANBHE. 

Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good 

To  caiTy  two  visages  under  one  hooil; 

What  should  folks  say  to  you,  who  have  faces  such 

plenty, 
That  from  under  one  hood  you  last  night  show'd 

us  twenty? 
Stand  forth,  arch  deceiver!  and  tell  us,  in  truth. 
Are  you  handsome  or  ugly?  in  age,  or  in  youth? 
Man,  woman,  or  child  ?  or  a  dog,  or  a  mouse  i" 
Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  thing  in  the  house? 
Each  live  thing  did  I  ask?  each  dead  implement  too! 
A  work-shop  in  your  person — saw,   chisel,   and 

screw  ? 
Above  all,  are  you  one  individual'  I  know 
You  must  be,  at  the  least,  Jilexandre  and  Co. 
But  I  think  you're  a  troop — an  assemblage — amob— 
And  that  I,  as  the  sheriff,  must  take  up  the  job. 
And,  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in  verse. 
Must  read  you  the  riot-act,  and  bid  you  disperse! 
Mbotsford,  9.Sd  April,  1824. 


of  Forth,  and  will  be  covered  with  thousands,  anxiously 
looking  for  the  royal  squadron. 


THE  END. 


B^^ 
^t?^, 


s^«.^if^. 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


a: 


^^ 


^^ 


